The snow
does not drift here, so the deer, by continually moving about,
soon make a network of tracks in all directions, extending them
as they must to seek more food. They may, of course, leave the
yard at any time, but at once they encounter the dreaded obstacle
of deep, soft snow in which they are helpless.
Once they reached the well-worn trails, the hunters took off
their snowshoes and went gently on these deer paths. They saw one
or two disappearing forms, which taught them the thick cover was
hiding many more. They made for the sound of the ravens, and
found that the feast of the sable birds was not a deer but the
bodies of three, quite recently killed.
Quonab made a hasty study of the signs and said, "Panther."
Yes, a panther, cougar, or mountain lion also had found the deer
yard; and here he was living, like a rat in a grocer shop with
nothing to do but help himself whenever he felt like feasting.
Pleasant for the panther, but hard on the deer; for the killer is
wasteful and will often kill for the joy of murder.
Not a quarter of the carcasses lying here did he eat; he was
feeding at least a score of ravens, and maybe foxes, martens, and
lynxes as well.
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