Wolf growled a deprecating objection.
"How far away is he?" asked Mooswa.
"Six hours of the Chase-lope," answered Blue Wolf.
"I could bring him, even as I led François away when you were not desirous of his company, Your Majesty," said the Moose.
"It's a dangerous game," muttered Black Fox. "I don't like it--one can't judge the strike of their Firesticks; and you're such a big mark--like the side of a Man's Shack."
"I saw The Boy's leg to-day," continued Mooswa, "and it's bigger, with this wound-poison, than my nose. Unless he gets help soon, he will die."
"François should be back in a day or two," declared the King.
"François is a Breed," asserted Mooswa; "and days are like the little sticks the Breed-men use when they play cards--something to gamble with."
"The Pack could be ready if the Man pressed too close as you led him to our Man-Cub," suggested Rof.
"I do not fear him the first day," continued Mooswa; "Man's speed is always the same and I can judge of it; it is the second day, when I am tired from the deep snow, that a little rest, too long drawn out, or a misjudged circle with one of the followers travelling wide of my trail, that may cause me to come within reach of their Firestick."