Here was no
opponent; but a mere item of prey. And, with fury, stirred
long-unsatisfied hunger; the famine hunger of mid-winter which
makes the folk of the wilderness risk capture or death by raiding
guarded hencoops.
Out from the crevice stole the wildcat. Its ears were flattened
close to its evil head. Its yellow eyes were mere slits of fire.
Its claws unsheathed themselves from the furry pads,--long,
hooked claws, capable of disemboweling a grown deer at one
sabre-stroke of the muscular hindlegs. Into the rubble and litter
of the ledge the claws sank, and receded, in rhythmic motion.
The compact yellow body tightened into a ball. The back quivered.
The feet braced themselves. The cat was gauging its distance and
making ready for a murder-spring. Cyril, his head turned the
other way, was still peering up along the cliff-edge for sight of
Lad.
This was what Lad's scent and hearing,--and perhaps something
else,--had warned him of, in that instant of the wind's eddying
shift. And this was the scene he looked down upon, now, from the
ravine-lip, five feet above.
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