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[Illustration: HE LEAPED INTO THE AIR IN ONE TREMENDOUS SPRING THAT
CARRIED HIM CLEAR ACROSS TO THE OTHER SIDE]
Twilight Animal Series
BUMPER THE WHITE RABBIT IN THE WOODS
by
GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH
Author of “Bumper the White Rabbit”, “Bumper the White Rabbit in the
Woods”, “Bumper the White Rabbit and His Foes”, “Bumper the White Rabbit
and His Friends”, “Bobby Gray Squirrel”, “Bobby Gray Squirrel’s
Adventures”, Etc.
Colored Illustrations by Edwin J. Prettie
[Illustration]
The John C. Winston Company
Chicago Philadelphia Toronto
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TWILIGHT ANIMAL SERIES
FOR BOYS AND GIRLS
FROM 4 TO 10 YEARS OF AGE
By
GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH
LIST OF TITLES
1 BUMPER THE WHITE RABBIT
2 BUMPER THE WHITE RABBIT IN THE WOODS
3 BUMPER THE WHITE RABBIT AND HIS FOES
4 BUMPER THE WHITE RABBIT AND HIS FRIENDS
5 BOBBY GRAY SQUIRREL
6 BOBBY GRAY SQUIRREL’S ADVENTURES
7 BUSTER THE BIG BROWN BEAR
8 BUSTER THE BIG BROWN BEAR’S ADVENTURES
9 WHITE TAIL THE DEER
10 WHITE TAIL THE DEER’S ADVENTURES
11 WASHER, THE RACCOON
(Other titles in preparation)
Issued in uniform style with this volume
PRICE 65 CENTS EACH, Postpaid
EACH VOLUME CONTAINS COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1922 by
The John C. Winston Company
Copyright MCMXVII by George E. Walsh
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTION TO THE TWILIGHT ANIMAL STORIES
BY THE AUTHOR
All little boys and girls who love animals should become acquainted with
Bumper the white rabbit, with Bobby Gray Squirrel, with Buster the bear,
and with White Tail the deer, for they are all a jolly lot, brave and
fearless in danger, and so lovable that you won’t lay down any one of
the books without saying wistfully, “I almost wish I had them really and
truly as friends and not just storybook acquaintances.” That, of course,
is a splendid wish; but none of us could afford to have a big menagerie
of wild animals, and that’s just what you would have to do if you went
outside of the books. Bumper had many friends, such as Mr. Blind Rabbit,
Fuzzy Wuzz and Goggle Eyes, his country cousins; and Bobby Gray Squirrel
had his near cousins, Stripe the chipmunk and Webb the flying squirrel;
while Buster and White Tail were favored with an endless number of
friends and relatives. If we turned them all loose from the books, and
put them in a ten-acre lot—but no, ten acres wouldn’t be big enough to
accommodate them, perhaps not a hundred acres.
So we will leave them just where they are—in the books—and read about
them, and let our imaginations take us to them where we can see them
playing, skipping, singing, and sometimes fighting, and if we read very
carefully, and _think_ as we go along, we may come to know them even
better than if we went out hunting for them.
Another thing we should remember. By leaving them in the books, hundreds
and thousands of other boys and girls can enjoy them, too, sharing with
us the pleasures of the imagination, which after all is one of the
greatest things in the world. In gathering them together in a real
menagerie, we would be selfish both to Bumper, Bobby, Buster, White Tail
and their friends as well as to thousands of other little readers who
could not share them with us. So these books of Twilight Animal Stories
are dedicated to all little boys and girls who love wild animals. All
others are forbidden to read them! They wouldn’t understand them if they
did.
So come out into the woods with me, and let us listen and watch, and I
promise you it will be worth while.
CONTENTS
STORY PAGE
I. Bumper Hunts with the Pack 9
II. Bumper’s Ignorance Excites Suspicion 16
III. Bumper Saves Fuzzy Wuzz from Snake 23
IV. Spotted Tail Shows Enmity 30
V. A Test of Fleetness 37
VI. A Test of Courage 44
VII. A Test of Wits 51
VIII. Spotted Tail Stirs up Revolt 58
IX. The Work of Shrike the Butcher Bird 65
X. Rusty Warns Bumper 72
XI. The Rabbits Rise Against Bumper 78
XII. Spotted Tail Receives his Punishment 85
XIII. Bumper Wins Spotted Tail’s Friendship 92
XIV. Spotted Tail Proves His Loyalty 99
XV. Bumper Makes Fuzzy Wuzz Queen 106
Bumper the White Rabbit
In the Woods
STORY I
BUMPER HUNTS WITH THE PACK.
Bumper the White Rabbit, when he escaped from Edith, the red-headed girl
who owned the garden where he lived, found his way into the woods, and,
after many adventures with the Bats, the Crow, the Fox and Buster the
Bear, he was adopted by the wild rabbits as their leader and king. The
Old Blind Rabbit welcomed him, and told the story of how it was
prophesied that some day a pure white rabbit, with pink eyes, would come
to deliver them from their enemies, and teach them how to live in the
woods without fear of danger.
No one had been more surprised than Bumper at this sudden welcome. At
first he was for telling them he was no leader, and not fit to be their
king; but, as he was very lonely and without a home, the fear they might
drive him out of the burrow if he protested and explained he was just an
ordinary timid white rabbit that had strayed from the city decided him
to keep quiet and accept the situation.
Playing king was not an agreeable rôle for Bumper. In the first place,
he felt unequal to it; and, in the second, he felt a good deal like an
impostor. How Jimsy and Wheedles, his two brothers in the city, would
laugh at the idea! They didn’t think he possessed any kingly qualities.
They would even dispute his leadership in their own family.
But one thing gave Bumper considerable self-confidence. He was the only
white rabbit in the woods. None of the wild animals, except Buster the
Bear, who had spent a few years in a city Zoo, had ever seen a white
rabbit. They didn’t believe such a creature lived. And the pink eyes!
Why, they alone were enough to distinguish him from his country cousins,
and set him apart as one to be admired.
There was no question about the admiration all the rabbits felt for him.
Respect amounting almost to awe for his wonderful fur of white, and his
eyes of a delicate shade of pink, made them feel that he was a real king
of their tribe.
Bumper, after a while, grew accustomed to this admiration, and he began
to feel pardonable pride in his beautiful fur. Perhaps, after all, there
was something to the story the Old Blind Rabbit told. If looks made one
a king then certainly Bumper was entitled to the position. He recalled
the words of his mother, when she told him he was the handsomest of her
children, with the purest white fur and the pinkest of pink eyes. Was
that another indication that he was designed by nature to rule over his
wild people?
But on one point Bumper entertained no illusions. He was conscious of
his ignorance of the woods and the ways of the wild creatures. Why, he
hardly knew one from another! He had failed to recognize Mr. Crow on
their first meeting, and it is doubtful if he would have known Mr. Fox
immediately if Mr. Bull-Frog hadn’t pointed him out. Buster the Bear he
had recognized, for he had seen bears in the city Zoo, and the Bats and
Mr. Sewer Rat were old city friends of his.
But the woods were full of other strange animals. He heard Spotted Tail,
a big gray rabbit, and Fuzzy Wuzz, a demure little maiden of a rabbit
with soft brown eyes, refer repeatedly to Billy the Mink, Mr. Beaver,
Sleepy the Opossum, Browny the Muskrat, Washer the Raccoon and Curly the
Skunk. Now to Bumper all these names meant nothing, for he had never met
the owners of them.
Were they friends or enemies of the rabbits? If by chance he should meet
one what would he do? Run away as from a great danger, or greet him
pleasantly? Which were the dangerous animals, and which were the
harmless ones?
Unable to answer this question, and dreading lest he make a mistake that
might cause him embarrassment if he went out hunting with the pack, he
pleaded weariness from his travels, and remained in the burrow for three
whole days.
During this time he made it a point to ply the Old Blind Rabbit with
questions, storing up in his mind for future use any words of wisdom
that dropped from the shrunken lips of the former leader. His attention
flattered the Old Blind Rabbit, who told Bumper many tales and stories
of his people, and of the troubles they experienced in the woods.
“My gravest fear for my people is,” he said, “that they will never learn
to be fearless and self-possessed. A very little thing frightens them
and makes them panicky.”
Bumper stored this bit of information away in a corner of his mind. “I
must not get panicky even if the others do,” he said to himself.
“And another weakness of theirs is that they always do the same thing
over and over again,” continued the Old Blind Rabbit, “and our enemies
know it, and thereby trap them.”
“I must never do the same thing twice alike,” Bumper reflected. “That’s
dangerous in the woods.”
Many other bits of wisdom fell from the lips of the Old Blind Rabbit,
and Bumper remembered all of them.
Of course, he couldn’t stay in the burrow forever. Sooner or later he
had to hunt with the pack. They went out every day to get their food,
and to enjoy the sunshine. So on the fourth day of his coming, when
Spotted Tail asked him if he was going to accompany them, he said yes,
and prepared to lead the way.
And on that first day he applied some of the Old Blind Rabbit’s wisdom,
which greatly increased the respect of his cousins for him. They were
feeding on birch leaves and bark in a clearing a long, long distance
from the burrow when they were startled by the baying of hounds.
“The dogs and hunters are coming,” Spotted Tail exclaimed in fright.
“When they appear we must run to the left.”
“Why to the left?” asked Bumper curiously.
“Because rabbits always run that way, making a wide circle to throw the
hounds off their track.”
“But if you do that you’re sure to come back to the starting point,
aren’t you?” asked Bumper.
Spotted Tail didn’t know. He had never given it much thought; but now
that Bumper mentioned it he did recall many mishaps where rabbits
pursued by the dogs ran plump into the arms of hunters who seemed to be
waiting for them.
“It’s a simple trick,” added Bumper. “They send the dogs after you, and
then stand still until you make a wide circle and come back to the
starting point. Then they shoot you.”
“I don’t know,” replied Spotted Tail. “But we’ve always circled around
to the left.”
“Well,” said Bumper quickly, “we’re going to run straight ahead to-day,
and then when we have left the hounds behind we’ll go back to the burrow
in another way.”
“But all of our people have circled to the left—” began Spotted Tail.
“Come, follow me, straight ahead,” interrupted Bumper.
There was surprise and consternation at this order. Old habits were
strong, and Bumper was too new yet as a leader to impress all. Some
followed him, and others without really intending to do it began
circling around to the left.
Bumper and his followers reached home in safety. They easily shook off
the dogs, and returned to the burrow without sighting the hunters.
But not so with Spotted Tail and the few older ones who had followed
him. They had run plump into the hunters, and while no one was seriously
wounded by the shots fired at them several limped and showed blood on
their coats. The Old Blind Rabbit listened to the accounts of the chase,
and then said:
“What is the use of having a king and leader if you don’t obey his
orders and follow him? The next time, Spotted Tail, you will listen to
wisdom.”
STORY II
BUMPER’S IGNORANCE EXCITES SUSPICION.
Spotted Tail was not pleased by the rebuff the Old Blind Rabbit gave him
in the presence of the others. In particular he resented it because
Fuzzy Wuzz, who had followed Bumper’s lead, sided against him, and
seemed to think he was in the wrong.
Spotted Tail had aspired to leadership of the family after Old Blind
Rabbit’s death. In fact, he had been acting in that capacity for some
time before Bumper appeared, but always taking his orders from their old
blind leader. The sudden elevation of the white rabbit to the position
he coveted had not improved his temper.
There were several others who sympathized with Spotted Tail, and the
division in the sentiment of the burrow made Bumper feel uncomfortable.
He was no exception to the rule that “uneasy rests the head that wears a
crown”, although in his case it was a crown in name only, that he wore.
But his first triumph in leading the pack gave him new courage, and
perhaps a little bumptiousness. “All I’ve got to do,” he reflected, “is
to use my wits. That’s what saved me from Mr. Crow and Mr. Fox.”
So Bumper began to study the ways of his country people more carefully.
He made friends with Fuzzy Wuzz, and she taught him many things. For
one, that it was much easier to lead the young people into new ways than
the old ones.
But on the other hand Bumper found that the young rabbits were inclined
to be careless and reckless, which often got them in trouble. Indeed,
Fuzzy Wuzz herself was apt to make mistakes by doing things an older and
more experienced rabbit would not.
But it was Bumper who made the greatest mistake of all the young ones,
and through his ignorance nearly lost all the glory he had gained in
leading his followers away from the hunters. It happened on the third
trip from the burrow.
Goggle Eyes, a fat, lazy rabbit, who was forever stuffing himself, and
thinking of his stomach, reported a wonderful feeding ground in a
clearing where a woodsman had put up a cabin and planted fields of
turnips, cabbages, lettuce and other luscious vegetables.
“He’s away all day,” said Goggle Eyes, “and we don’t have to wait until
dark to raid his patch. I crossed it to-day, and ate some of the most
delicious turnips I ever tasted. I’ll lead you to it.”
This was good news to the rabbits, for it was a long time since any of
them had tasted turnips or cabbages. They don’t grow in the wild woods,
and even Bumper hadn’t had a smell of one since he left the red-headed
girl’s garden.
They were all eager to visit the field, and bright and early, under
Goggle Eyes’s leadership, they sallied forth. The way was through the
heart of the big woods, and then along a beautiful stream of water until
they came to the clearing.
The field of vegetables was some distance from the cabin, and after
Goggle Eyes announced that the coast was clear, they hopped through the
rail fence, and began greedily filling their little stomachs. What a
feast it was! Nothing had ever tasted better to Bumper and he munched
the succulent leaves of the cabbages and lettuce and the thick, fleshy
turnips until it seemed as if he couldn’t eat another mouthful.
Then out of sheer happiness he rolled around in the field. The younger
rabbits, taking this as a signal for play, began rolling and frolicking
around, too, chasing each other’s tails in and out among the vegetables.
Bumper forgot all the dignity of a king and played the hardest of any.
Goggle Eyes picked off a big cabbage leaf and tried to hide from the
others under it. Spotted Tail jerked up a small turnip by the roots, and
threw it over his head at him. Fuzzy Wuzz kicked up her hind legs and
sent a shower of dirt all over Goggle Eyes hiding under the leaf.
Not to be outdone by the others, Bumper looked around for something to
throw. Near him, hanging from a low branch of a bush, was a big gray
ball that wasn’t either a vegetable or a stone. He bumped against it
with his nose, and found it so light that he could lift it with his
front paws easily.
“Look out!” he shouted gleefully. “I’m going to throw this ball at you,
Goggle Eyes!”
All the players turned, and when they saw what it was they looked a
little horrified, and then taking Bumper’s threat as a joke they
laughed.
“I dare you to do it!” exclaimed Spotted Tail.
This dare was accepted at once.
“Stand back, all of you, then!” Bumper added. “I want to aim straight.
No,” he continued, changing his mind, “I won’t throw it at Goggle Eyes.
I’ll toss it up in the air, and
‘What goes up must come down,
Either on heads or on the ground.’”
“You can’t do it, Bumper!” exclaimed one of the older rabbits.
“Can’t do it!” retorted Bumper, puffing up his cheeks at what he
considered a challenge to his strength. The ball was twice the size of
his head, and at a distance looked big and heavy. But Bumper had tested
its weight, and found it light and easy to handle. Here was a good
chance to make them think he was strong and muscular.
He laughed good-naturedly, and added: “I’ll show you if I can’t! I’ve
thrown bigger balls than this one.”
He turned to grab it in his two front paws, but Fuzzy Wuzz turned
suddenly pale, and cried:
“Oh, Bumper, don’t—please don’t!”
Proud of the attention he was attracting, and pleased at the thought
that Fuzzy Wuzz didn’t want to see him strain himself, he smiled, and
put all the strength he had in the pull that loosened the big ball from
the twig. After that it was easy to lift it in his two paws. It was
almost as light as a toy balloon.
All the rabbits set up an exclamation of surprise and horror. “Oh! Oh!
Run!” they shouted.
Of course, Bumper thought this was from fear that the ball might be
thrown at them, and he smiled. But when they all scampered away to a
great distance, and a queer humming sound came out of the ball he held
in his paws, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake through
ignorance.
It did not take him long to find out. The humming and buzzing inside the
ball increased, and then out of one end appeared Mr. Yellow Jacket and
his wife and all their children. The ball was a hornet’s nest, and the
irate family were pouring out of their home pell-mell.
Bumper felt a sharp sting on the end of his ear, a sting like the
pricking of a thousand needles, and another on the tip of his nose. With
that he gave a squeal of pain, and threw the ball far from him. The next
he scampered away after the others, pursued by a dozen angry Yellow
Jackets.
It was not until they were at a safe distance that they stopped. Then
Spotted Tail turned to Bumper, and said:
“What an idiot you were! Or didn’t you know it was Mr. Yellow Jacket’s
home?”
Bumper was on the point of confessing his ignorance when he thought of
the consequence. A king should know everything, and to admit he didn’t
know a hornet’s nest from a ball would be a terrible blow to his pride.
So he suppressed the groan that the pain on his ear and nose caused, and
said indignantly:
“Know it was Mr. Yellow Jacket’s home! Why, what an idea! But somebody
had to pull it down, or Fuzzy Wuzz and the children might get stung. It
was better that I should suffer than they, wasn’t it?”
Which speech they all applauded, and said that Bumper was as brave as he
was wise.
STORY III
BUMPER SAVES FUZZY WUZZ FROM SNAKE.
While accepting smilingly the plaudits of the others for what seemed to
be great bravery on his part in tearing down the hornet’s nest in the
vegetable patch, Bumper was greatly disturbed by his display of
ignorance. Had it dawned upon him that the big round ball was the home
of Mr. and Mrs. Yellow Jacket, he would have scampered away with the
rest.
It was a narrow escape from disgrace. Spotted Tail had been suspicious,
but Bumper’s ready wit in turning aside the awkward question had won him
further glory. But right down in his heart he wasn’t sure that Spotted
Tail had been convinced. He eyed Bumper curiously. Bumper was certain
that he was watching him with suspicious eyes.
“I must be more careful,” he reasoned. “Spotted Tail has no love for
me.”
But if Spotted Tail was disloyal, Fuzzy Wuzz was the soul of honor and
loyalty. She looked at Bumper through her meek, brown eyes in a way that
made him happy. Fuzzy Wuzz was a particularly handsome rabbit, and there
was royal blood in her veins. She could trace her ancestry way back to
the first leader of her race, the white rabbit who had predicted the
coming of Bumper. That was so many years ago that none but the Old Blind
Rabbit had any memory of it. But the blood of this royal leader still
showed itself in many of his descendants.
For instance, Fuzzy Wuzz had more white than brown or gray on her back
and head. Her breast was pure white, and most of her head, while there
were patches of it on her sides. But the mixture of blood had given her
some very dark coloring, which made her anything but a white rabbit.
Fuzzy Wuzz was bright and cheerful, always smiling or laughing, and her
wit sometimes equalled that of Bumper. It was not unnatural, therefore,
that Bumper should select her for special marks of friendship. A close
intimacy sprang up between them, and they often hopped off in the woods
together to feed by themselves.
Bumper found that Fuzzy Wuzz knew a lot more about wood lore than he,
and pursuing his plan to gain all the information he could from every
one he made good use of her friendship. Pretending to test her
knowledge, he would ask her all sorts of questions, which she answered
readily like a school boy being quizzed by his teacher.
“Why do you ask me such silly questions?” she asked one day. “You’d
think I didn’t know anything.”
“No, that isn’t it,” replied Bumper, assuming a friendly attitude. “I
don’t want you to get in trouble in the woods and when Old Blind Rabbit
trusts you with me I must be sure you know how to look after yourself if
I should leave you for an instant. What would you do, for instance, if
Mr. Fox should appear and chase you?”
“Why, I’d run if I could. Maybe I’d be so frightened I’d fall down in a
faint.”
“That’s what you shouldn’t do,” cautioned Bumper. “If you get panicky
you’d lose your head, and run right into his jaws.”
“What would you do if he chased you?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you what I did do when Mr. Fox nearly caught me,” he replied.
Then he related to her the story of how he had induced the fox to look
at the sun until he was temporarily blinded. Fuzzy Wuzz laughed at this
until the tears ran down her cheeks. Then she added:
“It was very bright of you. I’m sure I’d never think of such a trick.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Bumper. “You’re bright enough, but if
you lost your wits you might forget what to do.”
It was shortly after this conversation that Fuzzy Wuzz got in trouble,
and Bumper came to her rescue and saved her by his wits. They had been
feeding on the luscious stalks of wild celery near the marsh when they
gradually got separated. Fuzzy Wuzz was nibbling away at the leaves all
unconscious of danger when she was startled by a loud hiss in front of
her.
She looked up in surprise, and saw facing her not a foot away a
tremendous blacksnake. He was the king blacksnake of the woods, with a
body almost as big around as her head, and a tail that stretched way off
in the distance. The rabbits called him Killer the Snake because he had
destroyed so many birds and young bunnies. He was so big and ferocious
that he could swallow a small rabbit whole.
When Fuzzy Wuzz saw Killer the Snake so close to her she became
paralyzed with fear. Instead of using her wits as Bumper had cautioned
when in danger she simply crouched down, and made a pitiful little noise
of terror. Killer, conscious of his magnetic power, swayed his head back
and forth, his small, beady eyes on her, and began approaching in slow,
rhythmic motions. Fuzzy Wuzz for the life of her couldn’t move, but she
kept up her pitiful little moaning.
It was this noise that attracted Bumper, and he called out: “What’s the
matter, Fuzzy Wuzz?”
There was no answer but the moaning continued. Bumper stopped chewing
the delicious leaf he had in his mouth, and hopped in her direction. His
coming must have disturbed Killer, for he shook his head angrily, and
half turned to face this unknown thing hopping through the bushes.
Bumper came upon Killer from behind. He had never seen a snake before,
but the long black body half coiled like a rope instantly told him that
it meant danger. A sight of Fuzzy Wuzz confirmed his suspicions.
Bumper’s first intention was to pounce upon the snake to save Fuzzy
Wuzz. Then he stopped to think. No, this would never do. Killer might
then turn and make short work of him.
Bumper kept at a respectable distance while he tried to work his wits,
although this was difficult with Fuzzy Wuzz’s pitiful moaning in his
ears. Then suddenly he saw his opportunity.
Some distance back from Killer was a big tree that had been snapped off
near the ground by a terrific wind. It was still held suspended in air
by a few branches and the bark that had not been broken by the storm.
Bumper turned and hopped toward this tree. Killer watched him
suspiciously, but as he remained at a safe distance he turned his head
slowly back to Fuzzy Wuzz. Bumper began gnawing at the bark which held
the tree suspended over the spot where Killer lay. He gnawed with his
sharp teeth until they began to bleed.
Fuzzy Wuzz, thinking that he had deserted her, moaned louder than ever,
and Killer, sure now that Bumper wasn’t going to attack him from the
rear, turned all his attention to his victim. It was a moment of
terrible suspense to Bumper. Would Killer reach Fuzzy Wuzz before he
could cut the bark so the tree would fall? How tough the bark seemed! He
gnawed and chewed with all his might, ripping big pieces off it. But
still the tree hung suspended in the air.
Then suddenly, after one desperate effort, Bumper was rewarded by seeing
the giant trunk drop down an inch then two inches, then—
There was a crash like a thunder-clap, and sticks and branches flew in
the air. Bumper jumped to one side as the big trunk fell to the ground,
catching Killer by the tail. The tree fell right across the lower part
of the snake’s body, and pinioned him there.
[Illustration: THE TREE FELL RIGHT ACROSS THE LOWER PART OF THE SNAKE’S
BODY]
“Now run, Fuzzy Wuzz!” shouted Bumper. “There’s no danger!”
Fuzzy Wuzz gave one quick glance at the squirming, twisting snake, and
then darted off toward home, with Bumper close behind her.
STORY IV
SPOTTED TAIL SHOWS ENMITY
You can imagine how grateful Fuzzy Wuzz was to Bumper for saving her
from Killer the Snake! Not only that, but she was mightily impressed by
his wisdom. Who but a king would have thought of gnawing off the butt of
the tree so it would fall on Killer!
She was so grateful that she told the story again and again to her
people, and they seemed as greatly impressed as Fuzzy Wuzz at Bumper’s
shrewdness. But Spotted Tail was not pleased. Perhaps he was still
suspicious, and thought it was more luck than knowledge that had saved
Bumper’s reputation. He still believed that Bumper had never seen a
hornet’s nest until that day he innocently mistook Mr. Yellow Jacket’s
home for a big, harmless ball.
This fact, coupled with several other little things that he had
observed, Bumper’s avoidance of certain plants, for instance, that he
seemed to think might be poisonous until the others ate them, convinced
him that Bumper was not fit to be the leader of his people.
“If Old Blind Rabbit could see with his eyes,” he reasoned, “he’d know,
too. But some day I’ll catch him, and show him up. He’s no king, for a
king should know everything.”
By letting such things dwell upon his mind, Spotted Tail worked himself
up into a pitch of excitement that was not pleasant. He fancied himself
wronged by Bumper. If the white rabbit hadn’t come into the woods,
Spotted Tail would have been chosen the natural leader.
Jealousy and spite are enough to sour any disposition, and Spotted Tail
was in a fair way of showing that he was not really fitted to be a
leader. A good leader never grows sullen and discontented because
somebody else happens to get more favors than he. Fuzzy Wuzz’s
attachment to Bumper further increased Spotted Tail’s displeasure. In
time he came almost to hating Bumper, and tried to think of ways and
means to disgrace him before the others.
Bumper was only partly conscious of this feeling toward him. He knew
that Spotted Tail was suspicious of his knowledge of wood lore, and he
was on his guard all the time to prevent any mistake that would give him
away. But he never dreamed that the big rabbit was beginning to dislike
him. He seldom hunted with him, and had few words with him, but there
had been no open enmity between them.
Then one day in the woods Bumper found himself unexpectedly separated
from the others, with only Spotted Tail in view. Fuzzy Wuzz and the rest
had crossed the brook on a natural rustic bridge of logs, and were
feeding on the opposite side when Bumper discovered them.
“Hello!” he exclaimed. “How’d they get across there? Surely, they didn’t
jump that distance.”
Spotted Tail, to whom this was addressed, replied:
“You should know by this time that a rabbit never jumps a stream that he
can get across any other way.”
Bumper nodded and smiled. “Still, I don’t see how else they got across.”
Spotted Tail said indifferently:
“Oh, I suppose they crossed on Mr. Beaver’s house.”
This remark caused Bumper to reflect. He had heard of Mr. Beaver, but he
wasn’t sure just what kind of an animal he was. And his house was more
of a mystery to him than anything else.
“On Mr. Beaver’s house?” he asked, before thinking. “Oh, you mean—”
He stopped in confusion, and Spotted Tail smiled gleefully.
“You mean what?” he asked, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “Don’t you know
what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds?”
“Why, what a question?” laughed Bumper, trying to evade a direct answer.
“I think it’s a very natural question,” added Spotted Tail. “I don’t
believe you ever saw Mr. Beaver or his house.”
Bumper laughed heartily at this, but it was a laugh to conceal his
embarrassment and not an expression of his enjoyment.
“Ho! Ho! You can be very comical if you want to!” he said. “Now maybe
_you_ can describe what sort of a house Mr. Beaver builds. Let me see if
you can.”
But Spotted Tail felt he had Bumper in a corner, and he wasn’t to be
bluffed. “I could describe it,” he said, leering, “but I don’t have to.
If you have any eyes in your head you can see for yourself what it is
like.”
“How’s that?” asked Bumper, growing more uncomfortable.
“Just what I said,” was the quick rejoinder. “We’ve been standing near
it for some time, and you can see it with your own eyes—if you know
where to look for it.”
“Oh! Ho!” laughed Bumper, less joyously than before. “Mr. Beaver’s house
is in plain sight, is it? Well, then, neither one of us will have to
describe it.”
“No, but where is it?” pursued Spotted Tail relentlessly.
Now Bumper was in a terrible quandary. There was nothing in view that
looked like a house. So he cast a glance up at the trees, hoping to find
it among the branches, and then back through the thick, tangled bushes.
There was nothing in sight that suggested the home of any animal.
All the time his eyes were searching around for some evidence of Mr.
Beaver’s house, Spotted Tail was watching him with an exultant grin on
his face.
“Ah! I thought so,” he said finally, with a triumphant grin on his face.
“You don’t know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds. You don’t even
know where he builds it. You’ve been looking for it up among the trees,
and back in the woods. Ho! Ho! And you call yourself a leader—the king
of the rabbits! Why, you don’t know anything about the woods.”
Bumper felt he was cornered, and he was mighty glad the others were not
present to witness his discomfit.
“Now, if you’re king, show me where Mr. Beaver’s house is, and where he
builds it!” continued Spotted Tail. “If you can’t I’ll go back and tell
all the others you’re an ignorant impostor. You’re no king! You don’t
know anything about the woods or its people. A king indeed!”
There was such scorn and contempt in the voice that Bumper winced. He
realized for the first time that he had an enemy in Spotted Tail. There
was no other excuse for his words and actions.
“Spotted Tail,” Bumper began in an injured voice, “why do you dislike
me, and try to offend me?”
“Don’t give me any such talk,” rudely interrupted the other. “I see
through it all. You’re trying to avoid the question. Answer me! Where’s
Mr. Beaver’s house? If you don’t know, confess your ignorance.”
Bumper’s wits failed him for the first time. He saw no way out of the
corner. Spotted Tail had him, and the disgrace of confession was
horribly mortifying.
A sudden splash in the water attracted his attention. A big rat-like
animal was swimming toward the shore, with only his head and muzzle
above the surface. Bumper watched him in fascination. When he reached
the shore, he crawled upon it, and said quite angrily:
“I wish, Mr. Spotted Tail, your people would stop crawling across the
roof of my house. It annoys me very much. I was fast asleep when they
thumped over it.”
Spotted Tail was deeply upset by this interruption, and Bumper’s wits,
coming to his rescue, made him smile. Speaking at a venture, he
addressed the rat-like animal.
“I’ll ask them not to do it again, Mr. Beaver. Of course, it is very
annoying to be disturbed when asleep by people climbing over the roof of
your house.”
“Thank you!” replied Mr. Beaver, dipping into the water and swimming
back to his dam. Bumper pointed to the dam across the stream, and said
to Spotted Tail: “There’s Mr. Beaver’s house.”
STORY V
A TEST OF FLEETNESS
Confident that he had Bumper cornered, and that nothing but the timely
appearance of Mr. Beaver had saved him from disgraceful confession,
Spotted Tail returned to the burrow in an angry mood. He had not stopped
even to look when Bumper triumphantly pointed out the beaver dam. He had
hoped to be able to tell the others how Bumper was ignorant of such a
common thing as a beaver’s dam, and now he had nothing but an empty
triumph. Mr. Beaver had spoilt everything for him—that and Bumper’s
ready wit.
But he was all the more determined to show him up. He began to brag
about his knowledge of woodcraft, telling many stories of his shrewdness
and skill. Bumper remained quiet, and listened with the others.
Spotted Tail then switched to another subject. “But it takes more than
knowledge and skill to be a good leader,” he said. “One must be as swift
as the wind as well as wise as the owl.”
He stopped suddenly and turned to the white rabbit. “A king ought to be
the swiftest runner of his people, Bumper. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I suppose he should be, if—”
“Then are you the fleetest runner in the woods?” interrupted Spotted
Tail.
“Why, I’ve never tried it. I’m sure I don’t know,” Bumper stammered.
Spotted Tail, sure of his fleetness of foot, decided to challenge him to
a race. Nothing would humiliate Bumper more than to be defeated in a
speed trial.
“A king should not only be the swiftest and wisest of his people,” he
said slowly, “but there should be no doubt in his own mind of it.”
“A king doesn’t always tell what’s in his mind,” replied Bumper.
“No, but he should prove his skill and ability when challenged,” was the
quick retort.
“I didn’t know that I was challenged,” replied Bumper, in a weak voice.
Spotted Tail smiled wickedly. “But you are, Bumper. I, Spotted Tail, the
swiftest and strongest rabbit in the woods, and the wisest, challenge
you to run a race with me. Are you afraid?”
Spotted Tail’s friends immediately clapped their paws and nodded their
heads. Fuzzy Wuzz and the other followers of Bumper looked a little
worried, but their faith in their white leader came to their rescue.
“Yes, yes,” they said in a breath, “Bumper will race Spotted Tail, and
prove to him that he is no longer the swiftest and strongest rabbit of
the woods.”
“Of course! Of course!” echoed Spotted Tail’s friends. “There will be a
race—a fair race—and a long race. We will all turn out to see it.”
Bumper’s heart began to quake. Spotted Tail had long, powerful legs and
he could use them to good purpose. He was cut out for a fleet runner,
and Bumper had no illusions on that point. His life in the city had
never given him a chance to train for long running, and his muscles had
never been fully developed. He had his misgivings about his speed when
compared with that of this big, powerful wild cousin of his.
Yet, as he recalled the wild flight he had made when pursued by the bats
in the sewer, and of his subsequent race with Mr. Fox in the woods, a
smile crept into his face. He had certainly run fast on those two
occasions.
“Fear makes a rabbit run faster than anything else,” he remembered
hearing the Old Blind Rabbit remark one day.
“I wish then,” Bumper said to himself, “if I must race with Spotted Tail
I’d get a good fright. Maybe I would beat him then.”
There was no way out of the challenge. Spotted Tail had made it, and all
the others, including friends and foes, had taken it up. Bumper could
not withdraw without disgracing himself.
The test of speed was to be one of endurance as well as of fleetness of
foot. It was arranged to run a mile straight out to Mr. Beaver’s dam,
and back again. A committee of four were to wait for them at the dam to
see that each contestant rounded the point. This would prevent any trick
on the part of either one.
Bumper realized right away that it was speed and endurance that would
tell. Wit and wisdom would have nothing to do with the decision. Spotted
Tail really had the advantage, for he was more familiar with the trails
and by-paths so that he could seek out the best in going and coming.
Nevertheless, Bumper put up a brave front, and entered the race with the
determination to do his best. They started from the burrow on even
terms, and shot through the bushes at a tremendous speed. For a time
they kept abreast within sight of each other. Then they became
separated, for Spotted Tail veered off to the right to follow an easier
trail.
Bumper had great difficulty in getting to the beaver’s dam, for twice he
got lost in the bushes, and had hard work finding the trail again. He
lost so much by this that when he reached the dam, he was not surprised
to hear his friends shout:
“Hurry! Hurry, Bumper! Spotted Tail’s on his way back!”
The first half of the race was lost to him; but he could not refrain
from calling back to his friends: “The race is never decided until it’s
finished.”
Fuzzy Wuzz and the others clapped their hands at this confident remark.
Instead of losing faith in him they were more certain than ever that
Bumper would win.
Well, it didn’t look so to Bumper. He felt that he could never overtake
Spotted Tail and beat him to the finish. He might be a quarter of a mile
ahead of him, and running like the wind. The disheartening effect of
being beaten to the first stake told on his speed, and he ran only
half-heartedly.
Then suddenly out of the bushes on his right sprang something red and
flashing. Bumper caught sight of it, and his heart gave a great bound of
fear. It was Mr. Fox!
Bumper’s fright was so great that he sprang over a clump of bushes that
he never thought he could clear. Then, with his heart in his mouth, he
ran for dear life. The Old Blind Rabbit’s wise remark that “fear makes a
rabbit run faster than anything else” never occurred to him. He was too
frightened to think of anything. But, oh, how he ran! His feet barely
touched the ground. He seemed to be flying rather than running.
Never—not even when the Bats pursued him—had he run so fast.
And the fox kept close behind him, gaining a few steps now and then, but
losing whenever Bumper took one of his wild leaps. It was a terrible
race, in which death or life was the stake. If he weakened or faltered
an instant, those red, dripping jaws would have him.
When Bumper came within sight of the burrow near the big rock, he could
see the rabbits waiting for the end of the race. They were talking and
chatting among themselves. Spotted Tail was not in sight. Perhaps he had
already finished.
“Scatter! Scatter for your life!” called Bumper, as he took a wild leap
in the air.
“It’s Bumper!” some one cried. Then they caught sight of the red streak
in pursuit. “Mr. Fox is after him! Run for the burrow!”
They scampered for shelter just as Bumper cleared the starting line and
eluded the fox by a narrow margin. Once inside the burrow, he asked:
“Where’s Spotted Tail?”
“He hasn’t come yet. You won the race, Bumper!”
And later, when Spotted Tail appeared, he was in a crestfallen mood, for
when the race was apparently won by him he had been frightened off the
trail by the sudden appearance of Mr. Fox. Instead of running straight
ahead, he had dodged into the bushes to hide.
“When you’re racing,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t want to turn aside for
anything—not even to save your hide.”
STORY VI
A TEST OF COURAGE
Spotted Tail was so chagrined by losing the race that he immediately
began to scheme to humiliate Bumper in some other way. He was confident
that the race hadn’t gone to the swiftest and strongest, but he could
not convince the others of this. The story of how the tortoise beat the
hare in a race, because the latter had lain down to sleep on the way,
was an old joke among the rabbits, and Spotted Tail’s excuses only
aroused mirth and derision.
No, clearly, Spotted Tail could not redeem his lost glory by challenging
Bumper to another race. But there were other ways to discredit him in
the eyes of his people.
“Oh, Bumper, King of the rabbits!” he exclaimed one day in mock
courtesy. “The Lion is called the King of the beasts, and he won that
title by his bravery and courage. Do you think that should make one
king?”
“Courage is a quality that every king and leader should have,” replied
Bumper, cautiously.
“Greater than that of any of his subjects?”
Bumper hesitated, for he feared a trap; but when all the others looked
at him, waiting upon his words, he felt that he had to assent.
“Yes, I suppose he should be the bravest of his people.”
“Then,” smiled Spotted Tail, “you must be the bravest of all the rabbits
in the woods—braver than Old Blind Rabbit ever was, or any of the young
ones here.”
“I shouldn’t like to claim that,” faltered Bumper, modestly.
“Then you shouldn’t be king. Isn’t that the law of the woods?”
“A leader should be as brave as any of his people,” Bumper answered,
“not braver. Perhaps that would be impossible.”
“Well said,” muttered the Old Blind Rabbit. “There are many of my people
who are brave as any king, and more could not be asked of their leader.”
Spotted Tail licked his lips and smiled. “We should make a test,” he
added, “to see who are the brave ones among us. All who choose can enter
it. Has any one a test to suggest?”
There was absolute silence. Spotted Tail knew no one would think of a
suitable test on the spur of the moment. So he proposed one himself, one
that he had had in mind for some days.
“Suppose, then,” he added, still smiling, “we cross, one by one,
Swinging Bridge, and those who get over safely will be entitled to be
called brave.”
There was a gasp of surprise and consternation. Swinging Bridge was a
small tree that had fallen across Rocky Ford where the river cut deep
through a narrow gorge. The tree seemed almost suspended in mid-air by
the vines and bushes, and was very dangerous. Every wind swung it back
and forth like a hammock strung between two trees.
No rabbit had ever dared to cross it. It was supposed to be an
impossible feat. The tree was so small and slippery that it afforded
small chance for an animal without claws to walk across it. It hung
fifty feet from the river’s bed so that a fall from it meant almost sure
death.
It was foolhardy to try it. Bobby Gray Squirrel could run across it
easily, but that was because he had claws with which to cling to it.
Sleepy the Opossum and Washer the Raccoon could likewise walk across the
bridge without fear of falling. But for a rabbit, whose feet were not
made to climb, it was a dangerous undertaking.
“Oh, no, not that!” exclaimed Fuzzy Wuzz, shuddering.
“Why not?” asked Spotted Tail. “It will be a wonderful record for any
rabbit who can do it. What do you say, Bumper?”
“I’m willing if you are,” Bumper replied, feeling that he could not
withdraw from the challenge.
“Then we will draw lots to see who goes first,” promptly added Spotted
Tail, who had arranged the whole thing.
“That isn’t fair,” interrupted one of Bumper’s followers. “The
challenger should go first.”
“Since when was drawing lots unfair?” queried Spotted Tail. “I appeal to
your judgment, Old Blind Rabbit. Isn’t it fair?”
The old leader of the rabbits hesitated for a moment, but he had to
admit that this form of selection had been common with his people as
long as he could recollect.
So when he decided in favor of Spotted Tail, the work of choosing their
order of going across the bridge began. There were ten who stepped
forward to accept the challenge. The Old Blind Rabbit held the sticks as
each one stepped up to choose. Bumper got the short one, either through
chance or through some trick Spotted Tail had arranged. No one could say
which it was, but a murmur of dissent went up at once.
“It wasn’t a fair drawing!” they cried. “Try it over again. Spotted Tail
played a trick on Bumper.”
“No,” interrupted Bumper, “we’ll not draw lots again. I’ll cross
Swinging Bridge first.”
This decision was accepted with applause, and the rabbits trooped
through the woods to Swinging Bridge. Bumper’s first sight of it made
him shiver. It was worse than he had imagined. The chasm was at least
thirty feet across, and the butt end of the tree was not more than eight
inches in diameter, while the smaller end seemed to dwindle away into a
mere whip. In fact, the tree could never have remained in its position
if it hadn’t been for the vines suspending it.
“I’ll begin on this end,” Bumper said, choosing the butt end of the
tree. His quick eye had seen the only possible chance for crossing. Half
way across, where the tree grew smaller rapidly, there was a crotch
which offered a firm footing. Bumper decided to walk out to this, and
then reach the other side in one tremendous hop. That would be crossing
the bridge, for nothing in the terms had been said about the manner of
going.
While the others held their breath, and Fuzzy Wuzz shook and trembled
with fear, Bumper hopped on the tree, and began making his way slowly
along. He dared not look below where the river rolled and tossed over
the rocks. He kept his eyes on the crotch ahead.
He reached this without accident. Then paused. The rest of the way was
too perilous for any rabbit to proceed. Spotted Tail smiled to himself.
He knew that it would be the last of the white rabbit if he attempted
it.
Bumper crouched low, fastened his hind feet firmly in the crotch, and
then, to the surprise of all, leaped into the air in one tremendous
spring that carried him clear across to the other side. His heart was
beating at a lively rate, but when he realized that he had performed the
difficult feat a little glow of triumph spread over his face.
“Wonderful! Good for Bumper!” were the cries from the other side that
reached his ears.
“Now Spotted Tail, it’s your turn!” some one said.
But Spotted Tail was white and trembling. He had never expected to be
called upon to attempt it. With the death of Bumper in the river below,
they would call the test off. It would be suicidal for another to try
it. But now all was changed. Bumper was safe on the other side, and they
were calling on him to cross. He crouched in abject fear, and seemed
ready to ask for mercy when Bumper spoke.
“No,” he said, “it isn’t safe. It’s a foolhardy thing to do. I forbid
any one else trying it. You understand, Spotted Tail, I forbid it!”
Spotted Tail raised his head hopefully, and a cunning, cringing
expression came into his eyes.
“The king must be obeyed,” he said.
Then boastfully, walking away: “But I could have crossed without jumping
half the way. That was not included in the terms of the test.”
STORY VII
THE TEST OF WITS
Of course, Spotted Tail was glad that he had been relieved of making the
terrible test of courage in crossing Swinging Bridge, but, at the same
time, he was chagrined that Bumper had come out of the contest with
greater honors than ever. It seemed as if in some way the white rabbit
managed to make good by successfully crawling out of every corner in
which Spotted Tail put him.