It was so quiet and peaceful and altogether lovely there in the
Green Forest, where Lightfoot the Deer lay resting behind a pile
of brush near the top of a little hill, that it didn't seem
possible such a thing as sudden death could be anywhere near.
It didn't seem possible that there could be any need for
watchfulness. But Lightfoot long ago had learned that often
danger is nearest when it seems least to be expected. So,
though he would have liked very much to have taken a nap,
Lightfoot was too wise to do anything so foolish. He kept his
beautiful, great, soft eyes fixed in the direction from which
the hunter with the terrible gun would come if he were still
following that trail. He kept his great ears gently moving to
catch every little sound.
Lightfoot had about decided that the hunter had given up hunting
for that day, but he didn't let this keep him from being any the
less watchful. It was better to be overwatchful than the least
bit careless. By and by, Lightfoot's keen ears caught the sound
of the snapping of a little stick in the distance. It was so
faint a sound that you or I would have missed it altogether.
But Lightfoot heard it and instantly he was doubly alert,
watching in the direction from which that faint sound had come.
After what seemed a long, long time he saw something moving, and
a moment later a man came into view. It was the hunter and across
one arm he carried the terrible gun.
Lightfoot knew now that this hunter had patience and perseverance
and had not yet given up hope of getting near enough to shoot
Lightfoot. He moved forward slowly, setting each foot down with
the greatest care, so as not to snap a stick or rustle the
leaves. He was watching sharply ahead, ready to shoot should he
catch a glimpse of Lightfoot within range.
Right along through the hollow at the foot of the little hill
below Lightfoot the hunter passed. He was no longer studying the
ground for Lightfoot's tracks, because the ground was so hard and
dry down there that Lightfoot had left no tracks. He was simply
hunting in the direction from which the Merry Little Breezes were
blowing because he knew that Lightfoot had gone in that direction,
and he also knew that if Lightfoot were still ahead of him,
his scent could not be carried to Lightfoot. He was doing
what is called "hunting up-wind."
Lightfoot kept perfectly still and watched the hunter disappear
among the trees. Then he silently got to his feet, shook himself
lightly, and noiselessly stole away over the hilltop towards
another part of the Green Forest. He felt sure that that hunter
would not find him again that day.