An afternoon came when she had need for her vigilance. From a high perch on a red rim a lank cougar sighted the mare and her colt. He was lying on a narrow shelf where the warm sun beat down on his sleek hide as he drowsed. Through slitted eyes he watched Lady Ebony and Midnight feeding below his lofty perch. There was no flesh he prized more highly than young colt. He twitched the black tip of his tail and unsheathed his sharp claws, but he did not move. Slow, sure, and patient methods were those of the yellow killer. Once he had waited on a ledge for four days in order to make a kill, a scrawny colt from a wild band. The colt in the meadow below would be easier prey because there was cover close to the tall grass. The king cat lay watching until late afternoon. He yawned many times and his red tongue arched between his long fangs as he opened his mouth. As long shadows began to creep out from the canyon walls he yawned again, a stretching yawn, then got slowly to his feet. He tested the wind and looked up and down the wall. Lank, sag-backed, with high shoulders and high, projecting hipbones, he was a killer to be feared even by a grown horse. The cougar slid down among the big rocks piled at the base of the walls. He moved on great padded feet without sound. Halting beside a rock almost the same color as his tawny robe he stood for a long time staring through the evening light on the pair below. Midnight was having his supper. He was feeding hungrily, butting his mother’s side, twitching his tail. The cougar stood, silent and unmoving, except for the tip of his tail which snapped back and forth nervously. His nine feet of stringy muscle and furry tail blended with the great rock beside him. He appeared not to be giving much attention to the scene below him. Really he was surveying the ground he had selected as a hunting spot and was missing no detail. He could creep out on the windward side of the mare where a clump of buckbrush grew. From there he would have two mighty leaps to make. He would wait until the colt had moved away from his mother’s side. Perhaps the youngster would wander close to the buckbrush. His black whiskers jerked and his yellow eyes flamed through slitted lids. Softly, silently he skirted the piled-up rocks and slid into the timber to windward of the feeding horses. Like a tawny shadow he passed from one bit of cover to the next, his lank belly close to the ground. He often halted his unhurried descent to stand staring down on his victim. On reaching the last of the cover he flattened his belly to the ground and crept forward through the tall grass. He kept moving, slowly, noiselessly, until he lay behind the clump of buckbrush. There he lifted his head and stared out through the green leaves.