Seeing me they drew farther back into the
den, and I saw nothing more of them save now and then their round
heads, or the fire in their yellow eyes.
It was too late for further observation that day. The fierce old
mother lynx would presently be back; they would let her know of the
intruder in some way; and they would all keep close in the den. I
found a place, some dozen yards above, where it would be possible to
watch them, marked the spot by a blasted stub, to which I made a
compass of broken twigs; and then went back to camp.
Next morning I omitted the early fishing, and was back at the place
before the sun looked over the ridge. Their den was all quiet, in deep
shadow. Mother Lynx was still away on the early hunting. I intended to
kill her when she came back. My rifle lay ready across my knees. Then
I would watch the kittens a little while, and kill them also. I wanted
their skins, all soft and fine with their first fur. And they were too
big and fierce to think of taking them alive. My vacation was over.
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