Hunting the Lynx 23 



others were above and behind, and the hunt stood in 

 the stream, one hundred feet below. There was wager- 

 ing among the lookers-on as to what she would do, but 

 she quickly decided it. Music reached within ten feet 

 of her short tail, when she turned and came down the 

 face of the cliff like a rubber ball, bounding from rock 

 to rock, and when within a few feet of the bottom 

 with a savage front sprang fairly into the pack and 

 horses. 



It was a brave and clever trick, as a dozen jaws 

 snapped at her, but when she struck the rock she 

 seemed to bound into the air, and dashed among the 

 feet of plunging horses, making a run of perhaps one 

 hundred yards, and when the hunt recovered from its 

 surprise she was sitting in the top of a large oak, her 

 eyes gleaming fire, her short tail twitching, treed, but 

 not caught, and around the trunk gathered the pack 

 baying, filling the air with what were now menacing 

 sounds. The trunk of the tree stood at an angle, and 

 Ranger, an old tree-climber, was presently fifteen feet 

 up and out on a limb, from which he had to be helped 

 down. Some of these dogs were marvellous tree-climb- 

 ers, but even a dog is helpless where he can fall. 



I hauled myself from the saddle into the tree and 

 climbed slowly upward. The lynx did not move until I 

 had reached a point within twenty feet of her, where I 

 sat a moment and looked her over. She was a minia- 

 ture lynx, with small tufted ears, a rich spotted coat, and 

 pronounced reddish " whiskers." The head was large, 



