With a pleased chuckle Jack swooped down and drove his beak into the white mass like a lance. Then he went through a rare set of gymnastic contortions, for the wicked Boy had heated the pork scalding hot. Jack clawed at it with his feet and burnt his toes--his tongue was blistered.
"What's that noise?" exclaimed Rod, for a distinct muffled laugh had escaped from the band of animals.
"It's de float-ice groundin' on de ribber-banks, I tink me," answered François, cocking his head sideways to listen.
As the animals slipped away in alarm, Jack came fluffing after them, and perched himself indignantly on Mooswa's great antlers.
"O my Giant Brother!" he cried furiously, "come and kill that debased Man-Cub, I beg you."
The Moose's shaggy sides were heaving with suppressed laughter. "What has he done, Sweet Bird?" he moaned.
"Taken the skin off my toes, and blistered my tongue with his accursed fat pork."
"Why don't you wear boots as I do, and not knock around barefooted? I should be always jamming my toes if I hadn't these thick boots. Why, last year when the big fire was on, I went through miles of burning country, and except a little hardening up of the soles, there was no harm done."
"But you don't wear them on your tongue, do you?" asked the Bird, crossly.
"No, Silent One, I don't--neither do you; but if you'll just wrap it up for a few days and give it a rest, I'm sure it will be all right."