He wanted to whimper, but he was afraid.

And if he had ever wanted his mother at any time in his short life he wanted her now.

He could not understand why she had left him among the rocks and had never come back; that tragedy Langdon and Bruce were to discover a little later.

And he could not understand why she did not come to him now.

This was just about his nursing hour before going to sleep for the night, for he was a March cub, and, according to the most approved mother-bear regulations, should have had milk for another month.
He was what Metoosin, the Indian, would have called _munookow_--that is, he was very soft.