The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1921-06-09

swiftly, but deer Is light Itself. the
big cat would have preferred to linger.
a motionless thing in the thickets.
hoping some other member OF the deer
herd to which the doe must have be-
longed would come into his ambush.
But the hunt was late, and Whisper
foot was very, very angry. Too many
times this night he had missed his
kill. In desperation, he leaped from
the thicket and charged the deer.
In spite of the preponderant ODDS
against him, the charge was almost
success. He went fully half the dis
lance between them before the deer
perceived him. Then she leaped.
There seemed to be no interlude OF
time between the instant that she be-
held the dim, tawny figure in the air
and that in which her long legs pushed
out in a spring. But she didn't leap
straight ahead. She knew enough OF
the cougars to know that the great
cat would certainly aim for her head
and neck in the same way that duck
hunter leads fast-fying duck-hop-
ing to intercept her leap. Even as her
feet left the ground she seemed to
whirl in the air, and the deadly talons
whipped down in vain. Then, cutting
back in front, she raced down wind.
It is usually the most unmitigated
folly for cougar to chase a deer
against which he has missed his
stroke; and it is also quite fatal to his
dignity. And whoever doubts for
minute that the larger creatures have
no dignity, and that it is not very dear
to them, simply knows nothing about
the ways of animals. They cling to
It to the death. But tonight one dis
appointment after another had crum-
bled, as the rains crumble leaves, the
last vestige of Whisperfoot's self-con-
troll. Snarling in fury, he bounded
after the doe.
She was lost to sight at once in
the darkness, but for fully thirty yards
he raced. in her pursuit. If he had
stopped to think, it would have been
one of the really great surprises Of
his life to hear the sudden, unmis-
taxable stir and movement of large,
living creature not fifteen feet distant
In the thicket.
He didn't stop to think at all. He
didn't puzzle on the extreme unlikeli-
hood of a doe hating in her flight from
a cougar. It is doubtful whether, in
the thickets, he had any perceptions
of the creature other than its move
ments. He was running down wind.
SO it is certain that he didn't smell it.
II he saw it at all. it was just as a
shadow, sufficiently large to be that
of a deer. It was moving, crawling as
Wool the bear sometimes crawled.
seemingly to get out Of his path. And
Whisperfoot leaped straight at it.
It was a perfect shot. He landed
high on its shoulders. His head dashed
down, and the white teeth closed. All
the long life of his race he had known
that pungent essence that flowed forth
His senses perceived it, a message
shot along his nerves to his brain. AND
then he opened his mouth in high
far-carrying squeal Of utter, abject
terror.
He sprang a full fifteen feet bach
into the thickets; then crouched. Tit
hair stood still at his shoulders, hi.
claws were barred; he was prepared
to fight to the death. He didn't under
stand. He only knew the worst singl,
terror of his life. It was not do,
that he had attacked in the darkness
It was not Urson the porcupine. O
even Wool. It was that imperial mas
ter Of all things. man himself. On
knowing, he had attacked Landy Hill
dreth, lying wounded from Cranston'
bullet beside the trail. Word of tn
arson ring would never reach the set
Elements. after all.
And as for Whisperfoot-the terro
that choked his heart with blood be
gan to wear Off In little while. TIL
man lay so still in the thickets. Be
sides. there was strange. wild smel
in the air. Whisperfoot's stroke ha,
gone home so true there had not evel
been fight. The darkness began t
lift around him, and a strange exulta
ton, rapture unknown before in al
his hunting, began to creep into hi
wild blood. Then, as shadow steals
he went creeping back to his dead.
Dan Failing had been studying ma
ture on the high ridges; and he wen
home by back trail that led to oil
Bald mountain. The trail was Jus
a narrow serpent in the brush; an
It had not been made by gangs Q
laborers, working with shovels an
picks. Possibly half a dozen whit
men, in all. had ever walked along Il
It was just the path Of the wild crea
lures, worn down by hoof and pa,
and cushion since the young days 0
the world.
It was a roundabout trail home
but yet it had its advantages. It too
him within two miles Of Snowbird'
lookout station, and at this hour 0
day he had been particularly fortunat
In finding her at a certain spring O
the mountain side. It was rather sir
gular coincidence. Along about fou
he xx,os,1H ,,C,,o11x, RnxJ l~S,~.a1e