The fact that Oohoomisew, the big snow owl, had made her nest in a broken stub not far from the windfall was destined to change the whole course of Baree’s life, just as the blinding of Gray Wolf had changed hers, and a man’s club had changed Kazan’s.  The creek ran close past the stub, which had been shriven by lightning; and this stub stood in a still, dark place in the forest, surrounded by tall, black spruce and enveloped in gloom even in broad day.  Many times Baree had gone to the edge of this mysterious part of the forest and had peered in curiously, and with a growing desire.

On this day of his great battle its lure was overpowering.  Little by little he entered into it, his eyes shining brightly and his ears alert for the slightest sounds that might come out of it.  His heart beat faster.  The gloom enveloped him more.  He forgot the windfall and Kazan and Gray Wolf.  Here before him lay the thrill of adventure.  He heard strange sounds, but very soft sounds, as if made by padded feet and downy wings, and they filled him with a thrilling expectancy.  Under his feet there were no grass or weeds or flowers, but a wonderful brown carpet of soft evergreen needles.  They felt good to his feet, and were so velvety that he could not hear his own movement.

He was fully three hundred yards from the windfall when he passed Oohoomisew’s stub and into a thick growth of young balsams.  And there—­directly in his path—­crouched the monster!

Papayuchisew [Young Owl] was not more than a third as large as Baree.  But he was a terrifying-looking object.  To Baree he seemed all head and eyes.  He could see no body at all.  Kazan had never brought in anything like this, and for a full half-minute he remained very quiet, eying it speculatively.  Papayuchisew did not move a feather.  But as Baree advanced, a cautious step at a time, the bird’s eyes grew bigger and the feathers about his head ruffled up as if stirred by a puff of wind.  He came of a fighting family, this little Papayuchisew—­a savage, fearless, and killing family—­and even Kazan would have taken note of those ruffling feathers.

With a space of two feet between them, the pup and the owlet eyed each other.  In that moment, if Gray Wolf could have been there, she might have said to Baree:  “Use your legs—­and run!” And Oohoomisew, the old owl, might have said to Papayuchisew:  “You little fool—­use your wings and fly!”

They did neither—­and the fight began.

Papayuchisew started it, and with a single wild yelp Baree went back in a heap, the owlet’s beak fastened like a red-hot vise in the soft flesh at the end of his nose.  That one yelp of surprise and pain was Baree’s first and last cry in the fight.  The wolf surged in him; rage and the desire to kill possessed him.  As Papayuchisew hung on, he made a curious hissing sound; and as Baree rolled and gnashed his teeth and fought to free himself from that amazing grip on his nose, fierce little snarls rose out of his throat.