een for a
cougar who providentially came to the Glimmerglass on a short visit. The
Kitten found his tracks in the snow the very next day, and cautiously
followed them up, limping as he went, to see what the big fellow had
been doing. For a mile or more the large, round, shapeless
footprints--very much like his own, but on a bigger scale--were spaced
so regularly that it was evident the cougar had been simply walking
along at a very leisurely gait, with nothing to disturb his frame of
mind. But after a while the record showed a remarkable change. The
footprints were only a few inches apart, and his cougarship had carried
himself so low that his body had dragged in the snow and left a deep
furrow behind. The Kitten knew what that meant. He had been there
himself, though not after the same kind of prey. And then the trail
stopped entirely, and for a space the snow lay fresh and virgin and
untrodden. But twenty feet away was the spot where the cougar had come
down on all-fours, only to leap forward again like a ricochetting
cannon-ball; and twenty-five feet farther lay the greater part of the
carcass of a deer.

The Kitten stuffed himself as full as he could hold, and then climbed a
tree and watched. About midnight the cougar appeared, and after he had
eaten his fill and gone away again the Kitten slipped down and ate some
more. He was making up for lost time. For four successive nights the
cougar came and feasted on venison, but after that the Kitten never saw
him or heard of him again. There was still a goodly quantity of meat
left, and it seems somewhat curious that he did not return for it, but
he was a stranger in those parts, and it is probable that he went back
to his old haunts, up toward Whitefish Point, perhaps, or the Grand
Sable. Anyhow, it was very nice for the Kitten, for that deer kept him
in provisions until he was able to take up hunting once more.

He had one rather exciting experience during this period. One day, just
as he was finishing a very enjoyable meal of venison tenderloin, he
heard the tramp of snow-shoes on the crust, and in a moment more that
same land-looker came pacing down a section line and halted squarely in
front of him. Now there are trappers who say that a Canada lynx is a
fool and a coward, that he will run from a small dog, and that he makes
his living entirely by preying on animals that are weaker and more
poorly armed than he. I admit, of course, that the majority of lynxes do
not