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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
98
A
Frog
was
all
she
caught
that
day.
On
the
next,
as
she
ranged
the
farthest
woods
in
a
long,
hard
hunt,
she
heard
a
singular
calling
voice.
It
was
new
to
her.
She
approached
it
cautiously,
up
wind,
got
many
new
odors
and
some
more
strange
sounds
in
coming.
The
loud,
clear,
rolling
call
was
repeated
as
the
mother
Lynx
came
to
an
opening
in
the
forest.
In
the
middle
of
it
were
two
enormous
muskrat
or
beaver-houses,
far
bigger
than
the
biggest
she
ever
before
had
seen.
They
were
made
partly
of
logs
and
situated,
not
in
a
pond,
but
on
a
dry
knoll.
Walking
about
them
were
a
number
of
Partridges,
that
is,
birds
like
Partridges,
only
larger
and
of
various
colors,
red,
yellow,
and
white.
She
quivered
with
the
excitement
that
in
a
man
would
have
been
called
buck-fever.
Food--food--abundance
of
food,
and
the
old
huntress
sank
to
earth.
Her
breast
was
on
the
ground,
her
elbows
above
her
back,
as
she
made
stalk,
her
shrewdest,
subtlest
stalk;
one
of
those
Partridges
she
must
have
at
any
price;
no
trick
now
must
go
untried,
no
error
in
this
hunt;
if
it
took
hours--all
day--she
must
approach
with
certainty
to
win
before
the
quarry
took
to
flight.
Only
a
few
bounds
it
was
from
wood
shelter
to
the
great
rat-house,
but
she
was
an
hour
in
crawling
that
small
space.
From
stump
to
brush,
from
log
to
bunch
of
grass
she
sneaked,
a
flattened
form,
and
the
Partridges
saw
her
not.
They
fed
about,
the
biggest
uttering
the
ringing
call
that
first
had
fallen
on
her
ear.
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