Little Warhorse 
inches higher; then letting out a loud churrr- 
churrr, his best attempt at a roar, he sprang 
five feet forward and landed on the Cat’s head, 
driving in his sharp hind nails, and the old Tom 
fled in terror from the weird two-legged giant. 
This trick he had tried several times with suc- 
cess, but twice it turned out a sad failure: 
once, when the Cat proved to be a mother 
whose Kittens were near; then Jack Warhorse 
had to flee for his life; and the other time was 
when he made the mistake of landing hard on 
a Skunk. 
But the Greyhound was the dangerous 
enemy, and in him the Warhorse might have 
found his fate, but for a curious adventure with 
a happy ending for Jack. 
He fed by night; there were fewer enemies 
about then, and it was easier to hide; but one 
day at dawn in winter he had lingered long at 
an alfalfa stack and was crossing the open 
snow toward his favorite form, when, as ill-luck 
would have it, he met the Greyhound prowling 
outside the town. With open snow and grow- 
ing daylight there was no chance to hide, 
nothing but a run in the open with soft snow 
209 
