"Very well: Mooswa, Muskwa, Rof, and myself--also Carcajou, for he has great knowledge of Man the Killer's ways."
"I should like to see the lodge when it is finished," whined Beaver, "but my short little fore-legs travel not overfast on land."
"So you shall, Comrade," growled Muskwa; "You may ride on my back."
"Or on my antlers," suggested Mooswa; "their bowl will be like a cradle for you."
"That's settled, then," declared Black Fox. "On the fourth round of the Sun we meet at François's Shack, in the safety time of the Forest, dawn hour; either that or dusk hour. What say you Brothers--which shall it be?"
"It would suit me better on account of my work," ventured Umisk, "to go at dusk hour. I have lost much time lately, and I'm building new lodges for my three-year-old Sons who are starting out for themselves this Fall."
"Don't be late, then--I go to bed at dusk," lisped Whisky-Jack, mincingly, for his tongue was wondrous sore. "I will take note of what the Men do in the meantime."
"And take care of us, O Wise Bird," sneered Pisew.
"Big-feet! Spear-ear! Herring-waist!" fairly screamed Jay, forgetting the sore tongue in his rage. "Before Winter is over, you'll be glad of Jack's advice, or I don't know François."
"The white of a Partridge egg is good for a burn," retorted Lynx. "Find one and cool your fevered tongue."