“Ole, come here,” he ordered.
There came out from the corner a very different Peterson from the reckless, angry person who had voiced his wrongs a few moments before. This poor creature was fairly sallow with terror, and was apparently trying to make his large figure as small and inconspicuous as possible. He swallowed convulsively two or three times before he was able to speak.
“What is it, Jake?” he questioned meekly.
The man called Jake flung the skin toward him.
“Is that yours?” he asked in a tone that said plainly, “Claim it if you dare.”
Ole passed his hand lovingly over the lustrous brown gold of the thick fur. He held it up so that all could see the shape of the chubby little bear cub whose coat it once had been, and the dark hairy paws that still dangled from it. He smoothed the dark shadings of the fur and looked at them with longing.
“Is it yours?” Jake insisted, turning from Hugh to advance a threatening step toward Ole.
