"I know," declared Unt the Camel; "I've been there—just the loveliest hot sandy hills and plains in the whole world. But, tell me, Little Brother of the Blood-kind," he bubbled, "it is not always sunlight there—at times the white storm comes—high up in the range—what do you do then?"
"My coat gets whiter still," answered Leopard; "and if I close my eyes and stalk by scent alone, why, you would never see me till I was at your throat."
"It's either a lie or most curious truth," grunted Magh, biting the Fox Terrier's ear till he squealed. "Here is a Pup that is white all the time, and no lies about it, either."
"Oh, it's the truth," asserted Wapoos, the Hare; "in the winter time I, also, turn white to save my throat from Lynx or Marten; though it is not of my own doing, to be sure."
"It's Wie-sak-ke-chack, who is God of all Animals, who arranges it this way," said Mooswa, solemnly.
"Well," interrupted Sa'-zada, "one of you Leopards tell us of the manner of your coming here."
"As I have said," began White Leopard, "I was born in the Safed Mountains, and it was a year of much hunger——"
"The very year I was born," declared Magh; "there hardly seemed more than three nuts or berries in the world."
"Come up here, Chatterbox," grunted Hathi, winding his trunk around Magh's body, and lifting her to his massive head.