Chapter II: Part 2

“It’s the pack’s hunting cry,” exclaimed Washer. “They’re calling to each other as they close in. Yes, they’ve picked up your scent, White Tail.”

Young Black Buck got so frightened and excited that he leaped around in a circle, uttering plaintive little whimpers. “I’m going to run,” he said, “even if I do nothing but go around and around in circles. I can’t stand still.”

“You’d better save your strength, Young Black Buck,” advised White Tail. “You may need all of it for the race, for it is clear to me that we must trust to our heels to beat them.”

“What’s that?” exclaimed Young Black Buck, as a snarl in the distance alarmed them.

“It’s Puma and his mate creeping up from this direction,” said White Tail more alarmed than ever. “With Puma and his mate in the rear, and Timber’s pack in front and on either side, what chance have we?”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Washer quietly. “I think I can suggest a way. My hole is right on the edge of Black Ravine. I built it there so I could watch the sun rise every morning. It’s a beautiful place, even if I do say so.”

White Tail and Young Black Buck turned to him, and waited impatiently for him to proceed. Washer was aggravatingly slow. They were not a bit interested in the beautiful view he had from his hole.

“Black Ravine drops down fifty feet, and if I should ever forget myself and fall over the edge it would be the last of me,” Washer continued, deliberately picking his teeth with a twig. “Yes, I told Mrs. Washer several times it was a beautiful but dangerous spot to bring up our children. They might tumble into the ravine.”

“Never mind the ravine, Washer,” interrupted White Tail. “You said you had a way for us to escape. Please tell us what it is.”

“I was coming to that. You’re very impatient, White Tail. And the ravine has a good deal to do with my plan. It’s twenty feet across from side to side. Can you jump twenty feet?”

“Why, I don’t know, but maybe if—”

“All right then,” Washer interrupted. “I’ll show you the way to Black Ravine in front of my house. If Puma or Timber pursue you all you got to do is to leap across the ravine. Timber couldn’t follow you, and I don’t think Puma can jump that far. If he couldn’t you’d have a big head start. Puma and Timber would have to go a mile down the ravine before they could cross. It’s wider in front of my house than at the ends.”

Washer’s plan dawned upon their minds in an instant, and both bucks sprang up as if to start for Black Ravine at once.

“We’ll do it!” exclaimed White Tail. “I’ll make the jump if I fall in the ravine. It’s better that way than to be pulled down by Puma or Timber.”

“It’s much better not to fall at all,” was Washer’s quiet remark. “But now don’t get excited, or you’ll jump from the frying-pan into the fire. How do you know if one of Timber’s family isn’t watching the ravine? He may be.”

This suggestion dashed their hopes, and sent the cold chills down their backs. No one could tell where the wolves and pumas were scattered. They were closing in upon them on all sides. They might surprise the cornered bucks before ever they could reach Black Ravine.

“The only way I can suggest,” added Washer, “is for Downy to fly ahead, and report to us where they’re hiding. You could do that, Downy, couldn’t you?”

“Why, certainly. I’d be glad to.”

“Then I wouldn’t waste any time.”

Downy immediately flew away in the direction of Black Ravine, while White Tail and Young Black Buck waited impatiently for his return. It seemed a long, long time to them, and every few moments they could hear the call of Timber and his pack. They were drawing nearer and nearer until finally it seemed as if one was in the bushes not a dozen rods away.

Downy came back finally, and said:

“It’s all right, but you must hurry. They’re closing in so that if you don’t reach Black Ravine soon they’ll head you off. This way! Follow me!”

He flew off to the right, but swift as he was White Tail and Young Buck were hardly a yard behind him. They fairly flew across the ground, leaping low bushes and trees in their flight. Washer, being much slower, decided not to follow. He knew another hole where he could hide until the danger was over.

“Here they come!” screamed Downy suddenly. “Now run for your lives! There’s Black Ravine ahead!”

At the same instant Timber and his pack broke cover, and started for the fleeing bucks in the open. Close on their right was Puma and his mate. They set up a yelping and howling that made the blood of the deer curdle. It had to be a short race, for other wolves ahead threatened to cut them off.

But there was Black Ravine. Neither White Tail nor Young Black Buck knew how wide it was, or whether they could cross it, but when they reached the edge they shot out in one mighty leap and landed on the opposite side. Could Puma follow? In the next story you will find out what he did.

STORY VIII
MRS. PUMA AND TIMBER FIGHT

The leap across Black Ravine carried White Tail and Young Black Buck away from the yapping jaws of Timber Wolf and his pack. Not one of them dared to follow. They could no more do it than fly. They stopped at the edge and howled woefully as they saw their prey escape.

But not Puma the Mountain Lion. He was a wonderful jumper himself and the sight of the escaping bucks made him wild with rage. Besides, he was terribly hungry, and he was disappointed in not catching at least one of the bucks.

When he came to the edge of the ravine he hesitated a minute, snarling, spitting and whisking his long tail. He was so angry that he knocked one of the wolves over when he got in his way. For a moment there was a savage outcry, and Timber threatened to pounce upon Puma’s back; but the fear of his powerful claws dissuaded him.

“Get away from the edge, you snarling, sniveling sons of cowards!” Puma growled. “When did a wolf ever bring down a buck in fair play? You howl and snap, and make a great fuss, but you’re cowards at heart! Let me show you what a Mountain Lion can do. Back! Back from the edge, I say!”

The wolves obeyed, but not without much snapping of teeth and angry growls. Puma walked back a few paces, and turned to face the cliff. Then with a sudden run and spring he took the long leap.

Ordinarily Puma would have hesitated a long time before attempting to jump across Black Ravine, but he was wild with anger and disappointment. Besides, he knew Timber and his pack were watching him, as well as his own mate. He was puffed up with pride to show what he could do.

But, alas! pride had its downfall. Puma had miscalculated the distance. He realized this before he was half across, and to make up for it he began squirming and jerking in mid-air as if that would help him. It did in a way, for cat-like he had the wonderful facility of actually jumping and leaping forward with his feet off the ground.

But it was of no avail. He still lacked sufficient force to carry him to the other side. He stretched one fore-paw far out, hoping to grasp the edge, and it did touch the rock, but it only scratched and scraped it.

When he found himself falling downward, he thrust out the other fore-leg and clawed at the steep side of the cliff. But there was nothing for him to hold to. The rocks were so hard that his claws could get no purchase.

Down he went another yard. The edge of the cliff was over his head, and fifty feet below was the hard bottom of the ravine. A fall there would surely dash out his brains and break every bone in his body.

Twenty feet down, doubling, whirling and screaming, Puma saw a small stunted tree growing from a cleft in the side. He made one mighty lunge for this, and caught it. He landed with a thud against it, and clung to its branches for dear life. He was so shaken by the fall that for a moment he could do nothing but blink and gasp. The tree had scratched him in a dozen places, and the hard rocks bruised and hurt his body. One paw was bleeding, and the other was so sore that he held it up in the air.

Over his head, some twenty feet, was the top of the cliff, with its sides so steep that no Puma could hope to crawl up them. Below was the bottom which seemed equally difficult to reach. Opposite, looking down at him, were Timber and his family.

“What a lucky fall for you, Puma,” jeered Timber. “And what a poor jump! White Tail and Young Black Buck cleared it easily, and you couldn’t cross it! Now, braggart, what are you going to do to get out? You can hang there and rot before I’ll help you! Ho! Ho! You call my tribe cowards! Then I call you and yours dirty braggarts! You couldn’t—”

A rumbling growl at Timber’s left caused him to turn suddenly. Puma’s mate was facing him, with her eyes spitting fire, and her great right claw raised to strike.

“Son of a coward,” she thundered, “how dare you speak that way to one of my family! Puma may be caught down there, but you have me to reckon with!”

Timber immediately saw his mistake. He had forgotten Mrs. Puma, who was almost as ferocious as Puma. She was smaller, but fully as quick and lithe. Timber’s manners immediately changed, and he became as meek and fawning as he was before threatening and defiant.

“I didn’t refer to you, Mrs. Puma,” he whined. “Of course, I know you are much stronger and quicker than Puma, and—”

“You lie, you sniveling cur!” interrupted Mrs. Puma. “For the tail of a deer I’d knock you in the ravine for my mate to eat for his supper.”

Timber slinked back from the edge. He knew that one blow from that upraised paw would send him hurtling through space. But once back from the edge his manner changed again. Mrs. Puma stood near the edge now, and surrounding her was the half circle of wolves. All of Timber’s pack had arrived, and they were as thirsty as he for blood. They were ten to one.

It flashed through Timber’s mind that this was a good time to settle an old score with Puma. He had never taken kindly to Puma’s lordly ways in dividing the hunting ground between them. Puma had always claimed more than his share of the prey. Sometimes he had eaten three quarters of a carcass, and only turned over a small portion to Timber’s family.

And they were a hungry family, half starved at times when the hunting was poor. All his old grievances came back to him, and he felt that here was a chance to settle the dispute for good. Puma was caught in the ravine, where he might starve and die. Why not then push Mrs. Puma after him?

“Oh, Mrs. Puma,” he said, “you flatter me. My family aren’t such cowards as you think. Just to show you turn around and see them. They’re all here—the whole pack!”

Mrs. Puma whirled about and saw the semi-circle of snarling, snapping wolves. Then for the first time in her life she felt afraid. She might kill two or three of Timber’s family before they conquered her, but eventually they would drive her over the cliff. But it was no time to show fear. That would be the signal for the wolves to close in on her.

“I see them—the whole pack,” she snarled. “And every one of them a coward! Not one dare touch me unless the others push him within reach of my claws. See, the whole pack jumps and screams when I strike.”

With a vicious drive of her paw she made those nearest leap back in fear. She followed this up with another drive. Timber saw that, unless he acted at once, his family would become panic-stricken. Raising himself on his hind feet ready for a spring, he opened his mouth, and uttered the hunting cry of the pack. Then at a given signal they attacked all at once.

They darted forward with yelps of defiance, Timber leading. But what a surprise awaited them! Mrs. Puma had guessed their actions, and with a mighty spring in the air she leaped clear over the backs of the encircling crowd. It was a wonderful spring, and nothing but fear could have made her do it. It landed her safely back of the wolves.

Then before they could turn and charge again, she took another spring, and was safe in the branches of a tree. “Some other day, thou dog of a coward!” Mrs. Puma said. “I’ll sleep here until you get tired of waiting.”

Having got Mrs. Puma out of trouble we will follow White Tail in the next story.

STORY IX
YOUNG BLACK BUCK HAS AN ACCIDENT

It is hard work to starve out Puma the Mountain Lion when treed, and perhaps harder yet to imprison him on the side of a steep cliff. Timber Wolf knew this, and after the escape of Mrs. Puma up the tree, he grew uneasy, and decided that it was safer for him to lead the pack back to their own hunting ground.

When they had gone Mrs. Puma leaped down to the ground, and ran to the edge of the ravine to see what had become of her mate. She was not greatly surprised when she saw that he had slowly made his way to the bottom of the chasm, and was looking up to see where she was. With a little cry of joy she trotted down to the end of the ravine to rejoin him.

Meanwhile, of course, White Tail and Young Black Buck were running like the wind, anxious to get as far away from their pursuers as they could. They didn’t know what had happened at Black Ravine, and they couldn’t stop to investigate. The fear that the wolves and Mountain Lions might still be on their trail kept them going until they were nearly exhausted.

One mile, two miles, three miles they ran without stopping or looking around, fear lending speed to their legs. Then something happened which brought them to a sudden halt. Young Black Buck stumbled, and plunged headfirst to the ground. When he tried to get up again, he groaned with pain, and held a fore-leg in the air as if it hurt him.

“Oh, I’ve broken my leg!” he cried. “I can’t run another step. They’ll catch me now, I know! I can’t escape them!”

White Tail, whose momentum had carried him some distance ahead, stopped and turned around.

“Let me see it,” he said, sniffing at the leg. After quickly examining it, he added; “No, it isn’t broken—only sprained. Can’t you stand on it?”

“No, not for an instant. Oh, what will become of me! Hark! Isn’t that Puma growling?”

“No,” replied White Tail, listening with his head flung back and his nose in the air.

“Then it’s Timber calling, I’m sure it is.”

White Tail listened again. He was trembling himself, for the fright and exhausting run had made him very nervous.

“It’s something, but I don’t think it’s Timber Wolf. He hasn’t had time to run around the end of Black Ravine.”

“But he’ll be here soon,” whined Young Black Buck.

“Then we must be going. We can’t stay here. You must run on three legs. You can do it.”

“Not so fast as Timber Wolf or Puma can run on four legs. Oh, you won’t leave me, White Tail, will you? I shall die of fear if you do. I’ve always been your friend.”

“I won’t leave you yet,” replied White Tail. “Lie down in the bushes, and I will run back and see if I can find Timber or Puma. If they’re coming—”

“Don’t leave me,” interrupted Young Black Buck.

Just then, when White Tail was uncertain what to do, and so nervous that he couldn’t stand still, Downy the Woodpecker appeared. He fluttered in a tree just as if he had been there waiting for them all the time.

“Oh, Downy,” cried White Tail, “where are they? Are they on our trail yet? Did they get across Black Ravine?”

Downy finished hauling a grub out of its hole in the tree bark before he answered. “No,” he then said, “they didn’t get across Black Ravine, but Puma got in it. And he’s there now, screaming with rage.”

“He jumped and fell in it?” asked Young Black Buck.

“Yes,” nodded Downy. “He tried to show Timber’s family what he could do, and he made a pretty sight of himself. He missed the opposite side by a few inches, and if it hadn’t been for a small tree growing on the rocks he would have fallen to the bottom, and been killed.”

“I wish he had,” said Young Black Buck.

“Well, he wasn’t,” added Downy, “so it’s no good wishing for what didn’t happen. He’ll roll down, and get on his feet again. It’s pretty hard to kill Puma.”

“What did Timber and his pack do?” asked White Tail.

“They did just what you might expect of them. They jeered and laughed at Puma, and then Mrs. Puma interfered.”

“I thought that Timber and Puma were friends,” said White Tail.

“Such selfish friendship as they had for each other doesn’t amount to much. It only takes a little for them to fall out and begin fighting each other. And that’s just what happened. Timber thought it was a good time to attack Mrs. Puma, and his whole pack jumped at her.”

“And what happened then?” breathlessly asked White Tail.

“Mrs. Puma jumped too, and as she could jump faster and farther than Timber she got away and ran up a tree. There I left her, with the wolves howling underneath.”

“I think then they’ll give up the chase,” remarked White Tail. “It’s very fortunate for us, for Young Black Buck has sprained his leg, and will have to limp the rest of the way.”

“I can’t limp far on three legs,” whined Young Black Buck. “And we are far away from the herd, aren’t we, Downy?”

“Yes, so many miles I can’t count them. You’ve been running away from where you started, and it will take you a long, long time to get home.”

White Tail and Young Black Buck were greatly distressed by this information, for night was coming on, and to be caught after dark away from the herd in the heart of a strange woods was a most unpleasant outlook. White Tail might have made it by hard running, but Young Black Buck could never do it, and White Tail wasn’t going to leave him alone in the woods. He was too loyal for that.

“There doesn’t seem to be any choice in the matter,” White Tail said. “We’ve got to stay here, and make the best of it.”

“But you could get home alone, White Tail, if you started right away,” suggested Downy. “It will be moonlight early in the evening, and you can find your way once you reach the shallow stream.”

“Yes, I know the way, but I couldn’t leave Young Black Buck behind. No, I couldn’t think of it. We’ll find a resting place among the bushes, and stay here until morning. Then maybe his leg will be better.”

Downy nodded his head, and began pecking away at the bark of the tree for another grub. Young Black Buck looked thankfully at the speaker, but said nothing.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you soon,” Downy remarked after a while. “I’m a long distance from my home, and I don’t see that I can help you any by staying.”

“No,” smiled White Tail, “except to give us warning of danger when it comes.”

“There’s no danger now unless—”

He stopped and listened attentively.

“Unless what, Downy?”

“I don’t know that I should say it, for I don’t want to frighten you, but there are man hunters in this woods. They’ve pitched a camp a few miles back of here. But if they haven’t dogs with them they won’t find you. Just keep quiet here in the bushes until morning.”

“We certainly will,” replied White Tail. “I dread the man hunters as much as Puma and Timber, especially if they have dogs.”

And all through the night, he thought and dreamt of the man hunters, but nothing happened until morning, and then the distant baying of a dog startled him.

STORY X
WHITE TAIL’S MAGNANIMOUS ACT

White Tail could not mistake the sound of the dogs in the distance. Neither could Young Black Buck, who was instantly on his feet. The dread sound had more to do in curing the sprained foot than the night’s rest, and he followed White Tail, trotting around and sniffing the air in every direction.

“Are they coming this way?” Young Black Buck asked.

“It’s hard to tell,” replied White Tail. “I haven’t picked up their scent yet, but I don’t need to. I hear them.”

“We must be going before they find us.”

“Is your lame leg strong enough?”

“Yes, it’s all right again—a little lame, but not much. Which way shall we go?”

Unconsciously Young Black Buck had been depending upon White Tail ever since danger first threatened them, and this was a sure sign that he recognized qualities of leadership in his rival that he did not possess. And White Tail had accepted it without giving it much thought.

“I think,” he said finally, “they’re off to the right where Downy said the white hunters had their camp. Then we should go to the left.”

“But that will take us to the hunting grounds of Puma and Timber Wolf,” protested Young Black Buck.

“Yes, I know, but we can swing around north of them before we reach their woods. At any rate we can’t run right into danger.”

White Tail took up the lead, and Young Black Buck followed. They stole away in the woods almost as silently as shadows. A well worn trail led into the darkest and thickest part of the forest, and as this kept going straight away from the man hunter’s camp they stuck close to it.

“Maybe this is Puma’s trail,” Young Black Buck remarked after they had gone a considerable distance. “No deer have been this way.”

“No, of course not. This isn’t our woods, but Puma hasn’t been here. I could smell him.”

“Then Timber Wolf and his pack made it.”

“No, it hasn’t Timber’s smell either.”

White Tail had his nose close to the ground, and while he couldn’t quite make out whose trail it was he felt confident that it wasn’t that of either Puma or Timber.

Still it is always dangerous to follow an unknown trail. It’s against the law of the herd for the leader to do so, and had White Tail known it he would have taken to the thick woods. But he thought he was doing right, for it was much easier to travel faster in this way.

He was jogging along cautiously when the trail became suddenly very strong and fresh. He stopped and flung up his head. That animal odor that had caught his nose, startled him.

But the sight which met his eyes startled him more than the strange odor. There standing directly in the broad trail, grinning at them, was Buster the Bear. What a shock it gave him! Buster seemed to tower up so big that he looked like a giant of a bear.

With a snort of fear, White Tail turned and sprang out of the trail, clearing a clump of bushes in a beautiful jump, and calling to Young Black Buck to follow. The latter didn’t need this advice, for he was already out of the trail, running for dear life.

Now back in the broad trail, Buster, who had been nearly as much surprised as they, suddenly roared with glee, his fat sides shaking and wobbling. “Ho! Ho!” he laughed. “What a scare I gave them! And I didn’t open my mouth. I wonder what they’d done if I’d roared like this.”

He let out a roar that shook the leaves off the bushes, and made White Tail and Young Black Buck run harder than ever. To them it seemed as if that roar was trying to catch them, and they couldn’t dodge its echo.

But, of course, Buster wasn’t pursuing them. In the first place, he knew he couldn’t overtake them, and in the second he wasn’t particularly hungry and rarely killed deer or bucks. He was too kind-hearted for that. But he did enjoy a joke, and he thought it was a huge one to scare them half out of their wits.

White Tail and Young Black Buck ran without knowing which way they were going. In fact they might have run straight into the camp of the man hunters if they hadn’t been stopped by the sudden baying of the dogs.

This time the dogs were so close that they couldn’t expect to throw them off their scent. In fact, one of them saw White Tail’s head, and immediately gave the signal. He rushed for them with wild yelps of delight, and two others followed him.

The two bucks swung around in another direction, and ran pell-mell through the woods. The fear of the dogs made them forget Buster. Indeed White Tail realized his mistake now. He knew that Buster could not overtake him in a race, but the dogs of the man hunters might. They would follow them night and day until exhaustion killed one or the other.

“We’re in for it now,” White Tail said to his companion, breathing hard. “The dogs are fresh, and we’re not. We must find a river to throw them off our scent.”

But finding a river in a strange woods was not an easy thing to do. So far as they knew there was no river there. They were completely turned around, and hardly knew which direction to take to reach home.

Young Black Buck soon began to show signs of weariness, and his lame leg hurt him again. In vain White Tail urged him on, but he couldn’t run any faster. The dogs would certainly soon overtake him.

Then White Tail did a magnanimous thing. He couldn’t bear to leave his companion behind to be pulled down by the dogs, while he escaped. No, no, that would never do for one who some day expected to be leader of the herd!

“Young Black Buck,” he said, running along by the side of the panting creature, “you run straight on as hard as you can. I’m going to stop here until the dogs see me. Then I’ll lead them off to the left. So long as they can see me they’ll follow me and forget the scent. When I get them far enough away I’ll run faster, and get away from them. You understand?”

Young Black Buck nodded his head. He was too tired to reply in words. “Then go on! I’ll wait here until the dogs come up.”

It was a risky thing to do, but White Tail felt that alone he could outrun the dogs. At any rate he was going to do that much for his companion.

He didn’t have long to wait. The baying hounds soon appeared, and catching sight of White Tail they started for him with yelps of delight. White Tail sprang away in the bushes, but not so fast that the dogs lost sight of him. He noticed that all three were chasing him. Then, when some distance away from the fork in the trail, he increased his speed.

In a very short time he was out of sight again, but the hounds were on his scent. They had lost Young Black Buck’s, and there was no chance of their picking it up again.

Away on the wind White Tail flew. His tremendous strides carried him far in the lead. Mile after mile he covered, his proud head flung back, his nostrils distended. It was a killing pace, but the dogs held on behind. How long could he stand it? Another mile, and the pace began to tell on him. He was growing weary and exhausted. But the dogs were still coming!

When he began to fear he could not escape, it began to rain, falling gently at first, and then more heavily.

In the next story you will read of how the rain helped him.

STORY XI
WHITE TAIL’S ADVENTURE IN THE CAMP

The rain made White Tail’s difficulties worse, for the logs and stones were so slippery that he stumbled time and again, and to avoid a fall he had to slacken his pace. The dogs on the other hand, kept up their pace, as the slippery things did not seem to bother them, and they began to gain on the fleeing buck very rapidly. Their deep baying drew so near that White Tail became startled.

But all this time the rain was planning to help the buck, although he did not know it at the time. He was feeling very uncomfortable, as well as frightened. The steady downpour soaked him to the skin, and the driving wind splashed the rain-drops in his eyes, half blinding him.

When the dogs drew so near that White Tail felt they would soon see him, he turned abruptly around, and ran at right angles to his former course. He had not tried dodging before, but had kept on a straight course.

To his surprise he heard the barking of the dogs grow suddenly fainter, and then very confused. The fact was the heavy downpour of rain had nearly blotted out his trail, and the dogs could not readily pick it up again. So long as he kept on in straight course, the dogs had followed him.

But now, by dodging, White Tail found he could easily elude them, so faint was the scent he left behind. The rain washed that away, and completely baffled the dogs.

It was a great blessing, for White Tail was badly winded. He was so tired that as soon as he left the dogs far in the rear he sought shelter from the rain. He was almost exhausted with his efforts, and a bed of leaves or grass would be the greatest blessing in the world.

Directly ahead of him, he saw an old deserted open camp standing in a partial clearing. It was built of pine logs, with the bark left on, and a roof and three sides. The front was left open, with an old camp-fire place of stones and rocks a few feet away.

At first White Tail stopped and looked at the camp suspiciously. If the man hunters lived in it, he should avoid it as he would Puma or Timber, but if it were deserted there would be no harm in seeking shelter under its roof. He watched, listened and sniffed for a long time before he dared approach it.

Then by degrees he walked closer until he had a chance to look inside. There was no one there, and it had not been inhabited for a long, long time. White Tail could tell this by the absence of any odor.

“I think it’s safe,” he muttered after another close examination. “I’ll spend the night here. I’m dreadfully tired, and so wet I’m cold and shivery.”

He walked under the sheltering roof, and found a bed of sweet-smelling spruce boughs in one corner. They were perfectly dry, and White Tail gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was a dry shelter, with a soft, dry bed already prepared for him. He dropped down on it with a sigh of intense relief.

It rained hard all night. White Tail could hear the floods of water pouring on the roof of his shelter, but under it the place was dry and warm. Darkness came early in the woods, and it was soon pitchy black.

He felt perfectly safe if none of the night prowlers appeared. The rain, however, was a protection to him, for even Puma and Timber rarely ventured forth in such a storm. They preferred to do their hunting on clear, dry nights when the scent of their prey was clear and distinct.

“I don’t think anybody will disturb me until morning,” White Tail said, “and I can rest here in peace.”

But of course you can never tell what may happen in the wildwoods. Suppose Puma or Timber Wolf should be caught away from home in the rain! If they were, and saw the open camp, they would very naturally seek it for shelter just as White Tail had done.

It was quite early in the evening when White Tail was awakened from slumber by a thump, thump outside. It came nearer and nearer. White Tail was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe. He trembled in every limb. Some animal was coming around the side of the open camp.

Before White Tail could leap to his feet to run, a head was thrust around the corner, and a pair of wonderful eyes looked at him. At the same instant the owner of them caught sight of White Tail’s.

“Hello, Bumper!” White Tail exclaimed, when he recognized Bumper the White Rabbit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m White Tail the Deer.”

“Well, I’m mighty glad of that,” replied Bumper, approaching. “You gave me an awful start at first. I thought you were Mr. Fox or Sneaky the Wolf or Puma.”

“And I thought you were Timber Wolf or the man hunters or their dogs.”

“Seeing that we were both wrong then,” said Bumper, “we might share this camp between us. You have no objection, I hope.”

“No, I’m glad to have company. I’m dreadfully excited and alarmed.”

Then he told the White Rabbit about his adventures, ending up with the pursuit by the dogs, and his escape to the deserted camp.

“You certainly did have a hard time of it,” said Bumper when he had finished. “And you’re a long way from home. I do hope you can get back without accident. What’s that?”

Bumper stopped, and White Tail raised his head in alarm. There was a scream outside, and then a wild commotion in the bushes. The next moment something came rushing in the camp, and flopped down right at White Tail’s feet.

It was Rusty the Blackbird. “Help! Help! Oh, help me!” Rusty cried. “Great Horn the Owl is after me! Here he comes now!”

And out of the darkness swept a shadowy figure that hardly made any noise; but the moment it saw White Tail it stopped and circled around his head. White Tail raised his head, and swung his big antlers threateningly at Great Horn.

“Look out,” he said, “or I’ll hit you! Don’t come any nearer, Great Horn!”

“Is that you, White Tail?” asked Great Horn. “I didn’t know you were here. Well, I won’t disturb you. I’m after Rusty there at your feet. Let me have him, and I will leave at once.”

“You will leave at once without Rusty,” replied White Tail. “He’s a friend of mine, and I’m going to protect him.”

“Hoot! Hoot!” shouted the Owl in laughter. “I’ll take him whether you want me to or not.”

He made a swift dive for poor Rusty, but White Tail’s big antlers swung around and knocked him over. One prong hurt Great Horn so that he flew back to a safe place.

“If you come nearer, I’ll hurt you worse the next time,” warned White Tail.

Great Horn sat there and considered for some time, his great eyes blinking and winking. “What are you doing here, White Tail?” he asked finally. “Don’t you know you’re on Puma’s hunting grounds? Well, if you don’t know it you ought to. I think Puma might be interested in knowing it. Now give me Rusty at once or I’ll fly away, and tell Puma.”

This threat made Rusty tremble, and Bumper shiver in his corner where he was hiding under the boughs; but White Tail did neither. “Go, and tell him, Great Horn,” he replied. “I won’t give up Rusty. I’ll protect my friends.”

And Great Horn flew away. What he did will appear in the next story.

STORY XII
WHITE TAIL ESCAPES

The moment Great Horn the Owl flew out of the open camp to tell Puma of White Tail’s hiding place, Bumper hopped from his place in the corner, and Rusty jumped to a perch on one of the buck’s antlers.

“Oh, dear,” began Rusty, “I’ve brought trouble upon you, White Tail! Great Horn will guide Puma here. I wish now I’d never flown in here.”

“No, you don’t wish that, Rusty,” replied White Tail. “If you hadn’t come here Great Horn would have killed you.”

“And now Puma will kill you.”

“Not if I can help it,” smiled White Tail. “He’s been on my trail before, and I shook him off.”

Then he told Rusty of his adventures.

“You’re wonderful, White Tail,” the Blackbird said when he had finished. “You saved Young Black Buck’s life, and nearly lost your own. Now you’ve saved my life, and got yourself in more danger. I wish I could do something to help you in return.”

“Probably you can, Rusty. Who knows? I’m terribly mixed up in these strange woods. I hardly know which way to go to find home. Perhaps you can direct me.”

“Yes, I can do that easily.”

“Thanks! That’s one good turn you can do me. Now for another. Is there any river or stream near here that I can reach? If so I can go to it before Puma comes, and then wade down it to throw him off my scent.”

“Why, yes, there’s a shallow brook only a mile from here. I can take you to that.”

“Which way shall I go—up or down the brook?”

“Go down it a couple of miles until it runs in the stream where Father Buck let the herd feed on the rushes this morning—the place you started from when you ran the race with Young Black Buck.”

“In that case,” replied White Tail, “I think I’ll be going right away. I’m anxious to be off.”

“But it’s a dreadful night outside. Hear it rain.”

“Yes, but it would be more dreadful to stay here until Great Horn and Puma appeared. Puma would kill me, and Great Horn would pounce upon you.”

“Yes, of course, we must go—right away, rain or no rain.”

Bumper, who had been listening to the conversation, hopped to the entrance, and then came back. “If I’m any judge,” he said, “I don’t think you’ll have such a wet trip. That shower was the last. The clouds are breaking away, and the moon will soon be out.”

White Tail was instantly on his feet, and beat Rusty to the front where the two of them gazed up at the rain clouds now growing thin and ragged in places. They saw a star twinkle in the east, and then another and another. The storm was, indeed, over, and the night trip through the woods would not be so disagreeable.

“I must be off at once, Rusty,” White Tail said. “Puma may be back any minute.”

“You can’t start any too soon to suit me, White Tail, for if Puma comes Great Horn will be with him. Come on! I’m ready.”

“It seems to me,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t consider me at all. I’m not even invited to go with you.”

“We thought you’d prefer to stay in this dry camp,” replied White Tail. “It’s very comfortable here, and you can hide under the spruce boughs.”

The White Rabbit sniffed. “How long do you suppose it would take Puma to find me?” he asked. “When he found you’d gone, he’d eat me up instead. A rabbit makes only a mouthful for Puma, but it’s better than nothing. No, I’m going with you.”

So the three started forth, leaving the shelter of the camp for the wet trail of the woods. And how wet everything was! The trail was soaked with water, and every leaf and bough was dripping with moisture. Every bush they touched threw a shower of rain-drops all over them.

Rusty led the way, hopping and flying from bush to bush, with Bumper following next, and White Tail bringing up the rear. Bumper was as familiar with the woods as Rusty, and White Tail really followed him, although at times the White Rabbit took short cuts through narrow paths which the buck could not tread.

It was very quiet and solemn in the woods. After the rain the stillness seemed intensified by the occasional splatter of water, as some overladened tree branch dipped its load and let it fall to the ground. No birds or animals were abroad, and they made half the distance without accident or alarm.

Then back of them came a fearful roar that startled the echoes of the wildwoods. It was Puma the Mountain Lion.

“He’s found we’ve escaped!” cried Rusty. “Oh, do hurry! He’ll pick up your trail, and Great Horn will find me. Hurry! Hurry!”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed White Tail. “Can’t you find a hiding place, Rusty?”

“Yes, many of them, but I must show you the way to the shallow brook.”

“No, you tell me how to find it,” interrupted White Tail. “I can run much faster alone.”

“It’s straight ahead, White Tail.”

“Then find a hiding place in the bushes. Good-bye, and thank you!”

“Are you going to leave me, White Tail?” asked Bumper.

“Yes, Bumper, for you travel too slow for me. You must find a burrow, and run for it. There must be one around here.”

“Yes, there’s a good one not far from here. But don’t you need me?”

“No, Bumper, I can outrun you, and if you come along Puma may overtake me. Good-bye, and thank you! I’m off now.”

Bumper waited until White Tail was out of sight and hearing. Then he sought a safe burrow, and stood at the entrance to watch and listen. Pretty soon he heard a crash in the bushes, as Puma came dashing along. Close behind him was Great Horn the Owl, flitting from tree to tree.

“I wonder where Rusty is,” Great Horn was saying. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Neither do I see White Tail,” roared back Puma, “but I smell him. I’m on the right trail.”

“I wish I could smell Rusty. My eyes are good, but my nose isn’t as sharp as yours, Puma.”

“I don’t care where Rusty is,” was the reply. “I want White Tail, and I’m going to catch him this time. He can’t escape as he did before.”

They swept past Bumper, and made their way down the trail. The White Rabbit sighed, and said: “I do hope White Tail will escape.”

And White Tail hoped so too. Meanwhile, he was running with all his might. As soon as he had left his two friends, he leaped through the bushes or over them, with his head aimed straight for the brook. He heard the roar of Puma behind him, and this spurred him on to greater speed.

When he finally reached the shallow brook, he waded in and rapidly followed it down toward its mouth where it joined the wider stream. When Puma reached the brook he was baffled. The scent he had been following suddenly stopped.

“Which way has he gone?” he growled. “Up or down? I’ll go up, Great Horn, and you go down. If you see him hoot to me, and I’ll come.”

Puma crossed the stream and ran up it on the opposite side, and Great Horn flitted down it. Of course, Great Horn found White Tail, but what happened then will appear next.

STORY XIII
WHITE TAIL HEARS UNPLEASANT NEWS

Great Horn found White Tail a long way down the stream, but by that time morning was dawning, and the light began to hurt the Owl’s eyes. He caught a glimpse of something moving through the bushes, and flew toward it, for he could not in the early light see very far.

“Ah! I’ve found you, White Tail!” he cried. “I knew it was you.”

“How did you know it, Great Horn?” asked White Tail. “I know you can’t see very well in this light. I don’t believe you can see me yet. You only hear me.”

“The idea!” snapped Great Horn. “I can see you as well as you can see me.”

“I don’t believe it,” replied White Tail. “Can you see Rusty sitting on the end of my antlers?”

“Rusty! Rusty! Is he there?” exclaimed Great Horn excitedly. Now the thought of being so near to his prey made him very hungry, and he flew straight at White Tail’s head. This was what the buck wanted, and when the Owl was close enough he swung his antlers around swiftly and caught Great Horn on the end. The blow was enough to knock the breath out of the bird, and he fell with a plump in the bushes.

“That’s for betraying me to Puma,” White Tail said. “Now call to him when you can get back your breath. I’m off.”

And through the bushes he ran, leaving Great Horn so surprised and stunned that he couldn’t call to Puma for a long time. White Tail had made good his escape.

A few yards through the woods he came upon the other stream, the broad river which he knew so well. He crossed this, and made his way up the other embankment. Then, with the woods before him familiar to his eyes and nose, he ran rapidly toward home. He had made his way out of Puma’s hunting and through the higher timberland to his home.

His appearance was hailed with delight by all his friends. “Oh, White Tail, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed one.

“Dead! Huh! Why should you think that?” he sniffed.

“Young Black Buck said you were. He left you, and he was sure the dogs would catch you. He was sorry for you, but you couldn’t keep up with him, and he didn’t want to die because you couldn’t run as fast as he.”

“What!” exclaimed White Tail. “Has Young Black Buck returned? And did he tell such a tale?”

“Why, yes, that’s what he said.”

With a roar of rage at this falsehood, White Tail pushed his way into the middle of the herd, and stood face to face before Young Black Buck.

“You have been spreading more false stories about me, Young Black Buck!” he said. “After the way I saved you from the dogs, you lie about me!”

Young Black Buck stood all atremble at the sight of White Tail. He had truly believed that the dogs would catch him, and he thought there would be no harm in telling a story of his escape that would hurt White Tail and help himself.

“Listen!” White Tail added, swinging around and facing the herd. “Listen to a story of treachery. Young Black Buck has lied to you, and you must hear me. When he stumbled and sprained his leg, I stayed with him until it healed. Then when the man hunters started the dogs on our trail, we ran together until Young Black Buck’s weak leg crippled him again. The dogs would have caught him, but I waited for them, and when they saw me I led them off on my trail. Young Black Buck escaped while I led the dogs a merry chase. I saved his life, and he rewards me for it by lies—nothing but lies!”

The commotion that followed these words was great, and the herd gazed from one speaker to the other.

“I challenge you to deny it!” continued White Tail, facing Young Black Buck. “See he cannot deny it! He knows it to be the truth!”

Young Black Buck, indeed, looked guilty. His limbs were trembling, and his head drooping. For once he had no ready story to explain his lies.

“To punish you for it, Young Black Buck, I challenge you to a fight!” went on White Tail, now so enraged that he wanted to punish his rival.

It was then that Black Buck interfered.

“Cease your quarreling over such petty things,” he said. “There are greater things for the herd to consider than this.”

“What can be greater than a question of honor?” interrupted White Tail boldly. “Your son has spread falsehoods about me, and I challenge him to prove it by fighting.”

“And I tell you to cease your quarreling,” added Black Buck. “You may need your strength for a different kind of challenge. Know you not what has happened?”

White Tail looked mystified. Suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Father Buck or Mother Deer. They hadn’t come forth to greet him. Had anything serious happened to them?

“No, I don’t know what has happened,” White Tail admitted. “I have been away, and know nothing.”

“Then listen!” replied Black Buck. “Our leader has failed. He stumbled in the chase, and missed his footing. When we crossed the brook he failed to clear it. He is no longer our leader. He’s old and broken. Tomorrow we meet at the Council Tree to choose a new leader.”

White Tail stood dumbfounded. Father Buck had been disgraced! He had fallen and missed his footing! He had failed to cross the brook in a single jump! He was to be deposed as leader!

It seemed incredible, and White Tail was on the point of saying so when he remembered the words of Father Buck, and his prediction that some day he would fail through old age and weakness. The thing had happened then in his absence. White Tail was glad of that, for it would have been hard for him to witness the leader’s downfall.

Without another word to Black Buck, he whirled around to hunt up Father Buck and Mother Deer. He wanted the truth from their lips, and not from one who found pleasure in it. The sneer in Black Buck’s words angered him.

He found the two quietly resting under a tree back of the herd, a little to one side as if they had already been cast out and ignored by those who had so recently looked up to them. Mother Deer rose and ran to greet her son.

“It is well, White Tail, that you’ve come back at this time,” she said quietly. “You have heard the news?”

“Yes, I’ve heard it. It is true then—that—that—”

“Yes, my son,” interrupted Father Buck, “I have led my last chase. Never again will the herd follow me. What must come to all of us at some time has befallen me. There is nothing to regret. One and all must face it sooner or later. Why should we not accept it complacently?”

White Tail was surprised, and yet pleased, by the quiet acceptance Father Buck took of his downfall. It softened the load that he was carrying in his own heart.

“I prepared you for it, you remember White Tail,” the old leader continued. “Well, tomorrow they will choose a new leader. They will demand that I step aside. But until then I’m leader, and no one shall dispute that right.”

He rose and shook his huge antlered head, looking for all the world like a leader, and when he bellowed an order every one started. He was not yet deposed. In the next story what happened at the Council Tree will be told.

STORY XIV
CHOOSING A NEW LEADER

The call for a meeting at the Council Tree was issued to the herd by Father Buck himself. It was his duty to do this, for the law of the herd is that a leader is still in command, and his word must be obeyed, until he has been deposed and another chosen.

White Tail had been twice at the Council Tree before, but never on such a momentous occasion as this. His own initiation into the secrets of the council was nothing compared to the choosing of a new leader. He felt the weight of responsibility that was laid upon him, for the time had come for him to succeed his father or fail forever.

The choosing of a leader did not happen often. Once in a life time was the average. Unless something happened to a leader to cut him down accidentally in the prime of his life, or Puma or Timber pulled him down in the chase, no successor was chosen until he grew too weak and decrepit to lead. The event was, therefore, an important one, and long to be remembered by those who took part in it.