The king cat lay watching until late afternoon. He yawned many times and his red tongue arched between his long fangs as he opened his mouth. As long shadows began to creep out from the canyon walls he yawned again, a stretching yawn, then got slowly to his feet. He tested the wind and looked up and down the wall. Lank, sag-backed, with high shoulders and high, projecting hipbones, he was a killer to be feared even by a grown horse.
The cougar slid down among the big rocks piled at the base of the walls. He moved on great padded feet without sound. Halting beside a rock almost the same color as his tawny robe he stood for a long time staring through the evening light on the pair below. Midnight was having his supper. He was feeding hungrily, butting his mother’s side, twitching his tail. The cougar stood, silent and unmoving, except for the tip of his tail which snapped back and forth nervously. His nine feet of stringy muscle and furry tail blended with the great rock beside him.
He appeared not to be giving much attention to the scene below him. Really he was surveying the ground he had selected as a hunting spot and was missing no detail. He could creep out on the windward side of the mare where a clump of buckbrush grew. From there he would have two mighty leaps to make. He would wait until the colt had moved away from his mother’s side. Perhaps the youngster would wander close to the buckbrush. His black whiskers jerked and his yellow eyes flamed through slitted lids. Softly, silently he skirted the piled-up rocks and slid into the timber to windward of the feeding horses. Like a tawny shadow he passed from one bit of cover to the next, his lank belly close to the ground. He often halted his unhurried descent to stand staring down on his victim.
On reaching the last of the cover he flattened his belly to the ground and crept forward through the tall grass. He kept moving, slowly, noiselessly, until he lay behind the clump of buckbrush. There he lifted his head and stared out through the green leaves.
Midnight had finished his supper and was nosing about a few yards from his mother. Lady Ebony had dropped her head and was pulling grass. She turned slowly toward the open meadow, her back toward the killer. She had no thought of danger at the moment. The big cat listened intently. He wanted to be sure the yellowbelly whistlers had all gone in for the night. His head rested on his forepaws. There was no sound except that made by the horses, but he waited, rigid.
The dusk deepened and the big cat stirred. He raised his head and peered out across the grass. And now his eyes were wide open, yellow pools of savage eagerness contrasting with his relaxed body. Midnight was strutting about, sniffing and snorting, humping his back and shaking his head. Lady Ebony was moving steadily away from the clump of buckbrush. The cat’s belly dropped to the grass, his hind legs drew up under him, his head flattened between his massive forepaws. His yellow eyes had located the exact spot where his first leap would land him, a bare spot where the grass was dead. From there he would hurtle upon the unwary colt. He meant to strike the little horse down with a broken neck so that no matter how well the mare might give battle the colt would lie waiting for him when she moved away.
For a moment the great body of the king killer was tense and still, then he leaped, his body arching upward, his great claws reaching out before him. He landed noiselessly on the patch of dead grass and poised there a split second while he drew his legs under him; then he leaped again, rising high, hurling his body toward the colt.
An odd quirk of energy made Midnight jerk up his head. He began bucking and bouncing. That sudden impulse saved him from the smashing blow the cougar intended to land. The yellow killer landed where Midnight had been standing. His scream of blood lust rang out, but his long fangs and ripping claws missed their target. Midnight squealed in terror as he saw the yellow killer clawing and lashing beside him. He plunged toward his mother, and Lady Ebony leaped to his rescue.
She sprang at the enraged lion with uplifted hoofs lashing and flailing. Mother instinct had completely banished her fear of the yellow killer. The cougar reared back and lashed at her but he did not stand his ground. Before her hoofs could smash down on him he leaped back, spitting and snarling. Lady Ebony did not stop her charge. Her slender legs pumped madly. The cougar was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling in the grass. He rolled over, righted himself, then fled before the pounding hoofs of the infuriated mare. Reaching the cottonwood timber he bounded up a tree and lay licking his bruises and spitting angrily.
Lady Ebony charged back to Midnight and shoved him up across the meadow. The cougar leaped down from the tree. Circling, he followed the pair, limping. Blood stained the weeds and tall grass along his trail.