A last long follow brought the hunt back to familiar ground—a
marsh-encompassed tract of woods with three ways in. There was the
deer's trail entering. Yan felt he would not come out there, for he knew
his foe was following. So swiftly and silently the hunter made for the
second road on the down-wind side, and having hung his coat and sash
there on a swaying sapling, he hastened to the third way out, and hid.
After awhile, seeing nothing, Yan gave the low call that the jaybird
gives when there's danger abroad in the woods.
All deer take guidance from the jay, and away off in the encompassed
woods Yan saw the great Stag with wavering ears go up a high lookout. A
low whistle turned him to a statue, but he was far away with many a twig
between. For some seconds he stood sniffing the wind and gazing with
his back to his foe, watching the back trail, where so long his enemy
had been, but never dreaming of that enemy in ambush ahead. Then the
breeze set the coat on the sapling afluttering. The Stag quickly quit
the hillock, not leaping or crashing through the brush—he had years
ago got past that—but, silent and weasel-like, threading the maze he
disappeared. Yan crouched in the willow thicket and strained his every
sense and tried to train his ears to watch the harder. A twig ticked in
the copse he was in. Yan slowly rose with nerve and sense at tightest
tense, the gun in line—and as he rose, then also rose, but fifteen
feet away, a wondrous pair of bronze and ivory horns, a royal head, a
noble form behind it, and face to face they stood, Yan and the Sandhill
Stag. At last—at last, his life was in Yan's hands. The Stag flinched
not but stood and gazed with those great ears and mournful, truthful
eyes, and the rifle leaped but sank again, for the Stag stood still and
calmly looked him in the eyes, and Yan felt the prickling fading from his
scalp, his clenched teeth eased, his limbs, bent as to spring, relaxed
and manlike stood erect.
"Shoot, shoot, shoot now! This is what you have toiled for," said a
faint and fading voice, and spoke no more.
Yan remembered that night when he, himself, run down, had turned to face
the hunting wolves. He remembered that night when the snow was red with
crime and down between them now he dimly saw a vision of an agonized and
dying doe, with great, sad eyes, that only asked, "What harm have I done
you?" A change came over him and every thought of murder went from Yan
as they gazed into each other's eyes—and hearts. For different thoughts
and a wholly different concept of the Stag, coming—coming—had come.
* * * * *
"Oh, beautiful creature! One of our wise men has said, the body is the
soul made visible; is your spirit then so beautiful—as beautiful as
wise? We have long stood as foes, hunter and hunted, but now that is
changed and we stand face to face, fellow-creatures looking in each
other's eyes, not knowing each other's speech—but knowing motives and
feelings. Now I understand you as I never did before; surely you at
least in part understand me. For your life is at last in my power, yet
you have no fear. I knew of a deer once, that, run down by the hounds,
sought safety with the hunter, and he saved it—and you also I have run
down and you boldly seek safety with me. Yes! you are as wise as you
are beautiful. We are brothers, oh, bounding Blacktail! only I am the
elder and stronger, and if only my strength could always be at hand to
save you, you would never come to harm. Go now without fear, to range
the piney hills; never more shall I follow your trail with the wild wolf
rampant in my heart. Less and less as I grow do I see in your race mere
flying marks, or butcher-meat. We have grown, little brother, and learned
many things that you know not, but you have many a precious sense that
is wholly hidden from us. Go now without fear of me.
"I may never see you again. But if you only would come sometimes and look
me in the eyes and make me feel as you have done to-day, you would drive
the wild beast wholly from my heart and then the veil would be a little
drawn and I should know more of the things that wise men have prayed to
know. And yet I feel—it never will be—I have found the Grail. I have
learned what Buddha learned. I shall never see you again. Farewell."
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The White Wistaria at Kamedo.]