It was a dreadful game the hunter with the terrible gun and
Lightfoot the Deer were playing in the Green Forest. It was a
matching of wit against wit, the hunter seeking to take
Lightfoot's life, and Lightfoot seeking to save it.
The experience of other years had taught Lightfoot much of the
ways of hunters and not one of the things he had learned about
them was forgotten. But the hunter in his turn knew much of
the ways of Deer. So it was that each was trying his best to
outguess the other.
When the hunter found the hiding-place Lightfoot had left at the
warning of Sammy Jay he followed Lightfoot's tracks for a short
distance. It was slow work, and only one whose eyes had been
trained to notice little things could have done it. You see,
there was no snow, and only now and then, when he had stepped on
a bit of soft ground, had Lightfoot left a footprint. But there
were other signs which the hunter knew how to read,--a freshly
upturned leaf here, and here, a bit of moss lightly crushed.
These things told the hunter which way Lightfoot had gone.
Slowly, patiently, watchfully, the hunter followed. After a while
he stopped with a satisfied grin. "I thought as much," he
muttered. "He heard that pesky Jay and circled around so as to
get my scent. I'll just cut across to my old trail and unless I
am greatly mistaken, I'll find his tracks there."
So, swiftly but silently, the hunter cut across to his old trail,
and in a few moments he found just what he expected,--one of
Lightfoot's footprints. Once more he grinned.
"Well, old fellow, I've outguessed you this time," said he to
himself. "I am behind you and the wind is from you to me, so that
you cannot get my scent. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if you're
back right where you started from, behind that old windfall."
He at once began to move forward silently and cautiously, with
eyes and ears alert and his terrible gun ready for instant use.
Now when Lightfoot, following behind the hunter, had lost the
scent of the latter, he guessed right away that the latter had
found his tracks and had started to follow them. Lightfoot stood
still and listened with all his might for some little sound to
tell him where the hunter was. But there was no sound and after a
little Lightfoot began to move on. He didn't dare remain still,
lest the hunter should creep up within shooting distance. There
was only one direction in which it was safe for Lightfoot to
move, and that was the direction from which the Merry Little
Breezes were blowing. So long as they brought him none of the
dreaded man-smell, he knew that he was safe. The hunter might be
behind him--probably he was--but ahead of him, so long as the
Merry Little Breezes were blowing in his face and brought no
man-smell, was safety.