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.