in the lead. Mile after mile he covered, his proud head flung back, his
nostrils distended. It was a killing pace, but the dogs held on behind.
How long could he stand it? Another mile, and the pace began to tell on
him. He was growing weary and exhausted. But the dogs were still coming!
When he began to fear he could not escape, it began to rain, falling
gently at first, and then more heavily.
In the next story you will read of how the rain helped him.
STORY XI
WHITE TAIL’S ADVENTURE IN THE CAMP
The rain made White Tail’s difficulties worse, for the logs and stones
were so slippery that he stumbled time and again, and to avoid a fall he
had to slacken his pace. The dogs on the other hand, kept up their pace,
as the slippery things did not seem to bother them, and they began to
gain on the fleeing buck very rapidly. Their deep baying drew so near
that White Tail became startled.
But all this time the rain was planning to help the buck, although he
did not know it at the time. He was feeling very uncomfortable, as well
as frightened. The steady downpour soaked him to the skin, and the
driving wind splashed the rain-drops in his eyes, half blinding him.
When the dogs drew so near that White Tail felt they would soon see him,
he turned abruptly around, and ran at right angles to his former course.
He had not tried dodging before, but had kept on a straight course.
To his surprise he heard the barking of the dogs grow suddenly fainter,
and then very confused. The fact was the heavy downpour of rain had
nearly blotted out his trail, and the dogs could not readily pick it up
again. So long as he kept on in straight course, the dogs had followed
him.
But now, by dodging, White Tail found he could easily elude them, so
faint was the scent he left behind. The rain washed that away, and
completely baffled the dogs.
It was a great blessing, for White Tail was badly winded. He was so
tired that as soon as he left the dogs far in the rear he sought shelter
from the rain. He was almost exhausted with his efforts, and a bed of
leaves or grass would be the greatest blessing in the world.
Directly ahead of him, he saw an old deserted open camp standing in a
partial clearing. It was built of pine logs, with the bark left on, and
a roof and three sides. The front was left open, with an old camp-fire
place of stones and rocks a few feet away.
At first White Tail stopped and looked at the camp suspiciously. If the
man hunters lived in it, he should avoid it as he would Puma or Timber,
but if it were deserted there would be no harm in seeking shelter under
its roof. He watched, listened and sniffed for a long time before he
dared approach it.
Then by degrees he walked closer until he had a chance to look inside.
There was no one there, and it had not been inhabited for a long, long
time. White Tail could tell this by the absence of any odor.
“I think it’s safe,” he muttered after another close examination. “I’ll
spend the night here. I’m dreadfully tired, and so wet I’m cold and
shivery.”
He walked under the sheltering roof, and found a bed of sweet-smelling
spruce boughs in one corner. They were perfectly dry, and White Tail
gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was a dry shelter, with a soft, dry bed
already prepared for him. He dropped down on it with a sigh of intense
relief.
It rained hard all night. White Tail could hear the floods of water
pouring on the roof of his shelter, but under it the place was dry and
warm. Darkness came early in the woods, and it was soon pitchy black.
He felt perfectly safe if none of the night prowlers appeared. The rain,
however, was a protection to him, for even Puma and Timber rarely
ventured forth in such a storm. They preferred to do their hunting on
clear, dry nights when the scent of their prey was clear and distinct.
“I don’t think anybody will disturb me until morning,” White Tail said,
“and I can rest here in peace.”
But of course you can never tell what may happen in the wildwoods.
Suppose Puma or Timber Wolf should be caught away from home in the rain!
If they were, and saw the open camp, they would very naturally seek it
for shelter just as White Tail had done.
It was quite early in the evening when White Tail was awakened from
slumber by a thump, thump outside. It came nearer and nearer. White Tail
was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe. He trembled in every
limb. Some animal was coming around the side of the open camp.
Before White Tail could leap to his feet to run, a head was thrust
around the corner, and a pair of wonderful eyes looked at him. At the
same instant the owner of them caught sight of White Tail’s.
“Hello, Bumper!” White Tail exclaimed, when he recognized Bumper the
White Rabbit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m White Tail the Deer.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad of that,” replied Bumper, approaching. “You gave
me an awful start at first. I thought you were Mr. Fox or Sneaky the
Wolf or Puma.”
“And I thought you were Timber Wolf or the man hunters or their dogs.”
“Seeing that we were both wrong then,” said Bumper, “we might share this
camp between us. You have no objection, I hope.”
“No, I’m glad to have company. I’m dreadfully excited and alarmed.”
Then he told the White Rabbit about his adventures, ending up with the
pursuit by the dogs, and his escape to the deserted camp.
“You certainly did have a hard time of it,” said Bumper when he had
finished. “And you’re a long way from home. I do hope you can get back
without accident. What’s that?”
Bumper stopped, and White Tail raised his head in alarm. There was a
scream outside, and then a wild commotion in the bushes. The next moment
something came rushing in the camp, and flopped down right at White
Tail’s feet.
It was Rusty the Blackbird. “Help! Help! Oh, help me!” Rusty cried.
“Great Horn the Owl is after me! Here he comes now!”
And out of the darkness swept a shadowy figure that hardly made any
noise; but the moment it saw White Tail it stopped and circled around
his head. White Tail raised his head, and swung his big antlers
threateningly at Great Horn.
“Look out,” he said, “or I’ll hit you! Don’t come any nearer, Great
Horn!”
“Is that you, White Tail?” asked Great Horn. “I didn’t know you were
here. Well, I won’t disturb you. I’m after Rusty there at your feet. Let
me have him, and I will leave at once.”
“You will leave at once without Rusty,” replied White Tail. “He’s a
friend of mine, and I’m going to protect him.”
“Hoot! Hoot!” shouted the Owl in laughter. “I’ll take him whether you
want me to or not.”
He made a swift dive for poor Rusty, but White Tail’s big antlers swung
around and knocked him over. One prong hurt Great Horn so that he flew
back to a safe place.
“If you come nearer, I’ll hurt you worse the next time,” warned White
Tail.
Great Horn sat there and considered for some time, his great eyes
blinking and winking. “What are you doing here, White Tail?” he asked
finally. “Don’t you know you’re on Puma’s hunting grounds? Well, if you
don’t know it you ought to. I think Puma might be interested in knowing
it. Now give me Rusty at once or I’ll fly away, and tell Puma.”
This threat made Rusty tremble, and Bumper shiver in his corner where he
was hiding under the boughs; but White Tail did neither. “Go, and tell
him, Great Horn,” he replied. “I won’t give up Rusty. I’ll protect my
friends.”
And Great Horn flew away. What he did will appear in the next story.
STORY XII
WHITE TAIL ESCAPES
The moment Great Horn the Owl flew out of the open camp to tell Puma of
White Tail’s hiding place, Bumper hopped from his place in the corner,
and Rusty jumped to a perch on one of the buck’s antlers.
“Oh, dear,” began Rusty, “I’ve brought trouble upon you, White Tail!
Great Horn will guide Puma here. I wish now I’d never flown in here.”
“No, you don’t wish that, Rusty,” replied White Tail. “If you hadn’t
come here Great Horn would have killed you.”
“And now Puma will kill you.”
“Not if I can help it,” smiled White Tail. “He’s been on my trail
before, and I shook him off.”
Then he told Rusty of his adventures.
“You’re wonderful, White Tail,” the Blackbird said when he had finished.
“You saved Young Black Buck’s life, and nearly lost your own. Now you’ve
saved my life, and got yourself in more danger. I wish I could do
something to help you in return.”
“Probably you can, Rusty. Who knows? I’m terribly mixed up in these
strange woods. I hardly know which way to go to find home. Perhaps you
can direct me.”
“Yes, I can do that easily.”
“Thanks! That’s one good turn you can do me. Now for another. Is there
any river or stream near here that I can reach? If so I can go to it
before Puma comes, and then wade down it to throw him off my scent.”
“Why, yes, there’s a shallow brook only a mile from here. I can take you
to that.”
“Which way shall I go—up or down the brook?”
“Go down it a couple of miles until it runs in the stream where Father
Buck let the herd feed on the rushes this morning—the place you started
from when you ran the race with Young Black Buck.”
“In that case,” replied White Tail, “I think I’ll be going right away.
I’m anxious to be off.”
“But it’s a dreadful night outside. Hear it rain.”
“Yes, but it would be more dreadful to stay here until Great Horn and
Puma appeared. Puma would kill me, and Great Horn would pounce upon
you.”
“Yes, of course, we must go—right away, rain or no rain.”
Bumper, who had been listening to the conversation, hopped to the
entrance, and then came back. “If I’m any judge,” he said, “I don’t
think you’ll have such a wet trip. That shower was the last. The clouds
are breaking away, and the moon will soon be out.”
White Tail was instantly on his feet, and beat Rusty to the front where
the two of them gazed up at the rain clouds now growing thin and ragged
in places. They saw a star twinkle in the east, and then another and
another. The storm was, indeed, over, and the night trip through the
woods would not be so disagreeable.
“I must be off at once, Rusty,” White Tail said. “Puma may be back any
minute.”
“You can’t start any too soon to suit me, White Tail, for if Puma comes
Great Horn will be with him. Come on! I’m ready.”
“It seems to me,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t consider me at all. I’m
not even invited to go with you.”
“We thought you’d prefer to stay in this dry camp,” replied White Tail.
“It’s very comfortable here, and you can hide under the spruce boughs.”
The White Rabbit sniffed. “How long do you suppose it would take Puma to
find me?” he asked. “When he found you’d gone, he’d eat me up instead. A
rabbit makes only a mouthful for Puma, but it’s better than nothing. No,
I’m going with you.”
So the three started forth, leaving the shelter of the camp for the wet
trail of the woods. And how wet everything was! The trail was soaked
with water, and every leaf and bough was dripping with moisture. Every
bush they touched threw a shower of rain-drops all over them.
Rusty led the way, hopping and flying from bush to bush, with Bumper
following next, and White Tail bringing up the rear. Bumper was as
familiar with the woods as Rusty, and White Tail really followed him,
although at times the White Rabbit took short cuts through narrow paths
which the buck could not tread.
It was very quiet and solemn in the woods. After the rain the stillness
seemed intensified by the occasional splatter of water, as some
overladened tree branch dipped its load and let it fall to the ground.
No birds or animals were abroad, and they made half the distance without
accident or alarm.
Then back of them came a fearful roar that startled the echoes of the
wildwoods. It was Puma the Mountain Lion.
“He’s found we’ve escaped!” cried Rusty. “Oh, do hurry! He’ll pick up
your trail, and Great Horn will find me. Hurry! Hurry!”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed White Tail. “Can’t you find a hiding place,
Rusty?”
“Yes, many of them, but I must show you the way to the shallow brook.”
“No, you tell me how to find it,” interrupted White Tail. “I can run
much faster alone.”
“It’s straight ahead, White Tail.”
“Then find a hiding place in the bushes. Good-bye, and thank you!”
“Are you going to leave me, White Tail?” asked Bumper.
“Yes, Bumper, for you travel too slow for me. You must find a burrow,
and run for it. There must be one around here.”
“Yes, there’s a good one not far from here. But don’t you need me?”
“No, Bumper, I can outrun you, and if you come along Puma may overtake
me. Good-bye, and thank you! I’m off now.”
Bumper waited until White Tail was out of sight and hearing. Then he
sought a safe burrow, and stood at the entrance to watch and listen.
Pretty soon he heard a crash in the bushes, as Puma came dashing along.
Close behind him was Great Horn the Owl, flitting from tree to tree.
“I wonder where Rusty is,” Great Horn was saying. “I don’t see him
anywhere.”
“Neither do I see White Tail,” roared back Puma, “but I smell him. I’m
on the right trail.”
“I wish I could smell Rusty. My eyes are good, but my nose isn’t as
sharp as yours, Puma.”
“I don’t care where Rusty is,” was the reply. “I want White Tail, and
I’m going to catch him this time. He can’t escape as he did before.”
They swept past Bumper, and made their way down the trail. The White
Rabbit sighed, and said: “I do hope White Tail will escape.”
And White Tail hoped so too. Meanwhile, he was running with all his
might. As soon as he had left his two friends, he leaped through the
bushes or over them, with his head aimed straight for the brook. He
heard the roar of Puma behind him, and this spurred him on to greater
speed.
When he finally reached the shallow brook, he waded in and rapidly
followed it down toward its mouth where it joined the wider stream. When
Puma reached the brook he was baffled. The scent he had been following
suddenly stopped.
“Which way has he gone?” he growled. “Up or down? I’ll go up, Great
Horn, and you go down. If you see him hoot to me, and I’ll come.”
Puma crossed the stream and ran up it on the opposite side, and Great
Horn flitted down it. Of course, Great Horn found White Tail, but what
happened then will appear next.
STORY XIII
WHITE TAIL HEARS UNPLEASANT NEWS
Great Horn found White Tail a long way down the stream, but by that time
morning was dawning, and the light began to hurt the Owl’s eyes. He
caught a glimpse of something moving through the bushes, and flew toward
it, for he could not in the early light see very far.
“Ah! I’ve found you, White Tail!” he cried. “I knew it was you.”
“How did you know it, Great Horn?” asked White Tail. “I know you can’t
see very well in this light. I don’t believe you can see me yet. You
only hear me.”
“The idea!” snapped Great Horn. “I can see you as well as you can see
me.”
“I don’t believe it,” replied White Tail. “Can you see Rusty sitting on
the end of my antlers?”
“Rusty! Rusty! Is he there?” exclaimed Great Horn excitedly. Now the
thought of being so near to his prey made him very hungry, and he flew
straight at White Tail’s head. This was what the buck wanted, and when
the Owl was close enough he swung his antlers around swiftly and caught
Great Horn on the end. The blow was enough to knock the breath out of
the bird, and he fell with a plump in the bushes.
“That’s for betraying me to Puma,” White Tail said. “Now call to him
when you can get back your breath. I’m off.”
And through the bushes he ran, leaving Great Horn so surprised and
stunned that he couldn’t call to Puma for a long time. White Tail had
made good his escape.
A few yards through the woods he came upon the other stream, the broad
river which he knew so well. He crossed this, and made his way up the
other embankment. Then, with the woods before him familiar to his eyes
and nose, he ran rapidly toward home. He had made his way out of Puma’s
hunting and through the higher timberland to his home.
His appearance was hailed with delight by all his friends. “Oh, White
Tail, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed one.
“Dead! Huh! Why should you think that?” he sniffed.
[Illustration: “THAT’S FOR BETRAYING ME TO PUMA,” WHITE TAIL SAID.]
“Young Black Buck said you were. He left you, and he was sure the dogs
would catch you. He was sorry for you, but you couldn’t keep up with
him, and he didn’t want to die because you couldn’t run as fast as he.”
“What!” exclaimed White Tail. “Has Young Black Buck returned? And did he
tell such a tale?”
“Why, yes, that’s what he said.”
With a roar of rage at this falsehood, White Tail pushed his way into
the middle of the herd, and stood face to face before Young Black Buck.
“You have been spreading more false stories about me, Young Black Buck!”
he said. “After the way I saved you from the dogs, you lie about me!”
Young Black Buck stood all atremble at the sight of White Tail. He had
truly believed that the dogs would catch him, and he thought there would
be no harm in telling a story of his escape that would hurt White Tail
and help himself.
“Listen!” White Tail added, swinging around and facing the herd. “Listen
to a story of treachery. Young Black Buck has lied to you, and you must
hear me. When he stumbled and sprained his leg, I stayed with him until
it healed. Then when the man hunters started the dogs on our trail, we
ran together until Young Black Buck’s weak leg crippled him again. The
dogs would have caught him, but I waited for them, and when they saw me
I led them off on my trail. Young Black Buck escaped while I led the
dogs a merry chase. I saved his life, and he rewards me for it by
lies—nothing but lies!”
The commotion that followed these words was great, and the herd gazed
from one speaker to the other.
“I challenge you to deny it!” continued White Tail, facing Young Black
Buck. “See he cannot deny it! He knows it to be the truth!”
Young Black Buck, indeed, looked guilty. His limbs were trembling, and
his head drooping. For once he had no ready story to explain his lies.
“To punish you for it, Young Black Buck, I challenge you to a fight!”
went on White Tail, now so enraged that he wanted to punish his rival.
It was then that Black Buck interfered.
“Cease your quarreling over such petty things,” he said. “There are
greater things for the herd to consider than this.”
“What can be greater than a question of honor?” interrupted White Tail
boldly. “Your son has spread falsehoods about me, and I challenge him to
prove it by fighting.”
“And I tell you to cease your quarreling,” added Black Buck. “You may
need your strength for a different kind of challenge. Know you not what
has happened?”
White Tail looked mystified. Suddenly it occurred to him that he hadn’t
seen Father Buck or Mother Deer. They hadn’t come forth to greet him.
Had anything serious happened to them?
“No, I don’t know what has happened,” White Tail admitted. “I have been
away, and know nothing.”
“Then listen!” replied Black Buck. “Our leader has failed. He stumbled
in the chase, and missed his footing. When we crossed the brook he
failed to clear it. He is no longer our leader. He’s old and broken.
Tomorrow we meet at the Council Tree to choose a new leader.”
White Tail stood dumbfounded. Father Buck had been disgraced! He had
fallen and missed his footing! He had failed to cross the brook in a
single jump! He was to be deposed as leader!
It seemed incredible, and White Tail was on the point of saying so when
he remembered the words of Father Buck, and his prediction that some day
he would fail through old age and weakness. The thing had happened then
in his absence. White Tail was glad of that, for it would have been hard
for him to witness the leader’s downfall.
Without another word to Black Buck, he whirled around to hunt up Father
Buck and Mother Deer. He wanted the truth from their lips, and not from
one who found pleasure in it. The sneer in Black Buck’s words angered
him.
He found the two quietly resting under a tree back of the herd, a little
to one side as if they had already been cast out and ignored by those
who had so recently looked up to them. Mother Deer rose and ran to greet
her son.
“It is well, White Tail, that you’ve come back at this time,” she said
quietly. “You have heard the news?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it. It is true then—that—that—”
“Yes, my son,” interrupted Father Buck, “I have led my last chase. Never
again will the herd follow me. What must come to all of us at some time
has befallen me. There is nothing to regret. One and all must face it
sooner or later. Why should we not accept it complacently?”
White Tail was surprised, and yet pleased, by the quiet acceptance
Father Buck took of his downfall. It softened the load that he was
carrying in his own heart.
“I prepared you for it, you remember White Tail,” the old leader
continued. “Well, tomorrow they will choose a new leader. They will
demand that I step aside. But until then I’m leader, and no one shall
dispute that right.”
He rose and shook his huge antlered head, looking for all the world like
a leader, and when he bellowed an order every one started. He was not
yet deposed. In the next story what happened at the Council Tree will be
told.
STORY XIV
CHOOSING A NEW LEADER
The call for a meeting at the Council Tree was issued to the herd by
Father Buck himself. It was his duty to do this, for the law of the herd
is that a leader is still in command, and his word must be obeyed, until
he has been deposed and another chosen.
White Tail had been twice at the Council Tree before, but never on such
a momentous occasion as this. His own initiation into the secrets of the
council was nothing compared to the choosing of a new leader. He felt
the weight of responsibility that was laid upon him, for the time had
come for him to succeed his father or fail forever.
The choosing of a leader did not happen often. Once in a life time was
the average. Unless something happened to a leader to cut him down
accidentally in the prime of his life, or Puma or Timber pulled him down
in the chase, no successor was chosen until he grew too weak and
decrepit to lead. The event was, therefore, an important one, and long
to be remembered by those who took part in it.
Father Buck had led the herd for so many seasons that none but the older
ones could remember when he was not their leader. In all those days and
seasons he had been shrewd, wise and courageous so that few accidents
had happened to any of the deer. His had been the most successful
leadership that any could recall.
When they assembled at the Council Tree, Father Buck was there ahead of
them, standing lonely and aloof in the place of honor under the big
tree. His lordly head, with its great spread of antlers, was held high,
so that some of those who had come to scoff and laugh at him felt a
sudden awe. There was none of the meekness and humility of a fallen
leader in his attitude.
Black Buck and the other older bucks, who had long years before
contended with Father Buck for leadership, were impressed by his looks,
and they took their places in the semi-circle in uneasy silence. Suppose
Father Buck should challenge again for leadership despite his failure of
the previous day! Could any of them win in a mighty battle with him?
They, too, were growing old, and their limbs and eyes were not as strong
and sure as when they were young.
“You know the law of the herd, and of my people,” Father Buck announced
when all the deer were there. “Yesterday I failed you. It was the first
time since I became your leader. Now the call is for a new leader unless
I challenge for it again, and win it by my might.”
He swung his antlered head around at the half circle of older bucks.
There was a menace and challenge in the beautiful eyes.
“We want a new leader!” bellowed Black Buck angrily. “You can’t lead us
again, Father Buck! You have failed in the chase. Twice you failed
within a day. A new leader is what we demand!”
There was a chorus of approvals, and Black Buck gained courage by the
backing his words received, but Father Buck cut him off short.
“Be silent!” he said. “I am still leader, and my word is law! If I
choose to challenge again, the right is mine. It is the law of the herd.
Who speaks otherwise?”
There was no disputing this. The law of the herd was very simple, and it
had to be obeyed. Even Black Buck knew this, and if he chose Father Buck
could challenge and prove his right to remain leader if he proved
himself better than all others.
“If you challenge again,” began Black Buck, “you must do battle with the
young bucks as well as the others. That’s the law isn’t it?”