Gray Wolf licked it sympathetically, while Kazan stood rigid and listening.
The fox swung swiftly away with the wind, warned by the sounds of conflict.

He was not a fighter, but a murderer who killed from behind, and a little later he leaped upon an owl and tore it into bits for the half-pound of flesh within the mass of feathers.
But nothing could drive back those little white outlaws of the wilderness--the ermine.

They would have stolen between the feet of man to get at the warm flesh and blood of the freshly killed bull.

Kazan hunted them savagely.

They were too quick for him, more like elusive flashes in the moonlight than things of life.