142 
WILD AMERICANS 
lock it tight. Then I go away for two day, to set my 
traps. 
“When I come back —voila (you see)! The flour, 
bacon, beans, they all scatter outside! Some is eat, 
some is just waste. I do not need them to tell me, but 
I see tracks, and know wolverene has been here. I 
could not see how he get in, but I learn he gnaw and 
cut through even the big logs, to make hole into my 
food cache. 
“Inside my cabin, he ver’ mean. Many things he 
just tear up and ruin. What he cannot eat he try to 
destroy. I do not know why. He ver’ mean, this 
carcajou.'” 
The three visitors studied the repaired cabin, then 
went back with Pierre to look again at the wolverene. 
The beast had beautiful dark fur, long and thick as 
northern animals’ fur must be in order to protect 
them from the long cold winters. His ears were 
small, his tail short and bushy. He was about the 
size of a large bulldog. 
“Why do you keep this one for a pet, Mr. Pierre?” 
asked Buck. “I should think you would hate woh 
verenes.” 
“It is foolish to hate animals, my little friend. They 
do only what Nature teach them. It is man’s business 
