His tracks showed that he had been
traveling with difficulty on three legs. Here was a place where he had
stood to listen; and there was another place where even untrained eyes
might see that he had plunged forward with a start of fear. It was a
silent story, but full of eager interest in every detail.
The lucivee tracks now showed different tactics. They crossed and
crisscrossed the trail, appearing now in front, now behind, now on
either side the wounded bull, evidently closing in upon him warily.
Here and there was a depression in the snow where one had crouched,
growling, as the game passed. Then the struggle began. First, there
was a trampled place in the snow where the bull had taken a stand and
the big cats went creeping about him, waiting for a chance to
spring all together. He broke away from that, but the three-legged
gallop speedily exhausted him. Only when he trots is a caribou
tireless. The lynxes followed the deadly cat-play began again. First
one, then another leaped, only to be shaken off; then two, then all
five were upon the poor brute, which still struggled forward.
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