My breakfast finished, I again set out to see what had become of the
remains of the deer. In two or three places the sharp hoofs had cut lines
in the soft earth, and there were tufts of whitish-gray hair elsewhere. A
hundred yards or more down the hollow I came to a bare spot where recently
there had been a pool of water. Here I found cat tracks as large as my two
hands. I had never seen the track of a mountain-lion, but, all the same, I
knew that this was the real thing. What an enormous brute he must have
been! I cast fearful glances into the surrounding thickets.
It was not needful to travel much farther. Under a bush well hidden in a
clump of trees lay what now remained of my deer. A patch of gray hair, a
few long bones, a split skull, and two long ears--no more! Even the hide was
gone. Perhaps the coyotes had finished the job after the lion had gorged
himself, but I did not think so. It seemed to me that coyotes would have
scattered the remains. Those two long ears somehow seemed pathetic. I
wished for a second that the lion were in range of my rifle.
The lion was driven from my mind when I saw a troop of deer cross a glade
below me. I had to fight myself to keep from shooting. The wind blew rather
strong in my face, which probably accounted for the deer not winding me.
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