So the night wore on, with Kagax killing in every thicket, yet never satisfied with killing.  He thought longingly of the hard winter, when game was scarce, and he had made his way out over the snow to the settlement, and lived among the chicken coops.  “Twenty big hens in one roost—­that was killing,” snarled Kagax savagely, as he strangled two young herons in their nest, while the mother bird went on with her frogging, not ten yards away among the lily pads, and never heard a rustle.

Toward morning he turned homeward, making his way back in a circle along the top of the ridge where his den was, and killing as he went.  He had tasted too much; his feet grew heavier than they had ever been before.  He thought angrily that he would have to sleep another whole day.  And to sleep a whole day, while the wilderness was just beginning to swarm with life, filled Kagax with snarling rage.

A mother hare darted away from her form as the weasel’s wicked eyes looked in upon her.  Kagax killed the little ones and had started after the mother, when a shiver passed over him and he turned back to listen.  He had been moving more slowly of late; several times he had looked behind him with the feeling that he was followed.  He stole back to the hare’s form and lay hidden, watching his back track.  He shivered again.  “If it were not stronger than I, it would not follow my trail,” thought Kagax.  The fear of a hunted thing came upon him.  He remembered the marten’s den, the strangled young ones, the two trails that left the leaning tree.  “They must have turned back long ago,” thought Kagax, and darted away.  His back was cold now, cold as ice.

But his feet grew very heavy ere he reached his den.  A faint light began to show over the mountain across the lake.  Killooleet, the white-throated sparrow, saw it, and his clear morning song tinkled out of the dark underbrush.  Kagax’s eyes glowed red again; he stole toward the sound for a last kill.  Young sparrows’ brains are a dainty dish; he would eat his fill, since he must sleep all day.  He found the nest; he had placed his fore paws against the tree that held it, when he dropped suddenly; the shivers began to course all over him.  Just below, from a stub in a dark thicket, a deep Whooo-hoo-hoo! rolled out over the startled woods.

It was Kookooskoos, the great horned owl, who generally hunts only in the evening twilight, but who, with growing young ones to feed, sometimes uses the morning twilight as well.  Kagax lay still as a stone.  Over him the sparrows, knowing the danger, crouched low in their nest, not daring to move a claw lest the owl should hear.

Behind him the same shadow that had passed over the partridge’s nest looked into the hare’s form with fierce red eyes.  It followed Kagax’s trail over that of the mother hare, turned back, sniffed the earth, and came hurrying silently along the ridge.

[Illustration:  Kookooskoos]