CHAPTER XIV 
THE MOUNTAIN LION 
AISING my eyes for an instant from 
the antics of a woodchuck, they caught 
a movement of the tall grass caused by 
a crawling animal. This presently showed it- 
self to be a mountain lion. He was slipping 
up on a mare and colt on the opposite edge of the 
meadow. The easy air that was blowing across 
my face—from horse to lion—had not carried a 
warning of my presence to either of them. 
I was in Big Elk Park, seated on a rock pile, 
and was nearly concealed by drooping tree 
limbs. Behind me rose the forested Twin 
Peaks, and before me a ragged-edged mountain 
meadow lay in the forest; and across this 
meadow the lion crawled. 
The colt kicked up its heels as it ran merry 
circles round its mother. This beautiful bay 
mare, like her colt, was born in unfenced scenes 
and had never felt the hand of man. She had 
marked capability and the keenness exacted 
by wilderness environment. 
I watched the bending grass as the lion crept 
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