In the stillness of night there rose a still greater thunder of wings,
and for a few moments Baree closed his eyes to keep from being blinded
by Oohoomisew's furious blows. But he hung on grimly, and as his teeth
met through the flesh of the old night-pirate's leg, his angry snarl
carried defiance to Oohoomisew's ears. Rare good fortune had given him
that grip on the leg, and Baree knew that triumph or defeat depended on
his ability to hold it. The old owl had no other claw to sink into him,
and it was impossible--caught as he was--for him to tear at Baree with
his beak. So he continued to beat that thunder of blows with his
four-foot wings.

The wings made a great tumult about Baree, but they did not hurt him.
He buried his fangs deeper. His snarls rose more fiercely as he got the
taste of Oohoomisew's blood, and through him there surged more hotly
the desire to kill this monster of the night, as though in the death of
this creature he had the opportunity of avenging himself for all the
hurts and hardships that had befallen him since he had lost his mother.

Oohoomisew had never felt a great fear until now. The lynx had snapped
at him but once--and was gone, leaving him crippled. But the lynx had
not snarled in that wolfish way, and it had not hung on. A thousand and
one nights Oohoomisew had listened to the wolf howl. Instinct had told
him what it meant. He had seen the packs pass swiftly through the
night, and always when they passed he had kept in the deepest shadows.
To him, as for all other wild things, the wolf howl stood for death.
But until now, with Baree's fangs buried in his leg, he had never
sensed fully the wolf fear. It had taken it years to enter into his
slow, stupid head--but now that it was there, it possessed him as no
other thing had ever possessed him in all his life.