Fleet Foot, the Doe, would never have dreamed of taking her fawns down
to the hay-stack at the Valley Farm, had not the Farmer and his Boy set
her leg the summer before, and gained her confidence by their kindness.
But, though the herd had selected a south-west slope where the feeding
was good, and though they had trampled the snow till it raised them
higher and higher, and they could browse on the limbs of the fir trees,
it was proving a cruel winter. As blizzard followed blizzard, and bark
and browse alike were frozen stiff, they huddled together, weak with
hunger.
Then the thought of the big hay-mow provided for the sheep and cattle
proved too much for Fleet Foot, and she resolved to take the fawns, (now
well grown,) slip down under cover of the early winter dusk, and there
help herself to the few mouthfuls she could reach through the bars. For
part of the hay stood in the open meadow, with only a canvas over top to
keep it dry, and a few bars to keep it from being blown away.
The other deer of the herd, though they were starving, were far too
timid to make the venture with her. To them it seemed a perilous
undertaking to go so near human-kind. For they had seen many things in
the woods. They had seen the Hired Man with his long black stick that
spoke like thunder, and killed more surely than tooth or claw. They
preferred to starve!
For Fleet Foot, the dangers of traveling alone with the fawns through
the winter woods were many. First there was the chance of meeting Old
Man Lynx. For now they would not have the protection of the hoofs and
horns of the herd.
Then they might get lost and freeze, should another storm catch them far
from the herd-yard. But, once having made up her mind, Fleet Foot
whistled to the fawns and started off in a series of long, graceful
bounds that carried them over one snow-bank after another.
Had they dared delay, they would have sunk to their knees in the hard,
dry snow to rest for a while and nibble the tops of some bush that
promised a few mouthfuls of supper, for their empty stomachs fairly
hurt. And if it had been freezing in the herd-yard, with its wall of
snow, and the crowding bodies that helped keep each other warm, imagine
how cold Fleet Foot's little family must have been, out on the open
hill-top! The savage wind and the snow-filled air made it all but
impossible at times to draw breath.
But worst of all was the shadow of fear that never left the doe's
anxious mother heart. The tree-trunks crackled alarmingly with the
frost, keeping her alert for enemies, and the wind tore savagely through
the brush. Of a sudden Fleet Foot's spine began to prickle! It was one
of those mysterious things that she had never been able to account for.
But it usually meant danger!
Half blindly, they had been making their way, hardly able to see in the
green-black of the darkness. But they marked their path by the darker
blackness of the clumps of spruce trees, which to their trained instinct
pointed the way like a map.
Again a chill ran down their spine and the hair raised along the backs
of their necks! Some instinct told them real danger was near--what
danger, they could not know. Rolling their startled eyes behind them,
they could see points of light gleaming at them through the darkness.
At length, through the winter night, came a long, shrill cry like that
of a hound, only wilder and more terrifying. Then came another, and a
third. It was an uncanny sound, that of the three gray wolves, watching
from behind the snowy evergreens.
Fleet Foot knew, more by instinct than experience, what they were, for
their like she had never seen before. Nor had any one in those woods
known a winter when these ravenous beasts had come down out of the
Canadian wilds. But it had been handed down from grand-sire to grand-son
that once, when the snows were uncommonly deep, and half the wild folk
starved and frozen, wolves had come down from the far North in search of
prey.
There were three of the lean gray shapes, like collie dogs, yet so much
larger and fiercer--large enough to attack even bigger game than Fleet
Foot, the doe.
Should worst come to worst, she would have no more chance with even one
such foe than a rabbit with a hound. It would all be a matter of which
could run the faster. And she had to look out for the fawns!
Their one chance of escape lay in their nimble heels. They might, for a
time, outspeed their enemies, if their strength held out. The combined
hoofs and antlers of the herd might have fought off the beasts for a
time, but the herd-yard was now too far away for Fleet Foot ever to
reach it with the fawns before those lean gray shapes would be at their
throats. The Valley Farm lay straight ahead, and her fear of man shrank
to nothing beside the terrors behind her.
Yes, the one hope on the horizon lay at the Valley Farm, where the fear
of man might keep the wolves from following.
And to the Farm Fleet Foot and the fawns now sped with their great,
bounding strides that took whole drifts at a leap. Would their feet slip
in the darkness, crippling them and leaving them helpless almost within
sight of safety?
On and on they ran, and behind them through the forest crept the three
gray shapes, slinking along like shadows with glowing coals for eyes.
Every now and again their barking howl, long drawn out and fearful, tore
the darkness. Could they reach the Valley Farm, Fleet Foot asked herself
with pounding heart?
It was hard going through the powdery snow, into which she sank
dangerously every time she came to a drift too wide to leap. And the
fawns were having an even harder time, the cold cutting into their lungs
'till it hurt.
At last, straight ahead, gleamed the dim lighted windows of the
farmhouse. A few more bursts of speed would get them over the fence and
into the pasture lot, and perhaps the wolves would stop at the boundary
of man's domain. But--could they make it? Could they reach that fence
before their grim pursuers?
Their eyes were fairly popping with the effort they were making. Here
was a mammoth drift that in summer had been a creek, and there a patch
of the higher wind-swept ground where the ice might take their hoofs
from under them.
Ah! The fence at last! One leap over its smooth pyramid, and with a
sobbing cough, Fleet Foot and the fawns were safe, with the wolves not
ten paces behind!
Then, suddenly, the door at the farmhouse opened, throwing a long streak
of lamp-light across the snow!
The wolves slunk back in fear. But so, too, did Fleet Foot. The terror
of the great gray beasts behind her, all her old fear of man flooded
back upon her, and what to do she did not know. She dared not go back,
nor could she go forward. So she stood stock still, her fawns huddling,
trembling against her sides. The sudden light half-blinded her, and made
the darkness blacker. What could be its meaning? Curiosity might, at
another time, have conquered fear, but now she was trembling in every
joint, her spent lungs wheezing with the effort she had made. This was
far different from slipping in under cover of darkness as she had
planned.
"Father! Come quick! I do believe there is a deer out there--no, a doe,
and two fawns!" cried the Boy of the Valley Farm, as the light from the
open door threw a long ray across the barn-yard to the pasture beyond.
"Wait! I'll get her for you!" exclaimed the Hired Man, springing for his
gun. But at the Boy's sharp command he dropped it, shame-faced.
Then from farther back in the evergreens came the spine-chilling howl of
the gray wolves, baying their lost prey.
"Wolves, my son!" exclaimed the Farmer, joining the group in the
doorway. "Wolves from Canada. It's a hard winter that has brought them
down. I don't remember seeing wolves since I was a little shaver, forty
years ago. And I expect that is what has driven the deer so close. Sh!
Come out-side." The two closed the door behind them. "We mustn't
frighten them away, or the wolves will get them, sure."
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