Part 4

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—”