Clearwater Republican. [volume] (Orofino, Idaho) 1912-1922, 1921-11-04
CHAPTER l-Continued.

For when all thugs are said and
done, there were few bigger towards
In the whole wilderness world than
Whisperfoot. A good many people
think that Graycoat the coyote
could take lessons from him In this
respect. But others, knowing how a
hunter Is brought in occasionally with
almost all human resemblance gone
from him because a cougar charged In
his death agony, think this is unfair
to the larger animal. And 1t Is true
that a f~ull-grown cougar will some
times attack horned cattle. something
that no American animal cares to do
unless he wants a good fight on his
paws and of which the very thought
would throw Graycoat into a spasm !;
and there have been even stranger
stories, II one could quite believe
them. A certain measure of respect
must be extended to any animal that
will hunt the great bull elk, for to
miss the stroke and get caught be-
meath the churning, flashing. slashing,
razor-edged front hoofs is simply
death. painful and without delay. But
the difficulty lies in the fact that these
things are not done in the ordinary,
rational blood Of hunting. What an
animal does in it's death agony, or to
protect its young, what great game 1t
follows in the starving times of win
ter, can be put to neither it's debit
nor its credit. A coyote will charge
when mad. A raccoon will put up a
wicked fight when cornered. A hen
will peck at the hand that robs her
nest. When hunting was fairly good,
Whisperfoot avoided the elk and steer
almost as punctiliously as he avoided
men, which Is saying very much in
deed; and my kind of terrier could
usually drive him straight up a tree.
But he did like to pretend to be
very great and terrible among the
smaller forest creatures. And he was
Fear itself to the deer. A human
hunter who would kill two deer a
week for flfty-two weeks would be
called a much uglier name than poach-
err; but yet this had been Whisper
foot's record, on and of, ever since
his second year. Many a great buck
wore the scar of the full stroke-aft.
er which Whisperfoot had lost his
hold. Many a fawn had crouched
painting with terror In the thickets AT
lust a tawny light on the gnarled limb
of a pine. Many a doe would grow
great-eyed and terrified at just his
strange, pungent smell on the wind.
He yawned again. and his fnngs
looked white and abnormally large In
the moonlight. His great. green eyes
were still clouded and dangerous
from sleep. Then he began to steal
up the ridge toward his hunting
grounds. 1t was a curious thing that
he walked straight In the face of the
soft wind that came down from the
snow fields, and vet there wasn't a
~weatherc0ck to be seen anywhere. And
neither had the chipmunk seen him
wet a paw and hold 1t up, after the
approved fashion of holding up a fin
ger. He had a better way of knowing
Ia chill Mt the end Of his whiskers.
The little. breathless night sounds
in the brush around him seemed tc
madden him. They made a song tC
him, a strange, wild melody that aver
such frontiersmen as Dan and Len,
nox could not experience. A thousand
smells brushed down to him on the
wind, more potent than any wine OF
lust. He began to tremble all ovel
with rapture and excitement. But un.
like Cranston's trembling, no wilder
ness ear raj keen enough to hear the
leaves rustling beneath him.