He could hear the great cat scrambling after him at a terrific pace. But he was going too fast to try any dodges, for one stumble and the other would be upon him. If it had been Mother Red Fox, she could have laughed at her pursuer. But Frisky was only a pup, remember, and his short legs had all they could do to keep ahead of such a big fellow.
Just as he was beginning to wonder how long this would keep up, he recalled something else his mother had taught him. Lynxes cannot swim. At least, they won’t. The river was just off to the left, and with a quick turn and a sidewise leap that might or might not throw the Old Man off his scent, he dashed for the water.
On the very brink of the moonlit current, he suddenly remembered one thing more. The last time he had tried that swim he had let his tail get so wet and heavy that he had only reached the other bank by hanging on to his father’s brush. Now there was no one to tow him. Should he risk it, or was he safer where he was?
To cross or not to cross, that was the question before him.
If he trusted his fate to the current, he might drown. And if he remained on the same side with Old Man Lynx, he might meet another fate.
There was but a heart’s beat to decide.
Ah! What was that dark object just upstream? Could it be a log? What luck! Frisky veered to the right, his long agile leaps once more outdistancing the merciless form behind him.
He reached the log. Alas, it reached only half way across! But he raced that half. Then one of his powerful forward leaps and he had landed within easy swimming distance of the other shore!
Old Man Lynx stood raging on the bank he had left, afraid to risk it. His disappointed screech sent shivers along Frisky’s spine, but he knew he was safe.
Pup-like, no sooner was his mind relieved of worry than he burrowed into an old gopher hole and fell fast asleep.