I could
say man and tree and cliff and lion and a number of other words in
perfect Caspakian; but such a vocabulary was only tantalizing; it
did not lend itself well to a very general conversation, and the
result was that Ajor would wax so wroth that she would clench her
little fists and beat me on the breast as hard as ever she could,
and then she would sink back laughing as the humor of the situation
captured her.
She was trying to teach me some verbs by going through the actions
herself as she repeated the proper word. We were very much
engrossed--so much so that we were giving no heed to what went on
beyond our cave--when Ajor stopped very suddenly, crying: "Kazor!"
Now she had been trying to teach me that ju meant stop; so when she
cried kazor and at the same time stopped, I thought for a moment
that this was part of my lesson--for the moment I forgot that kazor
means beware. I therefore repeated the word after her; but when
I saw the expression in her eyes as they were directed past me and
saw her point toward the entrance to the cave, I turned quickly--to
see a hideous face at the small aperture leading out into the night.
It was the fierce and snarling countenance of a gigantic bear. I
have hunted silvertips in the White Mountains of Arizona and thought
them quite the largest and most formidable of big game; but from
the appearance of the head of this awful creature I judged that
the largest grizzly I had ever seen would shrink by comparison to
the dimensions of a Newfoundland dog.
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