It was the fact that Neewa made no sound, that no cry came from him, that brought Miki to his feet with his lips drawn back and a snarl in his throat.  All at once fear went out of him and in its place came a wild and almost joyous exultation.  He recognized their enemy—­A bird.  To him birds were a prey, and not a menace.  A dozen times in their journey down from the Upper Country Challoner had shot big Canada geese and huge-winged cranes.  Miki had eaten their flesh.  Twice he had pursued wounded cranes, yapping at the top of his voice, and they had run from him.  He did not bark or yelp now.  Like a flash he launched himself into the feathered mass of the owl.  His fourteen pounds of flesh and bone landed with the force of a stone, and Oohoomisew was torn from his hold and flung with a great flutter of wings upon his side.

Before he could recover his balance Miki was at him again, striking full at his head, where he had struck at the wounded crane.  Oohoomisew went flat on his back—­and for the first time Miki let out of his throat a series of savage and snarling yelps.  It was a new sound to Oohoomisew and his blood-thirsty brethren watching the struggle from out of the gloom.  The snapping beaks drifted farther away, and Oohoomisew, with a, sudden sweep of wings, vaulted into the air.

With his big forefeet planted firmly and his snarling face turned up to the black wall of the tree-tops Miki continued to bark and howl defiantly.  He wanted the bird to come back.  He wanted to tear and rip at its feathers, and as he sent out his frantic challenge Neewa rolled over, got on his feet, and with a warning squeal to Miki once more set off in flight.  If Miki was ignorant in the matter, he at least understood the situation.  Again it was the instinct born of countless generations.  He knew that in the black pits about them hovered death—­and he ran as he had never run before in his life.  As Miki followed, the shadows were beginning to float nearer again.

Ahead of them they saw a glimmer of sunshine.  The trees grew taller, and soon the day began breaking through so that there were no longer the cavernous hollows of gloom about them.  If they had gone on another hundred yards they would have come to the edge of the big plain, the hunting grounds of the owls.  But the flame of self-preservation was hot in Neewa’s head; he was still dazed by the thunderous beat of wings; his sides burned where Oohoomisew’s talons had scarred his flesh; so, when he saw in his path a tangled windfall of tree trunks he dived into the security of it so swiftly that for a moment or two Miki wondered where he had gone.