WILD PLAYMATES
HAD the bear cub and the fawn been older, they would never have been
friends; but these were both such babies that the little bear much
preferred his milk to venison, and the fawn did not know to be afraid.
Their strange friendship might not last, as they grew older, but for
the time there was peace between them.
The fawn had to be brought up on a bottle, and the children loved it
first for its very helplessness.
As Dapple grew stronger, her long, slim legs developed the most amazing
ability to jump. She followed the children around like a pup, for they
were the only parents she knew. And if they became separated, she
would go leaping after them with great, graceful leaps that carried her
straight over the bushes.
They used to like to run and hide from her, just for the fun of seeing
her come bounding after them. She could overtake them in a foot race,
too. She enjoyed a game of tag as much as they did, and everywhere the
children went, the fawn would follow after.
But though Fuzzy-Wuzz understood that Dapple was under the children’s
protection, the young rascal loved to chase her. He never had the
slightest chance of overtaking her, for his short, fat legs and round,
flat feet were not built for speed. But sometimes he got her cornered
and woofed at her, as a puppy would a calf.
At such times she learned to take refuge in the corral. Leaping lightly
over the three-log fence, she would trip her way into the midst of the
cattle, who would lower their horns the instant the little bear came
near.
No matter if Dapple were lying down when Fuzzy-Wuzz grew mischievous,
she took her afternoon nap with all four feet under her, and when she
made up her mind to go, she rose like a Jack-in-the-box, and away she
leapt with a whistle, like a bit of thistle-down.
After a time Dapple found still another way to defend herself, when
Fuzzy-Wuzz grew mischievous. Her slender hoofs were sharp as knives,
and she would rear up on her hind legs and strike at him with her fore
feet. He kept his distance.
Sometimes a deer will fight a snake that way.
Now Dapple learned to follow the children everywhere they went. Through
the corral and into the woods, and even up the porch steps, would she
trip after them. Once she even came into the cabin, and she would have
every time, had the Ranger’s wife permitted.
She was like Mary’s little lamb. But there were no schools in this
wilderness. The children’s mother taught them to read and figure, and
their father told them about the trees and flowers and birds, the rocks
and clouds, and read them books about the great world outside their
Sierras. That way, lessons were mostly play. Their playmates were the
two wild children, Dapple and Fuzzy-Wuzz.