The latter creatures were not plentiful in the hills now, and the coyotes were so cowardly they would not pull a bull calf down unless it was a cripple—especially when there was plenty of smaller game.
The mountain lion is always hungry; but he does not often come out of the hills save when a herd of cattle is being wintered in some well-watered valley like this in which the chums from Silver Run were encamped. Then the cougar will slink down and lurk on the outskirts of the herd to catch a cow and calf away from the protection of their mates.
“Your maverick struck a fat time in this valley, Dig,” Chet said. “It’s escaped all beasts of prey save man. What are you going to do with it? It’s rather old for veal; but I expect he’d be fair eating—would give us all the steaks we’d need between here and Grub Stake.”
“I reckon not!” exclaimed Digby Fordham. “We’re not going to butcher him.”
“What then?”
“I tell you I’m going to lead him to Grub Stake.”
“Cracky! you’ll surely bite off an awful mouthful to chew,” laughed Chet. “It is a hundred and sixty or seventy miles to Grub Stake, and that maverick will pull back every foot of the way.”
“I don’t care,” said Dig obstinately. “I can sell him if I get him to Grub Stake.”
“Waugh!” said Chet, laughing. “Who do you suppose would want this little, scrawny red-and-white dogy?”
“Don’t call him names, Chet. Poor little fellow,” said Dig. “Wonder if he’d like a leg of this grouse to pick?”