8. The Strong Survive
When the little black stallion came out of his shelter the morning after the wolf raid the sun was shining on the glare of ice which covered the meadow. The old timber-line buck was plunging toward the feed ground. Midnight whinnied eagerly for his mother and shook his head impatiently. He was hungry and wanted her badly. When he got no answer he moved down the ledge trail. At the spot where the wolves had attacked him he halted and sniffed the snow, blowing loudly, pawing the ground angrily.
He moved out across the meadow. The old buck lifted his head from a hole in the snow and stared at him. Midnight whinnied again. He was glad to see the buck calmly feeding. It drove away some of the fear that he felt because he could not see his mother. The buck dropped his head to feed. Midnight walked to the place where the snow was spattered with blood. He sniffed and shied back. Standing with legs apart and head bent forward, he looked at the frost-coated pile of bones lying in the trampled snow. Breaking a trail around the spot he moved close to the monarch and began breaking the crusted snow. The buck let him feed close to his side but when the little horse would have shouldered against him he jerked up his head and snorted. He shook his bony lances threateningly and Midnight backed away.
Midnight set to work pawing, breaking the crust and scooping the loose snow aside. He worked steadily all through the day, pausing at intervals to call for his mother. Two lean coyotes came out of the spruce and slipped across the meadow. A little fox thrust his sleek head out of a thicket which had been swept clear of snow. He wrinkled his nose as he crept forward. His furry, red brush waved back and fourth. Hunger had driven the three hunters into the open in the white light of day, hunger and the smell of fresh meat. The coyotes poked among the bones gnawing and snarling. The little fox sat down to watch and to wait. He was sure there would be a few bits of gristle left for him.
Midnight snorted and shook his head at the coyotes. He pawed into the drift savagely, then rushed at the coyotes as far as his trail went. The coyotes leaped back from the carcass and faced him snarling and snapping. Midnight stared at them for a long time, then turned and went back to his feeding. He was learning the lessons of the wild.
A lynx cat with tufted ears and big furry pads on his feet thrust his head from behind a drift. He, too, had forsaken the twilight of the spruce country, which was his natural home. He blinked his eyes before the glare of the sun and stared at the pair of coyotes and the little fox. His nose twitched hungrily. He seldom ventured far from the green dusk of the forest but he had eaten only one small morsel in two days, a field mouse dug from the roots of a dead aspen tree. His green eyes fixed on the little fox and he shifted his padded feet nervously. He had feasted on fox before and the stringy meat was to his liking.
At the same moment the fox’s sharp eyes and pointed nose discovered the lynx cat. Turning, the sly one raced over the crust toward his burrow in the thicket. The lynx cat bounded over the snow, cutting across to head the fox away from his hole. The little fox ran swiftly but he had a greater distance to go. The cat closed in swiftly and the fox whirled to face him. The lynx arched his back and circled slowly around his intended victim. He knew the fox had deadly fangs and that he would use them. The sly one was shy and timid but he could fight when cornered. The air was filled with the yowling and spitting of the lynx and the snarling of the fox. Both coyotes sat up and watched. Midnight and the big buck jerked up their heads and stared at the battlers. The old buck sniffed the cat scent and made off along his trail to the timber. Midnight stood still. He was afraid but did not know what to do.
The big lynx cat circled a second time. He was cautious even though he was desperately hungry. With a lightning movement he leaped at the fox, who was crouched down with his chest on the snow. The fox leaped to meet him and slashed at him savagely. A big tuft of hair from the cat’s neck scruff sailed high and floated to the snow. The cat backed away spitting, his big feet planted wide apart.
When the lynx leaped back the little fox whirled and raced for the timber. He had tricked the cat and his red tongue lolled out over his white teeth very much as though he was laughing at his clumsy antagonist.