Knowing that once more it was safe to prowl, for the owl would not hunt until it was again hungry, Frosty knew also that he must have something to quiet his own raging hunger. But if he hunted frantically or hastily, he would frighten his prey instead of catching it. Returning to the mouse's den he had watched last night, he settled himself down to wait. . . . Two hours later, the mouse poked a cautious nose out, then came all the way from its burrow. Frosty pounced and pinned his prey.
The mouse was a mere tidbit, but it eased the sharpest hunger pangs. Frosty sought another burrow. He caught nothing, and again with dawn he sought out the owl. It had gone back to the tamarack and was almost hidden by the tree's foliage. Following its customary routine, it went forth at dusk to catch another muskrat, then winged into the dead tree.
In the hope that the owl might have dropped some part of its meal, Frosty nosed beneath the tamarack. He found only furry pellets; such parts as the owl hadn't eaten were cached in the tamarack's upper branches and Frosty did not dare climb the tree because the dead stub in which the owl perched was too near. Desperately, the kitten sought out another mouse's burrow, but when he found one, he shed his desperation and gave way to patience. He caught and ate the mouse.
Seeking another burrow, he was thwarted when the gentle wind that always murmured over the swamp became a stiff breeze. He could not possibly hold still, for the wind ruffled his fur and the mouse knew he waited.
Frosty prowled after daybreak. He knew he was taking a chance, but it was not a great one, for so far the owl had hunted only at twilight. When a crow cawed, the kitten swung at once toward the sound. The crow was across the slough and thus out of reach, but perhaps it would come nearer and it offered the only present chance to get food.
Coming out on that quiet part of the slough where he had seen the log, Frosty discovered that last night's stiff wind had moved it. Now, instead of lying against the bank, it angled out into the water, with its nearer end only two feet away and its farther against the opposite bank. Seeing opportunity, Frosty seized it.
He sprang, landed on the log, ran swiftly across and leaped into tall swamp grass on the other side. Crossing the log had been a very dangerous moment for he was completely exposed while doing so. Now he was safe, and since peril was behind him, it could be forgotten. Frosty resumed stalking the crow.
He found it beside a branch of the slough, pecking at a small dead fish that had washed up there and calling at intervals. Frosty slunk through some tall grass and came to a place where foliage grew only in scattered places. He stopped to study the situation.
When the crow lowered its head to peck at the fish, he glided swiftly forward and hid behind a tuft of grass. He waited quietly when the bird looked around and glided to another tuft when it resumed feeding. Suddenly the crow saw him.
With a startled squawk, it beat frantically into the air, struggled to gain altitude and cawed derisively after it had done so. Frosty ran forward to get what was left of the little fish and the crow jeered at him again.