Tito 



was caressing one of the little ones that had 

 finished its breakfast, and shot her dead on the 

 spot. 



The terrified cubs fled into the den, and Jake, 

 failing to kill another with his revolver, came 

 forward, blocked up the hole with stones, and 

 leaving the seven little prisoners quaking at the 

 far end, set off on foot for the nearest ranch, 

 cursing his faithless Horse as he went. 



In the afternoon he returned with his pard 

 and tools for digging. The little ones had 

 cowered all day in the darkened hole, wonder- 

 ing why their mother did not come to feed them, 

 wondering at the darkness and the change. But 

 late that day they heard sounds at the door. 

 Then light was again let in. Some of the less 

 cautious young ones ran forward to meet their 

 mother, but their mother was not there — only 

 two great rough brutes that began tearing open 

 their home. 



After an hour or more the diggers came to 

 the end of the den, and here were the woolly, 

 bright-eyed, little ones, all huddled in a pile at 

 the farthest corner. Their innocent puppy 

 faces and ways were not noticed by the huge 



268 



