ash of her long-fanged jaws, Maheegun literally tore one of
Newish's great wings from her body. The croak of agony that came out of
her may have held the death-note for Mispoon, her mate; for he rose on
his wings, poised himself for an instant, and launched himself at the
she-wolf's back with a force that drove Maheegun off her feet.

Deep into her loins the great owl sank his talons, gripping at the
renegade's vitals with an avenging and ferocious tenacity. In that hold
Maheegun felt the sting of death. She flung herself on her back; she
rolled over and over, snarling and snapping and clawing the air in her
efforts to free herself of the burning knives that were sinking still
deeper into her bowels. Mispoon hung on, rolling as she rolled, beating
with his giant wings, fastening his talons in that clutch that death
could not shake loose. On the ground his mate was dying. Her life's
blood was pouring out of the hole in her side, but with the dimming
vision of death she made a last effort to help Mispoon. And Mispoon, a
hero to the last, kept his grip until he was dead.

Into the edge of the bush Maheegun dragged herself. There she freed
herself of the big owl. But the deep wounds were still in her sides.
The blood dripped from her belly as she made her way down into the
thicker cover, leaving a red trail behind her. A quarter of a mile away
she lay down under a clump of dwarf spruce; and there, a little later,
she died.

To Neewa and Miki--and especially to the son of Hela--the grim combat
had widened even more that subtle and growing comprehension of the
world as it existed for them. It was the unforgettable wisdom of
experience backed by an age-old instinct and the heredity of breed.
They had killed small things--Neewa, his bugs and his frogs and his
bumble-bees; Miki, his rabbit--they had fought for their lives; they
had passed through experiences that, from the beginning, had been a
gamble with death; but it had needed the climax of a struggle such as
they had seen with their own eyes to open up the doors that gave them a
new viewpoint of life.

It was many minutes before Miki went forth and smelled of Newish, the
dead owl. He had no desire now to tear at her feathers in the
excitement of an infantile triumph and ferocity. Along with greater
understanding a new craft and a new cunning were born in him. The fate
of Mispoon and his mate had taught him the priceless value of silence
and of caution, for he knew now t