And, more than that, he held what he had won, for he broke up a camp
of tenderfeet that were looking for a ranch location on the Middle
Meteetsee; he stampeded their horses, and made general smash of the
camp. And so all the animals, including man, came to know that the
whole range from Frank's Peak to the Shoshone spurs was the proper
domain of a king well able to defend it, and the name of that king was
Meteetsee Wahb.

Any creature whose strength puts him beyond danger of open attack is apt
to lose in cunning. Yet Wahb never forgot his early experience with the
traps. He made it a rule never to go near that smell of man and iron,
and that was the reason that he never again was caught.

So he led his lonely life and slouched around on the mountains, throwing
boulders about like pebbles, and huge trunks like matchwood, as he
sought for his daily food. And every beast of hill and plain soon came
to know and fly in fear of Wahb, the one time hunted, persecuted Cub.
And more than one Blackbear paid with his life for the ill-deed of that
other, long ago. And many a cranky Bobcat flying before him took to a
tree, and if that tree were dead and dry, Wahb heaved it down, and tree
and Cat alike were dashed to bits. Even the proud-necked Stallion,
leader of the mustang band, thought well for once to yield the road. The
great, grey Timberwolves, and the Mountain Lions too, left their new
kill and sneaked in sullen fear aside when Wahb appeared. And if, as he
hulked across the sage-covered river-flat sending the scared Antelope
skimming like birds before him, he was faced perchance, by some burly
Range-bull, too young to be wise and too big to be afraid, Wahb smashed
his skull with one blow of that giant paw, and served him as the Range-
cow would have served himself long years ago.