There was, then, no way to rejoin those left
behind except by doing what he hated to do, by getting
off the trail and jumping into the dreaded snow, thus
giving us the right of way. And when, at last, he did
so, he felt sadly hampered and stopped close to the trail,
looking at us in a frightened and helpless sort of way
while we dashed by.
The next sight, too, impressed me with the degree to
which snow handicaps the animal life of our plains. Not
more than ten feet from the heads of my horses a rabbit
started up. The horses were going at a gallop just then.
There it jumped up, unseen by myself until it moved, ears
high, eyes turned back, and giving a tremendous thump
with its big hind feet before setting out on its wild
and desperate career. We were pretty close on its heels
and going fast. For maybe a quarter of a mile it stayed
in one track, running straight ahead and at the top of
its speed so that it pulled noticeably away. Every hundred
yards or so, however, it would slow down a little, and
its jumps, as it glanced back without turning--by merely
taking a high, flying leap and throwing its head
aloft--would look strangely retarded, as if it were
jumping from a sitting posture or braking with its hind
feet while bending its body backward.
Pages:
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209