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Sick Dog Skookum.
Getting home is always a joy; but walking about the place in the morning they noticed several little things that were wrong.

Quonab's lodge was down, the paddles that stood against the shanty were scattered on the ground, and a bag of venison hung high at the ridge was opened and empty.
Quonab studied the tracks and announced "a bad old black bear; he has rollicked round for mischief, upsetting things.

But the venison he could not reach; that was a marten that ripped open the bag." "Then that tells what we should do; build a storehouse at the end of the shanty," said Rolf, adding, "it must be tight and it must be cool." "Maybe! sometime before winter," said the Indian; "but now we should make another line of traps while the weather is fine." "No," replied the lad, "Skookum is not fit to travel now.

We can't leave him behind, and we can make a storehouse in three days." The unhappy little dog was worse than ever.