use he had touched her with his nose in a friendly
way, by way of inviting her to accompany him, he being bound for
the killing trail in quest of that night's supper.

Finn walked out of the den, carrying his nose as high as he could,
in view of the stoop necessary at the entrance, and feeling rather
put out. A dingo in his place would have snarled back at Warrigal
and, it may be, have wrangled about it for half an hour. Finn's
dignity would not permit of this, but he was hurt, and decided that
his spouse needed a lesson in courtesy. Since she responded so
rudely to his invitation to join him in the hunt, she might go
supperless for him; he would eat where he killed, and bring home
nothing.

Finn killed a half-grown kangaroo, a lusty red-coated youngster,
that night, and he, with Black-tip and two or three others of the
pack, fed full upon this before going down to the creek together to
drink. Finn even spent an hour in trifling with a pair of sister
dingoes who generally hunted together, and ranged the trails with
Black-tip, in more or less sportive mood, till long after midnight.
In the small hours the Wolfhound parted with Black-tip and the
sportive sisters among the scrub at the mountain's foot, and wended
his way alone to his den on the first spur, prepared, as many a
male human has been in like case, to seek his rest without taking
any notice of his mate, unless, perchance, he found her in a
repentant mood. At the mouth of the cave he stooped low, as he was
bound to do, to gain admittance, and in that moment he was brought
to a halt by a long, angry, threatening snarl from within. Warrigal
was very plainly telling her mate to remain outside, unless he was
looking for trouble. This was unprecedented, and he was a very
angry and outraged Wolfhound, who withdrew slowly with as much
dignity as might be in walking backward with lowered head and
shoulders.

"You will think better of this before morning, my dear!" was the
sort of thought that Finn had in his mind, as he selected a
comfortable sleeping-place in the shadow of a bush some half-dozen
paces away from the mouth of the den. And then, being well fed and
rather tired, he fell into a sound sleep until just after daybreak,
when he woke to the sound of an unfamiliar small cry. With head
slightly on one side and ears cocked sharply, Finn listened. The
small cry was repeated. It certainly was not Warrigal's voice,
though it came from the inside of the den. Also,