“Do you know, Jim,” said one of his captors, “we’ve got a rich prize in that cub. He’s the most intelligent little chap I ever saw. I wonder where he came from.”
“Probably his mother was killed, and that Lynx knew it, and was trying to make a dinner off him.”
“I’d like to get a crack at that lynx some day.”
“So would I. But I’m mighty glad we saved the cub. He’ll make a fine pet. He’s as playful as a dog.”
Buster was a little startled to hear that his mother had probably been killed. That would account for her not returning to the cave when he called her. Had Loup killed her? No, Buster didn’t think so, for his mother was big and powerful, and could easily knock a lynx over with one blow from her paw. Then who was her murderer, or wasn’t she dead?
These questions were too hard for Buster to answer, and he soon stopped trying to think of them. Meanwhile, he was safe and well fed, and his two captors liked him. Why should he worry about something that couldn’t be helped?
At night time the men came to a cabin near the edge of the woods, and Buster was given a warm blanket in one corner of it. He watched them cook their evening meal, and ate whatever they fed him. The bacon sizzling in the frying pan smelt so good that Buster poked his nose in it, and then drew back with a howl of pain. It burnt his little nose and brought the tears to his eyes.
“Let that be a lesson, Buster, not to poke your nose in things that don’t belong to you,” laughed one of the men. Then he handed him a piece of bacon well cooked, and not too hot. Buster swallowed it in one gulp.
“What are you going to do with the little fellow, Jim?” suddenly asked one of the men. “You know we can’t keep him in the city.”
“I’ve thought of that,” replied the other slowly. “The only thing we can do is to sell him. He ought to be worth something.”