paws. He sank his tiny teeth into one of the wings and pulled and tugged



sturdily. The ptarmigan struggled against him, showering blows upon him



with her free wing. It was his first battle. He was elated. He forgot all



about the unknown. He no longer was afraid of anything. He was fighting,



tearing at a live thing that was striking at him. Also, this live thing was



meat. The lust to kill was on him. He had just destroyed little live things.



He would now destroy a big live thing. He was too busy and happy to



know that he was happy. He was thrilling and exulting in ways new to him



and greater to him than any he had known before.



He held on to the wing and growled between his tight-clenched teeth.



The ptarmigan dragged him out of the bush. When she turned and tried to



drag him back into the bush's shelter, he pulled her away from it and on



into the open. And all the time she was making outcry and striking with



her free wing, while feathers were flying like a snow-fall. The pitch to



which he was aroused was tremendous. All the fighting blood of his breed



was up in him and surging through him. This was living, though he did not



know it. He was realising his own meaning in the world; he was doing that



for which he was made - killing meat and battling to kill it. He was



justifying his existence, than which life can do no greater; for life achieves



its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.



After a time, the ptarmigan ceased her struggling. He still held her by



the wing, and they lay on the ground and looked at each other. He tried to



growl threateningly, ferociously. She pecked on his nose, which by now,



what of previous adventures was sore. He winced but held on. She pecked



him again and again. From wincing he went to whimpering. He tried to



back away from her, oblivious to the fact that by his hold on her he



dragged her after him. A rain of pecks fell on his ill-used nose. The flood



of fight ebbed down in him, and, releasing his prey, he turned tail and



scampered on across the open in inglorious retreat.



He lay down to rest on the other side of the open, near the edge of the



bushes, his tongue lolling out, his chest heaving and panting, his nose still



hurting him and causing him to continue his whimper. But as he lay there,



suddenly there came to him a feeling as of something terrible impending.



The unknown with all its terrors rushed upon him, and he shrank back



instinctively into the shelter of the bush. As he did so, a draught of air



fanned him, and a large, winged body swept ominously and silently past.



A hawk, driving down out of the blue, had barely missed him.



While he lay in the bush, recovering from his fright and peering



fearfully out, the mother-ptarmigan on the other side of the open space



fluttered out of the ravaged nest. It was because of her loss that she paid



no attention to the winged bolt of the sky. But the cub saw, and it was a



warning and a lesson to him - the swift downward swoop of the hawk, the



short skim of its body just above the ground, the strike of its talons in the



body of the ptarmigan, the ptarmigan's squawk of agony and fright, and



the hawk's rush upward into the blue, carrying the ptarmigan away with it,



It was a long time before the cub left its shelter. He had learned much.



Live things were meat. They were good to eat. Also, live things when they



were large enough, could give hurt. It was better to eat small live things



like ptarmigan chicks, and to let alone large live things like ptarmigan



hens. Nevertheless he felt a little prick of ambition, a sneaking desire to



have another battle with that ptarmigan hen - only the hawk had carried



her away. May be there were other ptarmigan hens. He would go and see.



He came down a shelving bank to the stream. He had never seen water



before. The footing looked good. There were no inequalities of surface. He



stepped boldly out on it; and went down, crying with fear, into the



embrace of the unknown. It was cold, and he gasped, breathing quickly.



The water rushed into his lungs instead of the air that had always



accompanied his act of breathing. The suffocation he experienced was like



the pang of death. To him it signified death. He had no conscious



knowledge of death, but like every animal of the Wild, he possessed the



instinct of death. To him it stood as the greatest of hurts. It was the very



essence of the unknown; it was the sum of the terrors of the unknown, the



one culminating and unthinkable catastrophe that could happen to him,



about which he knew nothing and about which he feared everything.



He came to the surface, and the sweet air rushed into his open mouth.



He did not go down again. Quite as though it had been a long-established



custom of his he struck out with all his legs and began to swim. The near



bank was a yard away; but he had come up with his back to it, and the first



thing his eyes rested upon was the opposite bank, toward which he



immediately began to swim. The stream was a small one, but in the pool it



widened out to a score of feet.



Midway in the passage, the current picked up the cub and swept him



downstream. He was caught in the miniature rapid at the bottom of the



pool. Here was little chance for swimming. The quiet water had become



suddenly angry. Sometimes he was under, sometimes on top. At all times



he was in violent motion, now being turned over or around, and again,



being smashed against a rock. And with every rock he struck, he yelped.



His progress was a series of yelps, from which might have been adduced



the number of rocks he encountered.



Below the rapid was a second pool, and here, captured by the eddy, he



was gently borne to the bank, and as gently deposited on a bed of gravel.



He crawled frantically clear of the water and lay down. He had learned



some more about the world. Water was not alive. Yet it moved. Also, it



looked as solid as the earth, but was without any solidity at all. His



conclusion was that things were not always what they appeared to be. The



cub's fear of the unknown was an inherited distrust, and it had now been



strengthened by experience. Thenceforth, in the nature of things, he would



possess an abiding distrust of appearances. He would have to learn the



reality of a thing before he could put his faith into it.



One other adventure was destined for him that day. He had recollected



that there was such a thing in the world as his mother. And then there came



to him a feeling that he wanted her more than all the rest of the things in



the world. Not only was his body tired with the adventures it had



undergone, but his little brain was equally tired. In all the days he had



lived it had not worked so hard as on this one day. Furthermore, he was



sleepy. So he started out to look for the cave and his mother, feeling at the



same time an overwhelming rush of loneliness and helplessness.



He was sprawling along between some bushes, when he heard a sharp



intimidating cry. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes. He saw a



weasel leaping swiftly away from him. It was a small live thing, and he



had no fear. Then, before him, at his feet, he saw an extremely small live



thing, only several inches long, a young weasel, that, like himself, had



disobediently gone out adventuring. It tried to retreat before him. He



turned it over with his paw. It made a queer, grating noise. The next



moment the flash of yellow reappeared before his eyes. He heard again the



intimidating cry, and at the same instant received a sharp blow on the side



of the neck and felt the sharp teeth of the mother-weasel cut into his flesh.



While he yelped and ki-yi'd and scrambled backward, he saw the



mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into the



neighbouring thicket. The cut of her teeth in his neck still hurt, but his



feelings were hurt more grievously, and he sat down and weakly



whimpered. This mother-weasel was so small and so savage. He was yet



to learn that for size and weight the weasel was the most ferocious,



vindictive, and terrible of all the killers of the Wild. But a portion of this



knowledge was quickly to be his.



He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. She did



not rush him, now that her young one was safe. She approached more



cautiously, and the cub had full opportunity to observe her lean, snakelike



body, and her head, erect, eager, and snake-like itself. Her sharp, menacing



cry sent the hair bristling along his back, and he snarled warningly at her.



She came closer and closer. There was a leap, swifter than his unpractised



sight, and the lean, yellow body disappeared for a moment out of the field



of his vision. The next moment she was at his throat, her teeth buried in



his hair and flesh.



At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young, and this



was only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a whimper, his



fight a struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed her hold. She hung on,



striving to press down with her teeth to the great vein were his life-blood



bubbled. The weasel was a drinker of blood, and it was ever her preference



to drink from the throat of life itself.



The grey cub would have died, and there would have been no story to



write about him, had not the she-wolf come bounding through the bushes.



The weasel let go the cub and flashed at the she-wolf's throat, missing, but



getting a hold on the jaw instead. The she- wolf flirted her head like the



snap of a whip, breaking the weasel's hold and flinging it high in the air.



And, still in the air, the she-wolf's jaws closed on the lean, yellow body,



and the weasel knew death between the crunching teeth.



The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of his



mother. Her joy at finding him seemed even greater than his joy at being



found. She nozzled him and caressed him and licked the cuts made in him



by the weasel's teeth. Then, between them, mother and cub, they ate the



blood-drinker, and after that went back to the cave and slept.

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