Motionless I stood there, as if transfixed, my bow half drawn, my arrow poised, while for a brief space the lynx stared at the blank wall. Then, as he crouched low as if about to spring, the spell was broken, my fingers released the string, there was a sharp twang, the rustle of the speeding arrow, and the next second the cabin shook as the vicious brute hurled himself against the door with a piercing scream of rage. For an instant I feared the door would give way if the lynx sprang again, and, terror-stricken at the fury I had aroused by my action in firing at him, I grasped my spear and knife, determined to sell my life dearly if the beast gained entrance. But there was no repetition of the attack, and at last, gathering up courage, I again looked forth from my peephole, but no sign of the lynx was to be seen. Still, I was afraid that he might return, and before climbing into my bunk I piled the table, all the fire-wood, the iron pot, and the grindstone against the door.
For a long time I lay awake, listening for some noise which would betray the return of the lynx, but no sound, save the distant bark of a fox and the querulous note of a screech-owl, broke the silence of the winter forest, and finally I fell asleep.
When I again opened my eyes and, glancing about, saw the pile of things against the door, I laughed at my fears of the night, and, jumping out of bed and wrapping myself in my robe, stepped out of doors to see what signs had been left by my midnight visitor.
Evidently the brute had vented his ill-temper on my arrow, for the shaft was broken and bitten to pieces, but the head was uninjured, and as no blood-spots were visible I decided that the lynx had not been hit. The deadfall was still unsprung and the bait within it was untouched. By the distance between his footprints I knew the first blind rage of the lynx had been superseded by terror and that he had used all his speed in getting as far from the cabin as possible.
Upon the door deep, white grooves were cut into the wood where the sharp claws of the lynx had struck and I shuddered to think of the injuries those keen talons could inflict on human flesh. I was thankful indeed that stout wood was between me and the giant cat when he launched himself forward in a frenzy at being disturbed in his prowling.
Judging by the fate of the fisher-cat, I rather expected to find that any game which I had captured had gone to feed the hungry lynx, and in this surmise I was not at fault. Bits of white fur were all that remained of at least two hares, while scattered feathers told the tale of a snared partridge which had also helped to satisfy the lynx’s appetite.
Matters now began to look serious. If the lynx was to rob my traps nightly there was little use in setting them and I would soon be face to face with the problem of killing the lynx or starving. He was evidently too wise to be caught in any trap which I could make, and my only hope lay in securing a supply of game by means of my bow and arrows, or of killing the lynx by the same method.
Fortunately I had quite a supply of frozen meat on hand, which I kept inside the cabin at night after freezing it during the day, and as I had no wish to become a purveyor to the lynx I left my snares unset and returned to the hut prepared to make a new bow.
Now that I was comfortably clothed and housed and could not hope to get out of the woods for a long time, I could devote more skill and time to my bow-making. In the three months which had passed since I made my first bow I had learned a great deal about the forest’s resources, the properties of various woods, and the skilful use of my knife.
Now I determined to make a weapon which would be worth while and I spent several hours searching through the young growth at the edges of the woods and near the lake for a suitable staff from which to make my bow. Finally I found what I sought, a thoroughly seasoned, but sound, pole of hornbeam which was so tough, springy, and hard that I felt confident it would work into a bow of exceptional strength and power.