He looked again, then started.
What! is it true? Yes, the stranger's tale was true, for both ears
were pierced with a round hole--one torn large--and Kellyan knew that
once again he had met his little Jack.
"Why, Jacky, I didn't know it was you. I never would have done it if I
had known it was you. Jacky, old pard, don't you know me?"
But Jack stirred not, and Kellyan got up quickly. Back to the hotel he
flew; there he put on his hunter's suit, smoky and smelling of pine
gum and grease, and returned with a mass of honeycomb to reenter the
cage.
"Jacky, Jacky!" he cried, "honey, honey!" and he held the tempting
comb before him. But Monarch lay as one dead now.
"Jacky, Jacky! don't you know me?" He dropped the honey and laid his
hands on the great muzzle.
The voice was forgotten. The old-time invitation, "Honey,
Jacky--honey," had lost its power, but the _smell_ of the honey,
the coat, the hands that he had fondled, had together a hidden
potency.
There is a time when the dying of our race forget their life, but
clearly remember the scenes of childhood; these only are real and
return with master power. And why not with a Bear? The power of scent
was there to call them back again, and Jacky, the Grizzly Monarch,
raised his head a little--just a little; the eyes were nearly closed,
but the big brown nose was jerked up feebly two or three times--the
sign of interest that Jacky used to give in days of old.
Pages:
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86