In it he rolled the meat and fats, and with babiche thong bound the whole into a pack around which he belted the dunnage ends of his shoulder straps.

Weighted under the burden of sixty pounds of pelt and meat he picked up his rifle--and Neewa.

It had been early afternoon when he left.

It was almost sunset when he reached camp.

Every foot of the way, until the last half mile, Neewa fought like a Spartan.
Now he lay limp and almost lifeless in his sack, and when Miki came up to smell suspiciously of his prison he made no movement of protest.