It knew that it
did not stand a chance of getting even beyond reach of
a club if it ventured out into the deep, loose snow.
There might be dogs ahead, but it had to keep on and take
that risk. I pitied the poor thing, but I did not stop.
I wished for a cross-trail to appear, so it would be
relieved of its panic; and at last there came one, too,
which it promptly took.
And as if to prove still more strikingly how helpless
many of our wild creatures are in deep snow, the third
sight came. We started a prairie chicken next. It had
probably been resting in the snow to the right side of
the trail. It began to run when the horses came close.
And in a sudden panic as it was, it did the most foolish
thing it possibly could do: it struck a line parallel to
the trail. Apparently the soft snow in which it sank
prevented it from taking to its wings. It had them lifted,
but it did not even use them in running as most of the
members of its family will do; it ran in little jumps or
spurts, trying its level best to keep ahead. But the
horses were faster. They caught up with it, passed it.
And slowly I pulled abreast.
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