THE HUNTER
ONE morning a party of huntsmen stopped at the Ranger’s cabin. It was
open season for deer, and they meant to make the most of those few
weeks by shooting what the law allowed them.
Fuzzy-Wuzz had to wear a red bow on his neck these days, so that the
huntsmen would not mistake him for a wild bear. For it was open season
all the year around for bears, and a hunter loves nothing better than
to kill a cub and have bear steak for breakfast. But Dapple wore no
collar, as it was against the law to kill fawns at any time of the year.
The children had been playing tag with Dapple in the woods when they
fell asleep in the sunshine of an open hillside. Dapple, too, took a
nap nearby, but instead of lying right out in the open, as they did,
her instinct told her it was safer under the dappled shade of a clump
of bushes.
One of the huntsmen, peering over the brow of the hill, saw a little
movement in Dapple’s clump of bushes, as Dapple awoke and began
cropping the leaves. Thinking it was a porcupine that had set the
bushes swaying (and not being sportsman enough to make sure), he fired.
Dapple gave a scream of pain, and went bounding away on three legs. The
children, thus awakened, stared after her, then started to follow her
dainty hoof prints. Soon they noticed drops of blood on the stones.
At the same time the huntsman, seeing the children, came on the run.
“Oh, I say!” he called, “I hope I didn’t hurt any one?”
“You’ve killed Dapple,” sobbed the little girl.
“You’ve shot Dapple!” shouted the boy. And to his sister, “I’d like to
shoot HIM in the leg, and see how HE likes it!”
“Who’s ‘Dapple’?” gasped the huntsman, alarmed.
“She’s our tame fawn!” yelled the boy angrily.
“I’m so sorry,” apologized the huntsman. “I thought it was a porcupine.”
“Oh, then you didn’t mean to do it,” forgave the little girl.
It was decided that the huntsman had better not go with the children
lest he frighten the fawn still further away.
“Dapple! Come, Dapple!” they called gently, as they traced the
staggering footprints. They came upon the little creature lying on her
side. Tenderly the boy carried her home in his arms, and the Ranger
removed the bullet and bound the wound up properly.
Such an appealing invalid as Dapple made, with her great, reproachful
eyes, that Fuzzy felt himself neglected. The day came, though, when the
wounded leg was well. That day Dapple was allowed to follow them into
the cabin, and even Fuzzy-Wuzz gave her a lick with his warm, moist
tongue.