He found where the cougar had struck his game, had clung for many rods, to be dashed off by the low limb of a spruce tree.

The imprint of the body of the cougar was a foot deep in the snow; blood and tufts of hair covered the place.

But there was no sign of the cougar renewing the chase.
In rare cases cougars would refuse to run, or take to trees.

One day Jones followed the hounds, eight in number, to come on a huge Tom holding the whole pack at bay.

He walked to and fro, lashing his tail from side to side, and when Jones dashed up, he coolly climbed a tree.
Jones shot the cougar, which, in falling, struck one of the hounds, crippling him.