"Weren't they hairy little Beggars, Muskwa?" asked Blue Wolf, harking back longingly to the meat food.
"What, the Salmon Berries?"
"No; the Padre's little Pigs at Wapiscaw."
"Yes, somewhat; I had bristles in my teeth for a week--awfully coarse fur they wore. But they were noisy little rats--the screeching gave me an earache. Huf, huf, huh! You should have seen the Factor, who is a fat, pot-bellied little Chap, built like Carcajou, come running with his short Otter-shaped legs when he heard me among the Pigs."
"What did you do, Muskwa--weren't you afraid?" asked the Red Widow.
"I threw a little Pig out of the corral and he took to the Forest. The Factor in his excitement ran after him, and I laughed so much to see this that I really couldn't eat a fourth Pig."
"But you did well," cried Black King; "there's nothing like a good laugh at meal-time to aid digestion."
"I thought they would eat like that, Muskwa," continued Blue Wolf. "You remember the thick, white-furred animals they once brought to the Mission at Lac La Biche?"
"Sheep," interposed Mooswa, "I remember them; stupid creatures they were--always frightened by something; and always bunching up together like the Plain Buffalo, so that a Killer had more slaying than running to do amongst them."
"That was the worst of it," declared Blue Wolf. "My Pack acted as foolishly as Man did with the Buffalo--killed them all off in a single season, for that very reason."