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Updated: May 2, 2025
His sharp little nose went poking in every direction, sniffing the strange new smells, till he would get bewildered, and forget which foot to put forward first. Then he would sit back and whine for his mother. It was the cub's first adventure, this journey down the world outside his den. Hitherto he had but played about his doorway.
With a couple of cuffs, hard enough to make us yelp, she would throw us to one side and the other, and there was no more play for that day. And mother could hit hard when she liked. I have seen her smack father in a way that would have broken all the bones in a cub's body, and killed any human being outright.
"Padlock was too high for him to reach," returned Gideon, "an' Rube didn't notion t' have truck with keyholes, winter nights, when he c'd shove the cub's grub in by a trap he c'd slide open in the dark." "Well, there's no great harm done, anyway," smiled Kiddie. "Your mare and the corral ponies are safe; none of your men are wounded.
It was wonderfully pleasant to feel, and Thor stood there for many moments, making neither movement nor sound while the cub licked his wound. Then he lowered his great head. He sniffed the soft little ball of friendship that had come to him. Muskwa whined in a motherless way. Thor growled, but more softly now. It was no longer a threat. The heat of his great tongue fell once on the cub's face.
And hearing this roar, the cub jumped up and yelped in answer; and he tugged at his chain furiously. He had become a little tiger in his nature. Suddenly a huge yellow form shot into the tent. It was a tigress. She seized the cub's collar in her mouth, and snapped the chain with a tug, like a piece of thread. The next second she leaped out of the tent with the cub, and vanished.
There was no one to bring you your dinner regularly every day; no, you had to catch your dinner first and then eat it, and sometimes we had to go a long time with nothing but a very small antelope or perhaps a bird or two." The Lion Cub's eyes opened wide with astonishment. "What is Africa like, mother?" he said. "Did anyone else live there?" "Dear me, yes," answered the Lioness.
He does not dare give you his name and address." "That fellow is insane or a villain," declared "Crusoe". "I do not know who he is, but if I starve to death, he'll be a wanton murderer. My name is Raymond Flood. I am not a college student. I am a high school student at Kingston." "Is his name Raymond Flood?" was Cub's next query intended for the anonymous amateur. "No," was the latter's reply.
The spell of the cub's heritage was upon him, the fear and the respect born of the centuries of struggle and the accumulated experience of the generations. The heritage was too compelling for a wolf that was only a cub. Had he been full-grown, he would have run away.
And now Jimmy wickedly cut in on this by saying: "This is a swell obit, Roy." There is nothing the newspaper man hates to do as much as an obituary. The cub's early training is obtained on the obituary column. Roy took a fresh start, but he was cut short, evidently by Hite, whose desk was near the rewrite man's. "All right, shoot if you got anything to say."
You couldn't rest till you'd got the poor boy out of your office, and now you've turned him out of the house. I suppose you thought that with Mark going you'd better make a clean sweep. It'll be Roddy next." "I didn't turn him out of the house. But it was about time he went. The young cub's temper is getting unbearable." "I daresay.
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