The lynx bounded after him and the fox whirled again. Again the fox made a stand and the dweller of the spruce twilight circled around him. Again the lynx leaped and was met by the lashing fangs of the slim hunter of mice. The cat leaped back and red drops of blood dotted the snow. Both times his lashing paws had missed the dodging, weaving fox. The fox whirled and ran, this time almost to his thicket. The lynx bounded upon him and he whirled, his brush sweeping across the glistening snow.
The lynx did not strike again. If the snow had been soft and loose he would have been the victor and would have feasted upon the carcass of the tough little fox, because his snowshoe feet would have carried him over the surface while the fox floundered. The hard crust which spelled death for the elk and the deer gave the little fox a surer chance to live. Slowly the fox backed to his den under the bushes. He halted in the opening and crouched there, his muzzle resting on his forepaws, his little eyes flaming.
The lynx cat arched his back and sidled up to the den, spitting and snarling. He halted well out of reach of the flashing attack of the little hunter. He sat down and stared back at the fox. Finally he walked away to a drift. He hoped the fox would venture away from his hole under the bushes. But the fox could see the big fellow seated on the drift. He drowsed, his eyes half closed, waiting for the killer to tire and go his way. Finally the lynx cat got up and padded back into the spruce.
Two eagles came and the great owls beat along the edge of the clearing. The wolf pack raced down along the ridge at dusk, seeking the little stallion. But Midnight and the old buck were safe in their shelters long before dusk. Both remembered the experience of the previous night and left the feed ground early. They bedded down on stomachs only half filled, but they rested better than the killers who could not get even half a meal.
There came days of sunshine and days of storm. When the blizzard came the wind swept the new snow across the hard, smooth surface of the meadow, piling it in the timber or swirling it into the deep canyon.
One cloudy day a lean cougar padded through the spruce at the upper edge of the mesa. He halted and stared out over the sheet of glistening ice. His yellow eyes suddenly flamed with eagerness. He had sighted the timber-line buck and the little stallion. His amber eyes flicked over the old buck and fastened on the colt beside him. His nose jerked and the black tip of his tail twitched. It seemed almost beyond any good luck to find a fat colt and a buck deer together. He had hunted for days and was heading toward the lower country. The only living things he had met were wolves and coyotes as hungry as himself.
The cougar moved to the edge of the woods, his eyes wandering over the snowy expanse. It did not seem possible for the colt to escape him. The little horse had a long way to go to reach cover. The snow was crusted so that the killer could bound over it while the horse would break through and flounder. He located a drift which ran out into the meadow like the fin of a great fish. He would slip out along that fin. He would not need to get close. His eyes roved eagerly over the meadow, seeking to locate any weak point in his plan of attack.
Midnight and the old buck fed steadily, the buck following the trail Midnight had broken. He was about twenty yards back of the little stallion. Midnight pulled a tuft of grass up out of the snow and chewed it eagerly. Swallowing it he ducked his head and nosed about for more. He pulled another mouthful and looked around him. He was fast learning the tricks of the old buck. Look, listen, test the air after every exploration under the crust.
It was the buck who warned him of danger. The monarch snorted loudly and whirled about. The wind had shifted and his keen nose had caught cougar scent. Midnight looked and saw the gaunt killer rising above the drift in a long, high leap. The big cat screamed savagely, angered because he had been discovered before he was ready to attack. Midnight plunged after the old buck. The cougar landed on the hard crust, skidded, then righted himself and bounded again. His leaps were terrific and carried him down quickly on the two struggling and panic-stricken comrades. His ears were flattened and his tail was lashing. His yellow eyes checked the distance he had to cover. His last leap must send him smashing down on the back of the colt. His tawny body shot upward and out in a twenty-foot leap, while his claws unsheathed and he bared his fangs for the death thrust.