phantom of the forest by lee francis [transcriber note: this etext was produced from amazing stories november 1948. extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: every year men slaughter deer by the thousands; it seems only fitting that the tables be turned once in a while....] the automobile reached the crest of the hill, skidded and started toward the ditch. earl robinson twisted the wheel savagely, got the feel of the ice hidden under the snow, and deftly straightened the car. roy starr awakened at his side and sat up. his eyes were narrowed with sleep. "lord," he groaned, "how much farther?" robinson spoke through gritted teeth. "about three miles. might as well be a million." the car was moving forward about twenty miles per hour. three people slept in the rear seat. they were packed under pieces of equipment. there were half a dozen guns stacked across their feet. the snow came down thickly, endlessly. it drifted across the road. almost eight inches had fallen since sundown. tomorrow, there won't be any traffic moving, robinson thought, not without a plow to break the trail. the valley will be a lost world. "shangrila," he said softly. "huh?" roy starr was almost asleep once more. robinson said, "skip it." he was thinking about the war, and the deep, lost valleys he flew into when he flew the "hump." he tried to concentrate on the road once more. they had come six miles from indian river. the road was just a white line, leading up and down long rows of dark evergreens. the snow filled the air, tangling his thoughts, filling the world with stinging, blinding particles of white. the snow actually seemed to hurt his eyes. it seemed to be hitting his eyeballs. he shook his head angrily. _sleep_ was stinging his eyes. he watched the trackless road with an intensity of a man hovering between life and death. sleep--and death. trying desperately to avoid both. one more long hill. taking a long chance, he pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go. the motor roared, protested and the car leaped ahead like a monster alive. the speedometer said fifty--then fifty-five. sixty. at sixty they hit the sharp incline. roy starr was wide awake now, holding tightly to the door-handle, as though it insured him against an accident. someone stirred in the back seat. "almost there?" it was a girl's voice, sleepy and disinterested. "almost," earl robinson said, and twisted the wheel again. the car went crosswise with the road. it slid forward, up the hill, careened wildly and straightened its course once more. robinson sighed. "close," he said. "_earl, for god's sake, stop!!_" roy starr's voice welled out of him, filled with stark horror. robinson saw the weird, shadowy form on the road just in time. he pressed hard on the brake and the car jerked into the ditch, and stopped with a sickening jolt. the girl in the rear seat clawed her way forward, clutching starr's shoulder. "a man on the road," she cried. "earl, you hit him." she started sobbing as though her heart were breaking. "shut up," robinson snapped. his nerves had reached the breaking point. then, in a gentler voice. "there's a man there all right, marge. i didn't hit him. get hold of yourself. glenn, glenn, take care of her, will you?" * * * * * all three people in the rear seat were wide awake now. glenn starr, dark, serious, in full control of his wits, drew the sobbing girl back beside him. "take it easy, kid," he said. "earl will take care of everything. we haven't done anything wrong." the other man, sitting on the far side of the car, pushed the door open and climbed out. "man, this is a storm, and i don't mean perhaps. nice little ditch we got ourselves into." robinson and roy starr got out. roy pulled his collar up tightly around his neck. he walked back a few paces and kneeled beside the snow buried corpse. earl robinson, tall, solid, stood over him as he pushed away the snow. "nobody i know," roy said, and turned away so he wouldn't have to stare at the dead, frozen face. robinson bent over and pushed more snow away. "i'll be damned." the chest was badly crushed. blood had frozen in the snow next to the wound. "hit sometime before the snow came," robinson said. roy starr was brushing snow away from the corpse. "maybe," he said softly. "a car never hit him, though. there aren't any blood tracks. the hole is in the direct center of his chest. the ribs aren't crushed on either side." robinson's voice was a little hushed. "that's what i was thinking. looks like a bear might have mauled him." roy starr came slowly to his feet. "look," he said, "we aren't kidding ourselves. something hit him, hard, in the chest. it wasn't a car because it didn't break in the whole bone structure. it wasn't a bear, because a bear would have done a more thorough job of it. shooting is out. that isn't a bullet wound." robinson shrugged. "what's left?" "the same thing that's been killing hunters for the past five years," starr said grimly. "for lack of a better name, the phantom buck." robinson turned away, looking toward the car. "you're crazy," he said. "let's say we're both crazy. our imaginations are running riot. i think the rest of the party ought to know about the _automobile accident_. we can't do any good here. we'll go on to rosewood if we can get the buggy out of the ditch. we can call the sheriff from there. this is the sheriff's job, not ours." the three people who had ridden in the rear seat were in the ditch, pushing snow away from the wheels. glenn starr was saying quietly: "we ought to get him out of the road." robinson went to work with the shovel, digging the right rear wheel out of the snow and the thick, half-frozen mud. "forget all about it," he said. "no one will be driving through here tonight. we'll call the sheriff from rosewood. outside of that, it's none of our business. automobile accident. wasn't our fault. we've done all we can." they worked hard, all of them trying to forget the body on the road and concentrate on the task of freeing the car from the ditch. in twenty minutes they were on their way, crawling slowly down the opposite side of the hill into the cup-like valley where a country store, church and schoolhouse had been flatteringly named "village of rosewood!" marjorie wrenn was still crying softly. glenn tried to comfort her, but the girl was exhausted mentally and physically. the snow still blotted out everything but a few yards of the road. once in the valley, robinson released his grip on the wheel and relaxed. "roy," he said softly. "yea?" "about that phantom buck story. i wouldn't talk too much. on the square, though i'm inclined to wonder." roy starr's voice sank to a whisper. "you think--maybe...?" "yea," robinson answered, "i think--maybe...." * * * * * the electric light flashed on, making the world of swirling snow friendly once more. the car was parked beside the house, close to the barn. the place was a huge country store with the living quarters attached like a toad-stool to the side of it. there was a wood-pile in the yard, hidden under a foot of snow, looking like a crouching, white monster. a single pole had been buried in the ground, and from it hung a six-point buck. the deer had been gutted, and blood made little red blobs on the snow. glenn starr climbed out and helped marjorie wrenn to the ground. he saw the overcoated figure emerging from the woodshed. "norm, you old horse. got any snake bite medicine?" norm boody, a well fed duplicate of slim summerville, was clad in a heavy overcoat drawn over a flannel night-shirt. his feet were hidden in vast, felt slippers. "thought you people weren't gonna get here. it's almost three in the morning. about those snake bites. what's the matter? snow snakes biting tonight?" the others were getting stiffly out of the car. earl robinson said solemnly: "those snow snakes bite before you can go ten feet. we had a little trouble, norm." boody found a half filled bottle in his coat and passed it around. "bad country to drive in a storm," he said. "worse than usual," robinson said. "there is a dead man laying down the road a mile or two." norm boody gulped from the bottle, choked and spewed the whiskey on the snow. "it--wasn't bill, was it?" robinson shook his head. "no one i know. dressed in hunter's outfit. didn't find his gun. probably buried under the snow." boody sighed. he looked uncertain. "bill went into indian river for some stuff. he didn't come back." "look," glenn said suddenly. "marge is freezing and we're all tired out. we better get inside." norm boody sprang toward the door and held it open. "sure, sure," he said. "the wife's got both coffee pots steaming by now. i oughta be shot for not getting this poor girl inside the minute she came. it ain't fit weather...." robinson smiled. "let's get to that coffee." inside, they all greeted mrs. boody. while she poured coffee into the cups on the kitchen table, robinson cornered norm boody and led him into the living room. it was a low-ceilinged, warm, homey place. a telephone hung on the far wall. robinson dialed the sheriff's number at indian river, put the receiver back in place, lifted it and tried again. he shook his head. "trouble?" boody asked. "the line must be down. phone won't work. guess we'll sleep tonight and make that call in the morning." the two men sat down in the darkness of the living room. mrs. boody, a grey headed, smiling woman who looked as though she might be anyone's mother, came in with two steaming cups. "you better drink before you freeze," she said. "that darned stove takes so long to heat up." she turned to her husband. "norm, what's wrong?" norm boody grimaced. "man dead down the road. something mauled him. killed before the snow came this evening. earl most ran over him." * * * * * the room was deathly silent for a moment. then the woman's voice came, almost in a sob. "norm, norm, it wasn't bill, was it?" robinson said quickly: "it wasn't bill. i saw the face. no one i've ever seen before." "thank god for that," mrs. boody said. "you called the sheriff?" "can't," norm boody said. "line's out of order. we'll get in touch with town in the morning." "i don't think we'll sleep much tonight," a soft voice said from the door. earl robinson chuckled. it was an attempt to put the whole thing off lightly. it didn't sound very sincere. "you'll sleep all right, marjorie. after that trip, we'll all sleep." the girl smiled wanly. "i hope so. it's hard--thinking of that--that...." daylight brought a peaceful, untroubled look to the valley. for ten miles, without a track save for the animals who had moved during the night, the valley stretched upward on all sides to the wooded hills. the big general store, schoolhouse and country church nestled in the center of the snow cup, with trackless roads leading away to the four points of the compass. blue-gray smoke lifted straight upward from the house, drifted two hundred feet into the sky and wafted away into nothingness. robinson came out of the woodshed with his black and red plaid coat wrapped tightly around him. it was a grand hunting morning, and he didn't intend to let last night's incident spoil it. the country was beautiful but there was nothing gentle about it. you had to face violence and forget it--quickly. death wasn't easy to look at, but here, people learned that when it came, there was no point in letting it interfere with their life. bill boody hadn't come in last night. his car wasn't to be seen. robinson went back into the woodshed. he climbed the steps to the kitchen and walked in quietly behind mrs. boody, who was bent over the kitchen stove. "where's norm?" he asked. mrs. boody looked worn and tired, as though she hadn't slept. "milking the cows. bill didn't come home last night." he knew that she was still suspicious of him. she wasn't sure that he told the truth about the body on the road. "bill will be okay," he said. "are any of the others up?" mrs. boody smiled. "roy came out a few minutes ago. he took one look at the thermometer outside the kitchen window, groaned and went back to bed." robinson started for the bedroom. "you better let marge sleep," mrs. boody said. "she was all worn out. she needs the rest." "earl," the woman at the stove said. there was a quality of urgency in her voice that stopped him short. he pivoted. "yes?" "you think the phantom buck might have done the killing?" here it was again, he thought. they weren't satisfied to let the whole thing pass as an accident. they had to bring up dead dogs, fall back on superstition. everything was perfect for hunting, and they had to spoil the spirit of the thing. "that phantom buck business is a damned fairy tale," he said. "_but you think it was the phantom buck, all the same._" robinson said nothing. the woman pushed the coffee pot back on the stove and went to the window. she stared out at the snowy world. "bill _saw_ the phantom buck once." "i know," robinson said. he wished she wouldn't talk about it. she was getting herself all excited. "probably bill had been drinking some of that snake bite medicine." mrs. boody shook her head. "bill don't touch a drop." her face was very red, maybe from the stove. "bill said the buck was the biggest deer he'd ever seen. he went right by bill, and disappeared, right in broad daylight. bill looked for tracks after he was gone, and there weren't any." she wet her lips and went back to the stove. "i wouldn't worry, mrs. boody," robinson said. she looked up then with frantic eyes. "_it isn't bill, out there on the road, dead?_" he went swiftly to her and put one hand on her shoulder. "i wouldn't lie to you. it wasn't him." she seemed to relax for the first time since last night. "i guess you're telling the truth. i wish bill would come home, though. they used to say that anyone who saw the phantom buck was getting ready for an early death." * * * * * norm boody came up from the barn with two steaming pails of milk. roy starr was getting dressed in the kitchen, close to the stove. he was muttering threats against his brother, glenn. "never let a guy sleep," he groaned. "always the first guy up and the only man on earth who can't let other people stay in bed when they want to." glenn starr and marjorie were already at the breakfast table. the others drifted in and sat down. a girl and a husky, sleepy-eyed man came down from upstairs. roy starr greeted the girl by chasing her around the stove and left her alone only after she picked up the poker and threatened to use it on him. robinson introduced the fifth member of the hunting party at the breakfast table. "pete larson hasn't hunted before," he said. "pete, you know our own bunch. you know norm and mrs. boody now. the tall, fair damsel holding the coffee pot is norma, mrs. boody's best assistant housekeeper and daughter. the sleepy eyed creature at her side is her husband, floyd." larson himself was heavy set, and a slightly ponderous man who wore light rimmed glasses and a rather awed look on his face. "i guess i've let myself in for some rugged country and some heavy eating," he said. "anyhow, i always did like a fifth cup of coffee and the supply looks adequate." "it _was_ rugged last night, all right," roy starr said. instantly there was silence. norma, the tall, slim girl, looked at her mother questioningly. robinson broke in before she had time to speak. "we found a dead man on the road last night. nobody we knew." he heard norma and her husband catch their breaths quickly. then the telephone rang and he was on his feet. norm boody was closer to the phone and answered it. the remainder of the group went on eating, but every ear was tuned to the conversation. "yes?" he listened for a time, then said: "i got a party of hunters who came in last night. they saw him on the road. we tried to call you but the wires were dead." then: "oh? so that was it. okay, we'll keep an eye open. haven't seen bill, have you? he's coming in behind the plough? good. we were worried about him." "telephone linemen came through this morning," he explained. "they picked up the body. that was sheriff walt beardsly calling. he ain't blaming you boys. says your tracks went right around the body. says a bear must have mauled the guy. they found his gun in the ditch." earl robinson said: "yea, that's what happened all right. bill's okay, isn't he?" boody nodded. "spent the night at the sheriff's house. couldn't drive in. he's coming in a couple of hours." mrs. boody went out for some more coffee. larson, managing a smile, said: "guess we can go hunting without worrying about anything--except bear." norma tickled her husband between well padded ribs. "take floyd along. he'll chase all the bears to the other side of the mountain." floyd grinned. "guess you boys can take care of yourselves." roy starr hadn't taken an active part in the conversation for some time. he brought his fist down on the table with a bang. "to hell with the phantom," he stood up. "ten minutes ago you were all tied up inside with a damned silly superstition. now you're kidding yourselves that everything is okay. you're _still_ ready to believe in ghosts and goblins at a moment's notice. what's the matter? we all too scared to think clearly for ourselves?" robinson got up. "come on, roy," he said. "let's go out and get chains on the car. we'll need them to make that south hill." roy starr was trembling. something had slipped inside him. something that made him angry at all of them. who did they think he was? could they handle him like a ten year old kid? "you want to lead junior outside and give him a lecture," he snapped. "please don't scare these good people. well, you can all go to hell. i'm going after a deer. if it turns out to be the phantom buck, i'll get _him_. i'm going alone and i don't need you or the car or anything else. i still got two good feet." they sat there and watched him go. robinson sat down a little weakly. they heard roy pick up his rifle in the kitchen and waited until his footsteps faded beyond the woodshed. "well," robinson said at last, "i guess junior is on the warpath." * * * * * glenn starr looked at his watch. he halted in the protection of the evergreen grove and turned his back to the wind. marjorie wrenn caught up with him. "better rest," glenn said. "it's after noon." he found some sandwiches in his pocket and passed her one. the girl's face was very pale. "the tracks didn't come out of the swamp," she said. "forget the tracks," glenn said gently. "it's been snowing since ten o'clock. they were roy's tracks all right. the snow drifted in and covered them up. he probably headed for home hours ago." "i--can't eat, glenn. let's go back. let's try to find the tracks again. i'm scared, glenn. i'm so scared my teeth are chattering." glenn took her rifle. "follow me," he said abruptly. "you're all done in. i'll take the shortest route." the girl took half a dozen faltering steps and sank down into the snow. when he reached her side, she was out cold. he rubbed her wrists and cheeks until her eyes, full of tears, opened slowly. "you're gonna be all right," he said, and picked her up in his arms. slowly, for he knew it was going to be a rough trail, he headed across the valley toward home. earl robinson moved more slowly now. he and larson had swung down from the north and crossed the three sets of tracks. larson, puffing from his first day of marching, came behind him. robinson stopped finally. he waited for larson to catch up. he pointed at the almost covered tracks. "here's where they missed his trail," he said. "i think we can still follow it if we take our time." "look," larson said abruptly, "you don't believe that phantom buck business, do you?" robinson didn't answer. he started away through the swamp, watching for a broken twig here, an almost buried footprint there. it took him two long hours to find the end of the trail. it had started to snow again. the boy was half covered with the drift. a thick growth of cedars had protected him from the full force of the storm. his eyes were wide open and he showed signs of recognizing robinson as the big man bent over him. he tried to smile, but he couldn't. there was blood around his lips and his jacket was torn open to reveal a deep, bloody gash in his chest. robinson built a fire hurriedly and larson kept the blaze alive with dry logs. robinson swore softly as he found bandages in his kit and administered first aid. he swore at the cold, and the snow, and the thing that had done this to the kid. they carried roy starr out that night, and it was close to midnight before they met norm boody and the party who had come in search of them. mrs. boody had coffee on the stove when they got in. robinson, once roy starr was warm and fairly safe once more, fell into a chair and slept like a child. an hour later, he was on his feet again, staggering, half dead from exhaustion, giving orders to the doctor who had come from indian river. * * * * * roy spoke in a whisper. "earl?" he was in pain. bad pain. earl took his hand. "it's okay, kid. i'm with you. it's all over." "earl," the voice was a sob. "earl, it's true about the phantom. i saw him." "i know," robinson said softly. "keep quiet. we found you in the swamp. larson and i brought you in. the doc says you're okay. few days rest." roy felt all choked up and hot inside. he squeezed earl's hand. "tell larson he's okay. you're okay. earl, we got to get out'a here." his fever was rising. "listen, junior," robinson said sternly, "i said everything's okay, and it is. lay still and sleep." roy wasn't hearing him now. he tried to force himself up on one elbow. his eyes were filled with memories--of terror. "i was a sap, earl. i tell you i saw him. he was big and beautiful, big as a nightmare. he snorted right close to me and there was fire shooting out of his nostrils. he hit me like lightning, earl. i--don't remember--after--that." he sank back, breathing hard. glenn starr came in from the bedroom. "how's roy?" "he's going to sleep now, aren't you roy?" earl asked. "yea--i'm gonna sleep." "_i_ can't sleep," glenn starr said. "if we'd kept him here this morning, he'd have been all right." "is bill up?" earl asked. "yea! he's talking with the doc in the kitchen. doctor hasn't left yet." "send in bill and tell doc to wait a little while," robinson said grimly. bill boody came into the darkened room and sat down quietly by the couch. "how's roy?" "okay, bill," robinson said. "i been doing some thinking." "about what?" bill boody was tall, slim, and well put together. his face, burned dark from sun and rain, was sensitive and mirrored friendliness and intelligence. "about the phantom buck," robinson said. "we all have," boody said. "norm told you i saw the phantom once, didn't he?" robinson nodded. "why didn't the phantom attack you, bill?" boody shook his head. "i don't know. it was the phantom all right. he was big--and grand, like sort of a god." neither of them said anything for a while. roy was sleeping. his breathing came easier now. "i guess i sound a little corny," boody said. "i don't mean to." "no," robinson answered. "no, i wasn't thinking of that. roy says it was the phantom that attacked him. he felt kinda like you do about it." robinson stood up and walked to the window. he stared upward toward the dark, moonlit forest. "when did you see the phantom?" bill looked thoughtful. "it was just before dusk...." "i guess i'm not making my question clear," robinson interrupted. "i mean, was it during hunting season?" "it was last spring. we were plowing the north field." "were you carrying a gun?" "no," boody said, puzzled. "that's what i thought." doctor peterson was a frosty looking old chap with black rimmed specs and a grey beard. "you about ready to go back to town, doc?" robinson asked. peterson grinned. "after i drink all the coffee in sight," he said. "and it looks like i have." mrs. boody was with them in the kitchen. the house was quiet. "i've got to get gas and oil. guess i'll follow you in," robinson said. "good. the boy's all right. i'll be out again tomorrow. ready to go?" outside the snow had finally stopped falling. the early morning was clear, with a promise of a bright day to come. robinson started his car and warmed it up. the doctor said good night to mrs. boody and came out to climb into his model t. robinson backed out slowly and followed the car down the road toward indian river. * * * * * it was just daylight. robinson left the car a mile from rosewood and entered the woods. he had taken his time in town, found an all-night gas station to refuel his car and parked it here just as the sun came up, coloring the frosty, blue-gray hills above him. half a mile from the road he turned and entered the swamp where he had found roy the day before. he started walking swiftly. he was weaponless, having left the rifle in his car. two hours passed and he had penetrated deeply into the swamp. he was cold. he had seen no fresh trails. a black squirrel chattered at him, and hid itself on the far side of a cedar tree. a fox hurried across his trail, a red blurr against the snow. far away, he heard the sudden dry "snap" of a twig. he found a stump and seated himself. he was very quiet. suddenly an icy coldness penetrated his entire body. it wasn't the wind or the natural cold that troubled him now. it was the feeling of death--sudden death--poised only seconds away. death--behind him, and he dared not look around. he waited perhaps sixty seconds, and they seemed like hours. he stood up very slowly and started to move his arms rhythmatically in a back and forth motion as though to restore circulation. at the same time, he made it evident to anyone--_anything_, looking at him, that he carried no weapon. then, without betraying fear, he turned. not ten feet away, poised with every splendid muscle tense and alert, was the biggest buck he had ever seen. the great animal stared at him without fear. its antlers were held high. the eyes frightened robinson. they weren't soft, brown deer eyes. they were, instead, black and beady, like twin windows to hell. [illustration: there was the baleful glint of hell in the monster eyes] the head swung back. the hooves pawed at the snow. with a snort, the creature sprang into the air. robinson ducked quickly to one side, but there was no reason for him to flee. the phantom buck, for he was sure the animal _was_ a phantom, moved past him with incredible speed and was gone in the forest. he was aware of a terrific burst of speed--of a perfectly proportioned body, and that was all. [illustration: with a burst of speed, the magnificent buck rushed past him] for a long time, robinson stood there by the stump. all the education that goes into a man, to bring him culture, was reviewing itself in his mind. all the hunter instinct drained out of him. there was only humbleness left, and respect for wild things. he knew he would find no tracks, even though he forced himself to look for them. six inches of untouched snow covered the spot where the phantom had stood. robinson shrugged and started back along the lengthy, circular trail to his car. norm boody came out of the house with roy starr's rifle. they were all gathered beside the car. roy, a trifle pale, was wrapped snugly, and resting on the rear seat. glenn starr sat beside roy, his arm about marjorie. norma smiled at glenn. "i know a secret," she said. "better not tell it," glenn made a pass at her with his open palm. norma stepped back and laughed loudly. "glenn's a hero. he carried marge out of the cruel woods. he carried her three miles, and now she's consented to marry him." glenn gave a war-whoop and started after her. norma ran into the house and slammed the door. "you may as well face it," robinson said. "roy isn't so weak that he can't kid the daylights out of you all the way home." pete larson spoke from the far corner of the front seat. * * * * * "how about the little secret _you're_ keeping, earl. that was quite a little research trip you took into the woods this morning." robinson looked startled. "you didn't..." larson chuckled. "when you and the doctor left last night, i was suspicious. i went down the road this morning and located your car. _i_ took along a gun for protection. spent an hour in the swamp. got tired of tracking you after that." norm boody had been studying them curiously. "bill said you were asking a lot of questions last night, earl." larson spoke again before robinson could answer. "of course we all go at things a little differently," he admitted. "however, i got an idea that the phantom wouldn't attack a man who didn't carry a gun. earl left his in the car when he went into the swamp." robinson nodded. "i went into the swamp," he admitted. "i had an idea the phantom might be sort of a ghostly protector of the herd. we have quite a slaughter of deer up here every fall. it must be hard on them if they have any feeling at all. what's so damn much different between men killing deer, or a deer killing a man? if the phantom exists, he's sort of a protecting angel--or a god. if i had met him ..." "you didn't?" norm boody asked sharply. earl grinned. "if i _had_ met him," he went on, "i guess i'd do something about it. i guess i'd think he was a pretty grand old guy, standing up to fight for his kind. i'd probably look him over and pray for mercy, and get the hell out of his domain. if i hunted again next year, i'd either find new territory, or prepare to get myself killed." norm boody looked solemn. "well, i ain't much for hunting myself," he admitted. "but if i _did_ like to hunt, and i _believed_ a story like that, i'd leave my gun at home when i went into the woods. ain't that the general idea?" roy starr said weakly: "gosh, i'm getting awfully weak already. how about a shot of snakebite medicine." glenn found a half bottle and passed it around. "might as well finish it. my wife-to-be says i gotta stop drinking as soon as we're married." "and where are _you_ hunting next year, larson," robinson asked. larson grinned. "how about a good week hunting jack-rabbits? i don't think i'd be very scared if i met the god of the jack-rabbits, even if he did shoot fire out of the corner of his nostrils." [illustration: the trail of the sandhill stag] [illustration: "the track of a mother blacktail was suddenly joined by two little ones' tracks."] the trail of the sandhill stag and 60 drawings [illustration] by ernest thompson seton [illustration] naturalist to the government of manitoba author of wild animals i have known art anatomy of animals mammals of manitoba birds of manitoba published by charles scribner's sons new york city a.d. 1914 [illustration] copyright, 1899, by ernest seton-thompson first impression october 12 1899 second impression february 16 1900 third impression december 20 1900 fourth impression july 16 1901 fifth impression august 18 1902 sixth impression october 29 1904 seventh impression november 30 1908 eighth impression november 1 1910 ninth impression april 10 1913 tenth impression december 10 1913 the scribner press this book is dedicated to the old-timers of the big plain of manitoba. [illustration] [illustration] to the reader: these are the best days of my life. these are my golden days. in this book the designs for title-page, cover, and general make-up, and also the literary revision, were done by mrs. grace gallatin thompson seton. [illustration] list of full-page drawings [illustration] "the track of a mother blacktail was suddenly joined by two little ones' tracks" frontispiece the trail spring page 14 "wingless birds" 22 "sat down in the moonlit snow" 37 "seven deer, ... their leader a wonderful buck" 56 "the doe was walking slowly" 63 "scanned the white world for his foe" 80 the stag 89 [illustration: the trail spring.] i it was a burning hot day. yan was wandering in pursuit of birds among the endless groves and glades of the sandhill wilderness about carberry. the water in the numerous marshy ponds was warm with the sun heat, so yan cut across to the trail spring, the only place in the country where he might find a cooling drink. as he stooped beside it his eye fell on a small hoof-mark in the mud, a sharp and elegant track. [illustration] he had never seen one like it before, but it gave him a thrill, for he knew at once it was the track of a _wild deer_. "there are no deer in those hills now," the settlers told yan. yet when the first snow came that autumn he, remembering the hoof-mark in the mud, quietly took down his rifle and said to himself, "i am going into the hills every day till i bring out a deer." yan was a tall, raw lad in the last of his teens. he was no hunter yet, but he was a tireless runner, and filled with unflagging zeal. away to the hills he went on his quest day after day, and many a score of long white miles he coursed, and night after night he returned to the shanty without seeing even a track. but the longest chase will end. on a far, hard trip in the southern hills he came at last on the trail of a deer--dim and stale, but still a deer-trail--and again he felt a thrill as the thought came, "at the other end of that line of dimples in the snow is the creature that made them; each one is fresher than the last, and it is only a question of time for me to come up with their maker." [illustration] [illustration] at first yan could not tell by the dim track which way the animal had gone. but he soon found that the mark was a little sharper at one end, and rightly guessed that that was the toe; also he noticed that the spaces shortened in going up hill, and at last a clear imprint in a sandy place ended all doubt. away he went with a new fire in his blood, and an odd prickling in his hair; away on a long, hard follow through interminable woods and hills, with the trail growing fresher as he flew. all day he followed, and toward night it turned and led him homeward. on it went, soon over familiar ground, back to the sawmill, then over mitchell's plain, and at last into the thick poplar woods near by, where yan left it when it was too dark to follow. he was only seven miles from home, and this he easily trotted in an hour. [illustration] in the morning he was back to take it up, but instead of an old track, there were now so many fresh ones, crossing and winding, that he could not follow at all. so he prowled along haphazard, until he found two tracks so new that he could easily trail them as before, and he eagerly gave chase. as he sneaked along watching the tracks at his feet instead of the woods ahead, he was startled by two big-eared, grayish animals springing from a little glade into which he had stumbled. they trotted to a bank fifty yards away and then turned to gaze at him. [illustration] how they did seem to _look_ with their great ears! how they spellbound him by the soft gaze that he felt rather than saw! he knew what they were. had he not for weeks been holding ready, preparing and hungering for this very sight! and yet how useless were his preparations; how wholly all his preconcepts were swept away, and a wonder-stricken "oh-h-h!" went softly from his throat. as he stood and gazed, they turned their heads away, though they still seemed to look at him with their great ears, and trotting a few steps to a smoother place, began to bound up and down in a sort of play. they seemed to have forgotten him, and it was bewildering to see the wonderful effortless way in which, by a tiny toe-touch, they would rise six or eight feet in air. yan stood fascinated by the strange play of the light-limbed, gray-furred creatures. there was no haste or alarm in their movements; he would watch them until they began to run away--till they should take fright and begin the labored straining, the vast athletic bounds, he had heard of. and it was only on noting that they were rapidly fading into the distance that he realized that _now_ they were running away, _already_ were flying for safety. [illustration: "wingless birds."] higher and higher they rose each time; gracefully their bodies swayed inward as they curved along some bold ridge, or for a long space the buff-white scutcheons that they bore behind them seemed hanging in the air while these wingless birds were really sailing over some deep gully. yan stood intensely gazing until they were out of sight, and it never once occurred to him to shoot. when they were gone he went to the place where they had begun their play. here was one track; where was the next? he looked all around and was surprised to see a blank for fifteen feet; and then another blank, and on farther, another: then the blanks increased to eighteen feet, then to twenty, then to twenty-five and sometimes thirty feet. each of these playful, effortless bounds covered a space of eighteen to thirty feet. gods above! they do not run at all, they fly; and once in a while come down again to tap the hill-tops with their dainty hoofs. * * * * * "i'm glad they got away," said yan. "they've shown me something to-day that never man saw before. i know that no one else has ever seen it, or he would have told of it." [illustration] ii yet when the morning came the old wolfish instinct was back in his heart. "i must away to the hills," he said, "take up the trail, and be a beast of the chase once more; my wits against their wits; my strength against their strength; and against their speed, my gun." [illustration] oh! those glorious hills--an endless rolling stretch of sandy dunes, with lakes and woods and grassy lawns between. life--life on every side, and life within, for yan was young and strong and joyed in powers complete. "these are the best days of my life," he said, "these are my golden days." he thought it then, and oh, how well he came to know it in the after years! [illustration] all day at a long wolf-lope he would go and send the white hare and the partridge flying from his path, and swing along and scan the ground for sign and the telltale inscript in the snow, the oldest of all writing, more thrillful of interest by far than the finest glyph or scarab that ever egypt gave to modern day. but the driving snow was the wild deer's friend, as the driven snow was his foe, and down it came that day and wiped out every trace. [illustration] the next day and the next still found yan careering in the hills, but never a track or sign did he see. and the weeks went by, and many a rolling mile he ran, and many a bitter day and freezing night he passed in the snow-clad hills, sometimes on a deer-trail but more often without; sometimes in the barren hills, and sometimes led by woodmen's talk to far-off sheltering woods, and once or twice he saw indeed the buff-white bannerets go floating up the hills. sometimes reports came of a great buck that frequented the timber-lands near the sawmill, and more than once yan found his trail, but never got a glimpse of him; and the few deer there were now grew so wild with long pursuit that he had no further chances to shoot, and the hunting season passed in one long train of failures. [illustration] bright, unsad failures they. he seemed indeed to come back empty-handed, but he really came home laden with the best spoils of the chase, and he knew it more and more, as time went on, till every day, at last, on the clear unending trail, was a glad triumphant march. iii [illustration] the year went by. another season came, and yan felt in his heart the hunter fret once more. even had he not, the talk he heard would have set him all afire. it told of a mighty buck that now lived in the hills--the sandhill stag they called him. it told of his size, his speed, and the crowning glory that he bore on his brow, a marvellous growth like sculptured bronze with gleaming ivory points. [illustration] so when the first tracking snow came, yan set out with some comrades who had caught a faint reflected glow of his ardor. they drove in a sleigh to the spruce hill, then scattered to meet again at sunset. the woods about abounded in hares and grouse, and the powder burned all around. but no deer-track was to be found, so yan quietly left the woods and set off alone for kennedy's plain, where last this wonderful buck had been seen. [illustration] after a few miles he came on a great deer-track, so large and sharp and broken by such mighty bounds that he knew it at once for the trail of the sandhill stag. [illustration] with a sudden rush of strength to his limbs he led away like a wolf on the trail. and down his spine and in his hair he felt as before, and yet as never before, the strange prickling that he knew was the same as makes the wolf's mane bristle when he hunts. he followed till night was near and he must needs turn, for the spruce hill was many miles away. he knew that it would be long after sunset before he could get there, and he scarcely expected that his comrades would wait for him, but he did not care; he gloried in the independence of his strength, for his legs were like iron and his wind was like a hound's. ten miles were no more to him than a mile to another man, for he could run all day and come home fresh, and always when alone in the lone hills he felt within so glad a gush of wild exhilaration that his joy was full. [illustration] [illustration] so when his friends, feeling sure that he could take care of himself, drove home and left him, he was glad to be left. they seemed rather to pity him for imposing on himself such long, toilsome tramps. they had no realization of what he found in those wind-swept hills. they never once thought what they and all their friends and every man that ever lived has striven for and offered his body, his brain, his freedom, and his life to buy; what they were vainly wearing out their lives in fearful, hopeless drudgery to gain, that boy was daily finding in those hills. the bitter, biting, blizzard wind was without, but the fire of health and youth was within; and at every stride in his daily march, it was _happiness_ he found, and he knew it. and he smiled such a gentle smile when he thought of those driven home in the sleigh shivering and miserable, _yet pitying him_. [illustration] oh, what a glorious sunset he saw that day on kennedy's plain, with the snow dyed red and the poplar woods aglow in pink and gold! what a glorious tramp through the darkening woods as the shadows fell and the yellow moon came up! [illustration] "these are the best days of my life," he sang. "these are my golden days!" and as he neared the great spruce hill, yan yelled a long hurrah! "in case they are still there," he told himself, but really for very joy of feeling all alive. as he listened for the improbable response, he heard a faint howling of wolves away over kennedy's plain. he mimicked their cry and quickly got response, and noticed that they were gathering together, doubtless hunting something, for now it was their hunting-cry. nearer and nearer it came, and his howls brought ready answers from the gloomy echoing woods, when suddenly it flashed upon him: "it's _my_ trail you are on. _you are hunting me._" [illustration: "sat down in the moonlit snow."] the road now led across a little open plain. it would have been madness to climb a tree in such a fearful frost, so he went out to the middle of the open place and sat down in the moonlit snow--a glittering rifle in his hands, a row of shining brass pegs in his belt, and a strange, new feeling in his heart. on came the chorus, a deep, melodious howling, on to the very edge of the woods, and there the note changed. then there was silence. they must have seen him sitting there, for the light was like day, but they went around in the edge of the woods. a stick snapped to the right and a low '_woof_' came from the left. then all was still. yan felt them sneaking around, felt them watching him from the cover, and strained his eyes in vain to see some form that he might shoot. but they were wise, and he was wise, for had he run he would soon have seen them closing in on him. they must have been but few, for after their council of war they decided he was better let alone, and he never saw them at all. for twenty minutes he waited, but hearing no more of them, arose and went homeward. and as he tramped he thought, "now i know how a deer feels when the grind of a moccasined foot or the click of a lock is heard in the trail behind him." [illustration] [illustration] in the days that followed he learned those sandhills well, for many a frosty day and bitter night he spent in them. he learned to follow fast the faintest trail of deer. he learned just why that trail went never past a tamarack-tree, and why it pawed the snow at every oak, and why the buck's is plainest and the fawn's down wind. he learned just what the club-rush has to say, when its tussocks break the snow. he came to know how the musk-rat lives beneath the ice, and why the mink slides down a hill, and what the ice says when it screams at night. the squirrels taught him how best a fir-cone can be stripped and which of toadstools one might eat. the partridge, why it dives beneath the snow, and the fox, just why he sets his feet so straight, and why he wears so huge a tail. [illustration] he learned the ponds, the woods, the hills, and a hundred secrets of the trail, but--_he got no deer_. and though many a score of crooked frosty miles he coursed, and sometimes had a track to lead and sometimes none, he still went on, like galahad when the grail was just before him. for more than once, the guide that led was the trail of the sandhill stag. iv [illustration] the hunt was nearly over, for the season's end was nigh. the moose-birds had picked the last of the saskatoons, all the spruce-cones were scaled, and the hunger-moon was at hand. but a hopeful chickadee sang '_see soon_' as yan set off one frosty day for the great spruce woods. on the road he overtook a woodcutter, who told him that at such a place he had seen two deer last night, a doe and a monstrous stag with "a rocking-chair on his head." [illustration] straight to the very place went yan, and found the tracks--one like those he had seen in the mud long ago, another a large unmistakable print, the mark of the sandhill stag. how the wild beast in his heart did ramp--he wanted to howl like a wolf on a hot scent; and away they went through woods and hills, the trail and yan and the inner wolf. [illustration] all day he followed and, grown crafty himself, remarked each sign, and rejoiced to find that nowhere had the deer been bounding. and when the sun was low the sign was warm, so laying aside unneeded things, yan crawled along like a snake on the track of a hare. all day the animals had zigzagged as they fed; their drink was snow, and now at length away across a lawn in a bank of brush yan spied a _something_ flash. a bird perhaps; he lay still and watched. then gray among the gray brush, he made out a great log, and from one end of it rose two gnarled oaken boughs. again the flash--the move of a restless ear, then the oak boughs moved and yan trembled, for he knew that the log in the brush was the form of the sandhill stag. so grand, so charged with _life_. he seemed a precious, sacred thing--a king, fur-robed and duly crowned. to think of shooting now as he lay unconscious, resting, seemed an awful crime. but yan for weeks and months had pined for this. his chance had come, and shoot he must. the long, long strain grew tighter yet--grew taut--broke down, as up the rifle went. but the wretched thing kept wabbling and pointing all about the little glade. his breath came hot and fast and choking--so much, so very much, so clearly all, hung on a single touch. he laid the rifle down, revulsed--and trembled in the snow. but he soon regained the mastery, his hand was steady now, the sights in line--'twas but a deer out yonder. but at that moment the stag turned full yan's way, with those regardful eyes and ears, and nostrils too, and gazed. "darest thou slay me?" said an uncrowned, unarmed king once, as his eyes fell on the assassin's knife, and in that clear, calm gaze the murderer quailed and cowed. so trembled yan; but he knew it was only stag-fever, and he despised it then as he came in time to honor it; and the beast that dwelt within him fired the gun. the ball splashed short. the buck sprang up and the doe appeared. another shot; then, as they fled, another and another. but away the deer went, lightly drifting across the low round hills. v [illustration] he followed their trail for some time, but gnashed his teeth to find no sign of blood, and he burned with a raging animal sense that was neither love nor hate. within a mile there was a new sign that joined on and filled him with another rage and shed light on many a bloody page of frontier history--a moccasin-track, a straight-set, broad-toed, moosehide track, the track of a cree brave. he followed in savage humor, and as he careered up a slope a tall form rose from a log, raising one hand in peaceable gesture. although yan was behind, the indian had seen him first. "who are you?" said yan, roughly. "chaska." "what are you doing in my country?" "it was my country first," he replied gravely. "those are my deer," yan said, and thought. "no man owns wild deer till he kills them," said chaska. "you better keep off any trail i'm following." "not afraid," said he, and made a gesture to include the whole settlement, then added gently, "no good to fight; the best man will get the most deer anyhow." [illustration] and the end of it was that yan stayed for several days with chaska, and got, not an antlered buck indeed, but, better far, an insight into the ways of a man who could hunt. the indian taught him _not_ to follow the trail over the hills, for deer watch their back track, and cross the hills to make this more easy. he taught him to tell by touch and smell of sign just how far ahead they are, as well as the size and condition of the deer, and not to trail closely when the game is near. he taught him to study the wind by raising his moistened finger in the air, and yan thought, "now i know why a deer's nose is always moist, for he must always watch the wind." he showed yan how much may be gained at times by patient waiting, and that it is better to tread like an indian with foot set straight, for thereby one gains an inch or two at each stride and can come back in one's own track through deep snow. and he also unwittingly taught him that an indian _cannot_ shoot with a rifle, and natty bumpo's adage came to mind, "a white man can shoot with a gun, but it ain't accordin' to an injun's gifts." [illustration] sometimes they went out together and sometimes singly. one day, while out alone, yan had followed a deer-track into a thicket by what is now called chaska lake. the sign was fresh, and as he sneaked around there was a rustle in the brush. then he saw the kinnikinnick boughs shaking. his gun flew up and covered the spot. as soon as he was sure of the place he meant to fire. but when he saw the creature as a dusky moving form through the twigs, he awaited a better view, which came, and he had almost pulled the trigger when his hand was stayed by a glimpse of red, and a moment later out stepped--chaska. "chaska," yan gasped, "i nearly did for you." [illustration] for reply the indian drew his finger across the red handkerchief on his brow. yan knew then one reason why a hunting indian always wears it; after that he wore one himself. one day a flock of prairie-chickens flew high overhead toward the thick spruce woods. others followed, and it seemed to be a general move. chaska looked toward them and said, "chickens go hide in bush. blizzard to-night." it surely came, and the hunters stayed all day by the fire. next day it was as fierce as ever. on the third day it ceased somewhat, and they hunted again. but chaska returned with his gun broken by a fall, and after a long silent smoke he said: "yan hunt in moose mountain?" "no!" "good hunting. go?" yan shook his head. presently the indian, glancing to the eastward, said, "sioux tracks there to-day. all bad medicine here." and yan knew that his mind was made up. he went away and they never met again, and all that is left of him now is his name, borne by the lonely lake that lies in the carberry hills. [illustration] vi [illustration] "there are more deer round carberry now than ever before, and the big stag has been seen between kennedy's plain and the mill." so said a note that reached yan away in the east, where he had been chafing in a new and distasteful life. it was the beginning of the hunting season, the fret was already in his blood, and that letter decided him. for a while the iron horse, for a while the gentle horse, then he donned his moosehide wings and flew as of old on many a long, hard flight, to return as so often before. [illustration] then he heard that at a certain lake far to the eastward seven deer had been seen; their leader a wonderful buck. [illustration: "seven deer, ... their leader a wonderful buck."] with three others he set out in a sleigh to the eastward lake, and soon found the tracks--six of various sizes and one large one, undoubtedly that of the famous stag. how utterly the veneer was torn to tatters by those seven chains of tracks! how completely the wild paleolithic beast stood revealed in each of the men, in spite of semi-modern garb, as they drove away on the trail with a wild, excited gleam in every eye! it was nearly night before the trail warmed up, but even then, in spite of yan's earnest protest, they drove on in the sleigh. and soon they came to where the trail told of seven keen observers looking backward from a hill, then an even sevenfold chain of twenty-five-foot bounds. the hunters got no glimpse at all, but followed till the night came down, then hastily camped in the snow. in the morning they followed as before, and soon came to where seven spots of black, bare ground showed where the deer had slept. [illustration] now when the trail grew warm yan insisted on hunting on foot. he trailed the deer into a great thicket, and knew just where they were by a grouse that flew cackling from its farther side. he arranged a plan, but his friends would not await the blue-jay's 'all-right' note, and the deer escaped. but finding themselves hard pressed, they split their band, two going one way and five another. yan kept with him one, duff, and leaving the others to follow the five deer, he took up the twofold trail. why? because in it was the great broad track he had followed for two years back. on they went, overtaking the deer and causing them again to split. yan sent duff after the doe, while he stuck relentlessly to the track of the famous stag. as the sun got low, the chase led to a great half-wooded stretch, in a country new to him; for he had driven the stag far from his ancient range. the trail again grew hot, but just as yan felt sure he soon would close, two distant shots were heard, and the track of the stag as he found it then went off in a fear-winged flight that might keep on for miles. [illustration] [illustration] yan went at a run, and soon found duff. he had had two long shots at the doe. the second he thought had hit her. within half a mile they found blood on the trail; within another half-mile the blood was no more seen and the track seemed to have grown very large and strong. the snow was drifting and the marks not easily read, yet yan knew very soon that the track they were on was not that of the wounded doe, but was surely that of her antlered mate. back on the trail they ran till they solved the doubt, for there they learned that the stag, after making his own escape, had come back to change off: an old, old trick of the hunted whereby one deer will cleverly join on and carry on the line of tracks to save another that is too hard pressed, while it leaps aside to hide or fly in a different direction. thus the stag had sought to save his wounded mate, but the hunters remorselessly took up her trail and gloated like wolves over the slight drip of blood. within another short run they found that the stag, having failed to divert the chase to himself, had returned to her, and at sundown they sighted them a quarter of a mile ahead mounting a long snow-slope. the doe was walking slowly, with hanging head and ears. the buck was running about as though in trouble that he did not understand, and coming back to caress the doe and wonder why she walked so slowly. in another half-mile the hunters came up with them. she was down in the snow. when he saw them coming, the great stag shook the oak-tree on his brow and circled about in doubt, then fled from a foe he was powerless to resist. [illustration: "the doe was walking slowly."] [illustration] as the men came near the doe made a convulsive effort to rise, but could not. duff drew his knife. it never before occurred to yan why he and each of them carried a long knife. the poor doe turned on her foes her great lustrous eyes; they were brimming with tears, but she made no moan. yan turned his back on the scene and covered his face with his hands, but duff went forward with the knife and did some dreadful, unspeakable thing, yan scarcely knew what, and when duff called him he slowly turned, and the big stag's mate was lying quiet in the snow, and the only living thing that they saw as they quit the scene was the great round form bearing aloft the oak-tree on its brow as it haunted the nearer hills. and when, an hour later, the men came with the sleigh to lift the doe's body from the crimsoned snow, there were large fresh tracks about it, and a dark shadow passed over the whitened hill into the silent night. * * * * * what morbid thoughts came from the fire that night! how the man in yan did taunt the glutted brute! was this the end? was this the real chase? after long weeks, with the ideal alone in mind, after countless blessed failures, was this the vile success--a beautiful, glorious, living creature tortured into a loathsome mass of carrion? [illustration] vii but when the morning came the impress of the night was dim. a long howl came over the hill, and the thought that a wolf was on the trail that he was quitting smote sadly on yan's heart. they all set out for the settlement, but within an hour yan only wanted an excuse to stay. and when at length they ran onto the fresh track of the sandhill stag himself, the lad was all ablaze once more. "i cannot go back--something tells me that i must stay--i must see him face to face again." the rest had had enough of the bitter frost, so yan took from the sleigh a small pot, a blanket, and some food, and left them, to follow alone the great sharp imprint in the snow. "good-by--good luck!" [illustration] he watched the sleigh out of sight, in the low hills, and then felt as he never had before. though he had been so many months alone in the wilds, he had never known loneliness, but as soon as his friends were gone he was overwhelmed by a sense of the utter heart-sickening dreariness of the endless, snowy waste. where were the charms that he had never failed to find until now? he wanted to recall the sleigh, but pride kept him silent. [illustration] in a little while it was too late, and soon he was once more in the power of that fascinating, endless chain of tracks,--a chain begun years ago, when in a june the track of a mother blacktail was suddenly joined by two little ones' tracks. since then the three had gone on winding over the land the trail-chains they were forging,--knotted and kinked, and twisted with every move and thought of the makers, imprinted with every hap of their lives, but interrupted never wholly. at times the tracks were joined by that of some fierce foe and the kind of mark was changed, but the chains went on for months and years, now fast, now slow, but endless, until some foe more strong joined on and there one trail was ended. but this great stag was forging still that mystic chain. a million roods of hills had he overlaid with its links, had scribbled over in this oldest script with the story of his life. if only our eyes were bright enough to follow up that twenty thousand miles of trail, what light unguessed we might obtain where the wisest now are groping! [illustration] but skin deep, man is brute. just a little while ago we were mere hunting brutes--our bellies were our only thought, that telltale line of dots was the road to food. no man can follow it far without feeling a wild beast prickling in his hair and down his spine. away yan went, a hunter-brute once more, all other feelings swamped. [illustration] late that day the trail, after many a kink and seeming break, led into a great dense thicket of brittle, quaking asp. yan knew that the stag was there to lie at rest. the deer went in up-wind, of course. his eyes and ears would watch his trail, and his nose would guard in front, so yan went in at one side, trusting to get a shot. with a very agony of care he made his way, step by step, and, after many minutes, surely found the track, still leading on. another lengthy crawl, with nerves at tense, and then the lad thought he heard a twig snapped behind him, though the track was still ahead. and after long he found it true. before lying down the stag had doubled back, and while yan had thought him still ahead, he was lying far behind, so had gotten wind of the man and now was miles away. once more into the unknown north away, till cold, black night came down; then yan sought out a sheltered spot and made a tiny, red-man's fire. as chaska had taught him long ago--'big fire for fool.' when the lad curled up to sleep he felt a vague wish to turn three times like a dog, and a well-defined wish that he had fur on his face and a bushy tail to lay around his freezing hands and feet, for it was a night of northern frost. old peboan was stalking on the snow. the stars seemed to crackle, so one could almost hear. the trees and earth were bursting with the awful frost. the ice on a near lake was rent all night by cracks that went whooping from shore to shore; and down between the hills there poured the cold that burns. [illustration] [illustration] a prairie-wolf came by in the night, but he did not howl or treat yan like an outsider now. he gave a gentle, doglike '_woof, woof_,' a sort of 'oho! so you have come to it at last,' and passed away. toward morning the weather grew milder, but with the change there came a driving snow. the track was blotted out. yan had heeded nothing else, and did not know where he was. after travelling an aimless mile or two he decided to make for pine creek, which ought to lie southeastward. but which way was southeast? the powdery snow was driven along through the air, blinding, stinging, burning. on all things near it was like smoke, and on farther things, a driving fog. but he made for a quaking asp grove, and there, sticking through the snow, he found a crosier golden-rod, dead and dry, but still faithfully delivering its message, 'yon is the north.' with course corrected, on he went, and, whenever in doubt, dug out this compass-flower, till the country dipped and pine creek lay below. [illustration] there was good camping here, the very spot indeed where, fifteen years before, butler had camped on his loneland journey; but now the blizzard had ceased, so yan spent the day hunting without seeing a track, and he spent the night as before, wishing that nature had been kinder to him in the matter of fur. during that first lone night his face and toes had been frozen and now bore burning sores. but still he kept on the chase, for something within had told him that the grail was surely near. next day a strange, unreasoning guess sent him east across the creek in a deerless-looking barren land. within half a mile he came on dim tracks made lately in the storm. he followed, and soon found where six deer had lain at rest, and among them a great, broad bed and a giant track that only one could have made. the track was almost fresh, the sign unfrozen still. "within a mile," he thought. but within a hundred yards there loomed up on a fog-wrapped hillside five heads with ears regardant, and at that moment, too, there rose up from the snowy top a great form like a blasted trunk with two dead boughs still on. but they had seen him first, and before the deadly gun could play, six beacons waved and a friendly hill had screened them from its power. [illustration] the sandhill stag had gathered his brood again, yet now that the murderer was on the track once more, he scattered them as before. but there was only one track for yan. at last the chase led away to the great dip of pine creek--a mile-wide flat, with a long, dense thicket down the middle. "there is where he is hiding and watching now, but there he will not rest," said the something within, and yan kept out of sight and watched; after half an hour a dark spot left the willow belt and wandered up the farther hill. when he was well out of sight over the hill yan ran across the valley and stalked around to get the trail on the down-wind side. he found it, and there learned that the stag was as wise as he--he had climbed a good lookout and watched his back trail, then seeing yan crossing the flat, his track went swiftly bounding, bounding--. [illustration: "scanned the white world for his foe."] the stag knew just how things stood; a single match to a finish now, and he led away for a new region. but yan was learning something he had often heard--that the swiftest deer can be run down by a hardy man; for he was as fresh as ever, but the great stag's bounds were shortening, he was surely tiring out, he must throw off the hunter now, or he is lost. he often mounted a high hill to scan the white world for his foe, and the after-trail was a record of what he learned or feared. at last his trail came to a sudden end. this was a mystery until long study showed how he had returned backward on his own track for a hundred yards, then bounded aside to fly in another direction. three times he did this, and then passed through an aspen thicket and, returning, lay down in this thicket near his own track, so that in following, yan must pass where the stag could smell and hear him long before the trail brought the hunter over-close. all these doublings and many more like them were patiently unravelled and the shortening bounds were straightened out once more till, as daylight waned, the tracks seemed to grow stale and the bounds again grow long. after a little, yan became wholly puzzled, so he stopped right there and spent another wretched night. next day at dawn he worked it out. he found he had been running the trail he had already run. with a long hark-back, the doubt was cleared. the desperate stag had joined onto his old track and bounded aside at length to let the hunter follow the cold scent. but the join-on was found and the real trail read, and the tale that it told was of a great stag wearing out, too tired to eat, too scared to sleep, with a tireless hunter after. [illustration] viii [illustration] a last long follow brought the hunt back to familiar ground--a marsh-encompassed tract of woods with three ways in. there was the deer's trail entering. yan felt he would not come out there, for he knew his foe was following. so swiftly and silently the hunter made for the second road on the down-wind side, and having hung his coat and sash there on a swaying sapling, he hastened to the third way out, and hid. after a while, seeing nothing, yan gave the low call that the jaybird gives when there's danger abroad in the woods. [illustration] all deer take guidance from the jay, and away off in the encompassed woods yan saw the great stag with wavering ears go up a high lookout. a low whistle turned him to a statue, but he was far away with many a twig between. for some seconds he stood sniffing the wind and gazing with his back to his foe, watching the back trail, where so long his enemy had been, but never dreaming of that enemy in ambush ahead. then the breeze set the coat on the sapling a-fluttering. the stag quickly quit the hillock, not leaping or crashing through the brush,--he had years ago got past that,--but silent and weasel-like threading the maze, he disappeared. yan crouched in the willow thicket and strained his every sense and tried to train his ears for keener watching. a twig ticked in the copse that he was in. yan slowly rose with nerve and sense at tightest tense, the gun in line--and as he rose, there also rose, but fifteen feet away, a wondrous pair of bronze and ivory horns, a royal head, a noble form behind it, and face to face they stood, yan and the sandhill stag. at last--at last, his life was in yan's hands. the stag flinched not, but stood and gazed with those great ears and mournful, truthful eyes, and the rifle leaped but sank again, for the stag stood still and calmly looked him in the eyes, and yan felt the prickling fading from his scalp, his clenched teeth eased, his limbs, bent as to spring, relaxed and manlike stood erect. '_shoot, shoot, shoot now! this is what you have toiled for_,' said a faint and fading voice, and spoke no more. [illustration] but yan remembered the night when he, himself run down, had turned to face the hunting wolves, he remembered too that night when the snow was red with crime, and now between him and the other there he dimly saw a vision of an agonizing, dying doe, with great, sad eyes, that only asked, 'what harm have i done you?' a change came over him, and every thought of murder went from yan as they gazed into each other's eyes--and hearts. yan could not look him in the eyes and take his life, and different thoughts and a wholly different concept of the stag, coming--coming--long coming--had come. * * * * * "oh, beautiful creature! one of our wise men has said, the body is the soul made visible; is your spirit then so beautiful--as beautiful as wise? we have long stood as foes, hunter and hunted, but now that is changed and we stand face to face, fellow-creatures looking in each other's eyes, not knowing each other's speech--but knowing motives and feelings. now i understand you as i never did before; surely you at least in part understand me. for your life is at last in my power, yet you have no fear. i knew of a deer once, that, run down by the hounds, sought safety with the hunter, and he saved it--and you also i have run down and you boldly seek safety with me. yes! you are as wise as you are beautiful, for i will never harm a hair of you. we are brothers, oh, bounding blacktail! only i am the elder and stronger, and if only my strength could always be at hand to save you, you would never come to harm. go now, without fear, to range the piney hills; never more shall i follow your trail with the wild wolf rampant in my heart. less and less as i grow do i see in your race mere flying marks, or butcher-meat. we have grown, little brother, and learned many things that you know not, but you have many a precious sense that is wholly hidden from us. go now without fear of me. [illustration] "i may never see you again. but if only you would come sometimes and look me in the eyes and make me feel as you have done to-day, you would drive the wild beast wholly from my heart, and then the veil would be a little drawn and i should know more of the things that wise men have prayed for knowledge of. and yet i feel it never will be--i have found the grail. i have learned what buddha learned. i shall never see you again. farewell." [illustration] the tale of nimble deer _sleepy-time tales_ (trademark registered) by arthur scott bailey author of _tuck-me-in tales_ (trademark registered) the tale of cuffy bear the tale of frisky squirrel the tale of tommy fox the tale of fatty coon the tale of billy woodchuck the tale of jimmy rabbit the tale of peter mink the tale of sandy chipmunk the tale of brownie beaver the tale of paddy muskrat the tale of ferdinand frog the tale of dickie deer mouse the tale of timothy turtle the tale of major monkey the tale of benny badger [illustration: nimble told everybody he met. _frontispiece_--(_page 27_)] _sleepy-time tales_ (trademark registered) the tale of nimble deer by arthur scott bailey author of "tuck-me-in tales" (trademark registered) and "slumber-town tales" (trademark registered) illustrated by harry l. smith new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america copyright, 1922, by grosset & dunlap contents chapter page i the spotted fawn 7 ii learning things 13 iii an interrupted nap 18 iv planning a picnic 23 v nimble's mistake 29 vi an unexpected party 35 vii the strange light 39 viii mrs. deer explains 44 ix a spike horn 49 x at the carrot patch 54 xi cuffy and the cave 60 xii cuffy is missing 65 xiii cuffy bear wakens 70 xiv antlers 75 xv a mock battle 79 xvi mr. crow looks on 84 xvii what brownie wanted 90 xviii the muley cow 96 xix the jumping contest 100 xx solving a problem 104 xxi an untold secret 109 xxii the new hat-rack 113 xxiii how nimble helped 118 xxiv uncle jerry chuck 123 the tale of nimble deer i the spotted fawn when nimble's mother first looked at him she couldn't believe she would ever be able to raise him. he was such a tiny, frail, spotted thing that he seemed too delicate for a life of adventure on the wooded ridges and in the tangled swamps under the shadow of blue mountain. "bless me!" cried the good lady. "this child's not much taller than an overgrown beet top and he can't be any heavier than one of farmer green's prize cabbages. and his legs--" she exclaimed--"his legs are no thicker than pea pods.... they'll be ready to eat in another month," she added, meaning _not_ her child's legs, as you might have supposed, but farmer green's early june peas. for nimble's mother was very fond of certain vegetables that did not grow wild in the woods. of course young nimble did not know what she was talking about. he had a great deal to learn. and he would have to wait until he was a good deal bigger before his mother took him on an excursion, by night, across the fields to farmer green's garden patch. all at once nimble leaped quickly upon his slightly wobbly legs. he trembled and gazed up at his mother with a look of fear in his great eyes. at the same time his mother, too, lifted her head and listened for a few moments. "don't be afraid!" she said then, to nimble. "that's old spot--farmer green's dog--barking. but he's down near the barns, so we don't need to worry." that was the first time nimble had ever heard a dog's voice. yet no one needed to tell him that it wasn't a pleasant sound. even his mother couldn't help feeling that she had better put a wide stretch of rough country between her new youngster and old spot's home. so in a little while she led the way slowly along the pine grown ridge which bent around a shoulder of the mountain. she was headed for the spring which marked the beginning of broad brook. her little spotted fawn, nimble, kept close beside her. slowly as his mother moved, he found the traveling none too easy. and he was glad when she stopped in a pocket-like clearing. there she spoke to a proud speckled bird who was sitting on a log and amusing himself by spreading his tail feathers into a beautiful fan. "good morning, mr. grouse!" said nimble's mother. "good morning, madam!" replied the gentleman with the fan. "what a handsome child you have! there's nothing quite like spots--or speckles--to add to a person's looks." "they _are_ pretty," nimble's mother agreed with a happy glance at her son. "i can't say he favors his mother," mr. grouse remarked. "oh, i had spots enough when i was young," she explained. "you see, all our family lose our spots as we grow up." "i'm glad to say," mr. grouse said with a flirt of his tail, "that all our family keep their spots, every one of them." "we get to be so swift-footed that we don't need spots," said nimble's mother. that speech seemed to displease mr. grouse. "i hope," he cried, "you don't mean to say that we grouse aren't swift!" "no, indeed!" nimble's mother answered hastily. "i should hope _not_!" was mr. grouse's response to that. "for everybody knows that we go up like rockets at the slightest sign of danger." "exactly!" said nimble's mother. "you are so swift that you don't really need those spots to help conceal yourself, once you're grown up." "they're handy to have, all the same," he told her. "and as for this youngster of yours, you needn't worry much about him. he'll be safe enough in the woods. he looks just like a patch of sunlight that has fallen through a tree top upon a leaf-strewn bank." nimble's mother was pleased to hear that. "yes!" said mr. grouse cheerfully. "he'll be safe enough--except for the foxes." and that remark didn't please nimble's mother at all. ii learning things nimble's mother hadn't liked mr. grouse's remark about foxes. somehow she couldn't put foxes out of her mind. and not once did she mean to let nimble wander out of her sight. at first, when he was only a tiny chap, it was easy for her to keep her young son near her. but nimble grew a little livelier with each day that passed. and it wasn't long before he began to annoy his mother and worry her, too. for he soon fell into the habit of dodging behind something or other, such as a baby pine tree or a clump of blackberry bushes, when his mother wasn't looking. every time she missed her spotted fawn the poor lady was sure a fox had snatched him up and dragged him away. and when she found nimble again she was so glad that she hadn't the heart to punish him. however, one day she talked to him quite severely. "do you want a fox to catch--and eat--you?" she asked him. "no, mother!... has a fox ever eaten you?" "certainly not!" nimble's mother answered. "do you expect to be caught by a fox?" "no, indeed!" said his mother. "then there can't be any great danger," nimble remarked lightly. "ah! there's always danger of foxes so long as you're a little fawn," she explained. "when you're grown up--or even half grown--no fox would dare touch you. but if you wandered away alone at your tender age and you met a fox----" well, the poor lady was so upset by the mere thought of what might happen that she couldn't say anything more just then. but her son nimble was not upset. "if i met a fox," he declared bravely, "i'd be safe enough. i'd stand perfectly still. and he wouldn't be able to see me, on account of my spots." "ah! but if the wind happened to be blowing his way he'd be sure to smell you," cried nimble's mother. "and he would find you. and he would jump at you." "i'd run away from him then," said nimble stoutly. his mother shook her head. "you're spry for your age. but you're too slow to escape a fox. you're not quick enough for that yet. you don't know how quick foxes are. so look out! look out for a sly fellow with a pointed nose and a bushy tail!" in spite of all these warnings nimble didn't feel the least bit alarmed. and the older he grew the less he heeded his mother's words. he thought she was too careful. she seemed always to be on the watch for some danger. she was forever stopping to look back, lest somebody or something might be following her. whenever she picked out a good resting place behind a clump of evergreens, out of the wind, she never lay down without first retracing her steps for a little way and peering all around. then, of course, she had to walk back again before she sank down on the bed of her choosing. it all seemed very silly to young nimble. "what's the use," he finally asked her one day, "what's the use of fussing so much over your back tracks?" "you should always know what's behind you," said his mother. "besides, i can't rest well if i'm uneasy." "do you feel easy now?" he inquired, for she had just then lain down after giving her back tracks her usual attention. "quite!" said nimble's mother, as she closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh of contentment. her answer pleased nimble. he smiled faintly as he watched her closely. and he chuckled when his mother's head nodded three times and then sank lower and lower. presently nimble rose to his feet, without making the slightest rustle. and very carefully he stole away. iii an interrupted nap nimble, the fawn, stole away into the woods while his mother was sleeping. and when he went he took great pains not to disturb her. he was careful not to step on a single twig. for young as he was, he knew that the sound of a breaking twig was enough to rouse his mother instantly out of the deepest sleep. and he made sure that he didn't set his little feet on any stones. for he knew that at the merest click of a hoof his mother would bound up and discover that he had left her. so nimble trod only upon the soft carpet of pine needles and made not the slightest noise. meanwhile his mother slept peacefully on--or as peacefully as anybody can who is a light sleeper and keeps one ear always cocked to catch every stir in the forest. she never missed her son at all until she found herself suddenly wide awake and on her feet, ready to run. not seeing nimble beside her, for a moment or two she forgot she had a child. her only thought was to flee from the creature that was crashing through the underbrush beyond the old stone wall and drawing nearer to her every instant. it was a wonder that she didn't dash off then and there. indeed she took one leap before she remembered who she was and that she had a youngster named nimble. then, of course, she stopped short and looked wildly around. but she saw no little spotted fawn anywhere. she had been startled enough, before, roused as she was out of a sound sleep. and now she was terribly frightened. "nimble!" she called. "where are you?" "here i am!" nimble answered. even as he spoke he burst into sight, leaping the stone wall in such a way that his mother couldn't help feeling proud of him. "what's the matter?" she cried. "who's chasing you?" "nobody's chasing me," nimble told her. "when i saw the fox i hurried back here." "the fox!" his mother exclaimed. "well, he won't dare touch you while i am with you." she began to breathe easily again. if it was only a fox she certainly didn't intend to run. "where did you see the fox?" she demanded. "he was right over my head," nimble said. "my goodness!" his mother gasped. "that was dangerous. was he on a bank above you?" "he was in a tree," nimble replied. his mother gave him a queer look. "what's that?" she asked him sharply. "in a tree? what did he look like? was he red?" "he was grayish and he had black rings around his long bushy tail; and his long pointed nose stuck out from under a black mask." "nonsense!" cried nimble's mother. "you didn't see a fox. you saw a coon!" nimble was puzzled. "you told me once," he reminded his mother, "that a fox was a sly fellow with a bushy tail and a long pointed nose. and this person in the tree had----" "yes! yes!" said his mother. "now listen to what i say: a fox is red. and his tail has no rings at all. and foxes don't climb trees." "yes, mother!" was nimble's meek answer. he was glad to learn all that. and he was glad, too, that his mother hadn't asked him how he happened to stray off alone into the woods. iv planning a picnic while he was only a fawn nimble became very fond of water lilies. but he didn't carry them as a bouquet, nor wear one in his buttonhole. he was fond of lilies in a different way: he liked to eat them, and their flat, round, glossy pads. at night his mother often led him to the edge of the lake on the other side of blue mountain and there they feasted. it was wonderful to stand in the cool water, not too far from the shore, with the moonlight shimmering on the ruffled lake, and breathe in the sweet scent of the lilies while nibbling at their pads. "there's nothing," said nimble to his mother one night, "nothing so good to eat as water lilies." his mother said, "humph! wait till you've tasted carrots!" "carrots!" nimble echoed. "what are carrots and where can i find some? do they grow in this lake?" "carrots," his mother explained, "are vegetables and they grow in farmer green's garden." when he heard that, nimble wanted to start for farmer green's place at once. but his mother said, "no!" and he soon saw that she meant it, too. however, the word _carrots_ was in his mouth a good deal of the time, for days and nights afterward. but nimble wasn't satisfied with having only the _word_ in his mouth. there was no taste to that at all. nor could he chew it, nor swallow it. he was wild to bite into a carrot and see if it actually was more toothsome than a water lily. again and again he said to his mother, "can't we go down to farmer green's garden patch to-night? if we wait much longer somebody else will eat all the carrots before we get a taste of them." or maybe he would exclaim, "let's have some carrots for supper! please!" it was no wonder that nimble's mother grew very tired of his teasing. at last she said to him, when he was urging her to take him down the hill and across the meadow to farmer green's vegetable garden, "there's no sense in our going down there now. the carrots aren't big enough yet. they aren't ready to eat. but later, if you show you're trustworthy, and if you mind well, and if you grow enough, and if you can start quickly and run fast, perhaps i'll see that you have your first meal of carrots. now, don't bother me any more!" well, there were so many _ifs_ in his mother's promise that nimble almost gave up hope of ever getting to farmer green's garden patch. he didn't quite dare expect that his mother would take him there with her. but he made up his mind that if she didn't he would go on a carrot hunt alone as soon as he could. at the same time he practiced minding his mother, which was not always a pleasant thing to do. and he practiced starting and running, both of which were a good deal of fun. as for growing, nimble did not need to practice that at all; for he was getting heavier and taller every day, without doing anything more than to eat and to sleep and to have the best time possible. meanwhile he told everybody he met that if all went well he would be eating carrots some day. and when his friends learned that he planned to go on an excursion to farmer green's garden patch there wasn't one of them that didn't say he would like to go too. jimmy rabbit said he really ought to have a look at the cabbages. and if nimble didn't mind he thought it would be pleasant to join the party. patty coon remarked that there were certain matters connected with corn which he must attend to, and if there was no objection he would go along with the rest, when the time came for the excursion. even cuffy bear, who almost never went near the farm buildings, declared that there was nothing he would enjoy more than to make the trip with nimble and his mother. he had once tasted baked beans. and ever since that occasion he had meant to see if he couldn't find some around farmer green's house. of course it would have been awkward to say no. so nimble said yes to everybody. he even promised that he would let all his friends know when the excursion should take place. but of all these things he said not a word to his mother. he was not sure that they would please her. in fact he was sure that they wouldn't. v nimble's mistake one morning nimble's mother said to him, "to-night, just as the moon rises, we'll start for farmer green's garden patch." he knew what that meant. it meant that he was going to know, at last, what carrots tasted like. and he was delighted. "you've improved fast," his mother told him. "you've grown a good deal. you start to run much more quickly than you did a month ago; and you're quite speedy now. i must say that you don't mind me any too well. take care that to-night you do exactly as you're ordered!" nimble promised. "i'll be good," he said. "no matter how many carrots you want me to eat, i'll finish every one." "no matter if you haven't had a chance to eat a single carrot, if i tell you to run you must obey instantly," his mother warned him. "two seconds' delay might be fatal," she added solemnly. "if we hear a twig snap you mustn't stop to look nor listen." "yes!" said nimble. but ten minutes later he couldn't have repeated a word that his mother said--except that they were going to start for the garden when the moon rose. that much he told jimmy rabbit when he met him in the woods a little while afterward. and jimmy rabbit agreed to get the news, somehow, to fatty coon and cuffy bear. he was as good as his promise--even better. for jimmy told everybody he met that day. he explained about the excursion to the garden patch and said that every one must be ready to start just as the moon peeped over the rim of the world, for nimble deer's mother wouldn't wait for anybody that wasn't on hand. nimble found that day a long one. he was so eager to get a carrot between his lips that he thought night would never come. but darkness fell at last. and some hours later his mother said to him, "are you ready?" he was. so together they passed silently along the old runway which led, as his mother knew, to the pasture fence. the woods were inky black, for the moon had not yet risen. but nimble's mother remarked that she thought they would see it when they reached the open hillside. just before they came to the fence somebody spoke. nimble's mother jumped when somebody cried, "good evening!" but she knew at once that it was only jimmy rabbit. "i see you're on time," he said. "i haven't been waiting long." "waiting?" nimble's mother exclaimed. "waiting for what?" "for you!" he answered. "i heard you were going down to the garden patch to-night; and i'm to be one of the party." the good lady thought it queer. how did jimmy rabbit happen to have heard of the excursion? she couldn't imagine. but he was a harmless little fellow. really she didn't mind having him go with her. "very well!" she told him. "but remember: you must be quiet!" and she was just about to walk up to the fence when she gave a searching look all around. "bless me!" she muttered. "i never saw so many eyes in all my life. who are all these people?" it was no wonder she asked that question. for no matter where she turned, pairs of eyes burned in the darkness. strangely enough, nobody answered. jimmy rabbit didn't say a word. and as for nimble, he didn't seem to hear--nor understand--anything his mother said. "i repeat," she spoke again, "who are these people? why have they gathered here? the woods aren't afire, are they?" and she lifted her nose and sniffed at the air. but she could find no trace of smoke. somehow nimble began to feel ill at ease. he edged away from his mother and tried to hide behind jimmy rabbit. and that was a ridiculous thing to do; because nimble was ever so much the bigger of the two. presently his mother gave him a sharp look. and then he, too, raised his muzzle and sniffed. "i don't smell any smoke," he stammered. "do you know why there's such a crowd here?" she asked him sternly. "i think," he said, "they expect to go to the garden patch with us." and his mother wondered, then, why she hadn't guessed the secret instantly. vi an unexpected party nimble's mother's plans went all awry. she had expected to give her son a treat by taking him quietly to farmer green's carrot patch, so that he might have his first taste of carrots. so it wasn't strange that it upset her a bit when she found that there were dozens of other forest folk all ready and waiting to go along with them. one extra member of the party wouldn't have displeased her, especially when that one was jimmy rabbit. but she had never gone near the farm buildings with more than two others. and she didn't intend to break her rule now. besides, it annoyed her above all to know that her son had spread the news of the excursion far and wide. "did you _invite_ these people?" she asked nimble in a low voice. "no! oh, no!" "then what brings them here?" she demanded. "their legs, i suppose," he replied. "be careful!" she said. "be very careful!" then nimble began to whine. and that was something he almost never did. "they said they'd like to come," he told his mother. "and i said maybe you wouldn't mind." "well, i do mind," she declared firmly. "when i take a child to the carrot patch for the first time i don't want company. one of this crowd is more than likely to rouse old dog spot. and we can't have him ranging around while we're dining." "then tell everybody to go home!" nimble suggested. "tell them to go 'way!" "no!" said his mother. "that wouldn't be polite." she was silent for a few moments. and then she explained to jimmy rabbit and to the owners of the pairs of eyes that still stared at her out of the darkness. she explained that on account of an unexpected party she wasn't going to the carrot patch that night. "when are you going?" asked the owner of one pair of specially bright eyes. "ha!" nimble's mother exclaimed. "is that cuffy bear speaking?" "yessum!" said the same voice. "i fear," she told him, "i may not be able to go for a long time." "never mind!" cuffy cried. "i can go any night--that is, until i den up for the winter." and every one in the company declared that he hadn't a single engagement that would prevent him from visiting the garden whenever nimble's mother should say the word. "well," said she, "it won't be to-night, anyhow." and with that she turned around and began to walk along the runway again, away from the pasture fence. as nimble followed her jimmy rabbit skipped alongside him and whispered in his ear. "don't fail to let me know when the time comes!" but nimble said never a word. somehow he suspected that he had made a great mistake. he _knew_ he had, a little later. vii the strange light weeks went by; and still nimble's mother said no more about visiting farmer green's carrot patch. nimble himself did not dare to mention carrots now. it was his own fault that the excursion had been postponed. and much as he still wanted a taste of carrots the whole affair was something he didn't care to talk about. anyhow, it was lucky that he liked water lilies. for his mother took him to the lake behind blue mountain every night, almost. and there they splashed in the shallows and ate all they wanted. most of those nights were much alike. but there was one that nimble remembered for many a day afterward. it was not a dark night; neither was it a light one. it was a half-and-half sort of night. there was a moon. but it was far from full. and it was not high in the sky. the light from it came slanting down upon the lake, throwing the shadows of the trees far out upon the water. where those shadows reached out darkly nimble and his mother stood with the water lapping their sleek bodies. and they were eating so busily that neither of them noticed a blurred shape that glided slowly nearer and nearer to them, without making the slightest sound. all at once a shaft of dazzling light swept along the shore. nimble was so surprised and puzzled that he stopped eating to stand still and gaze at it. [illustration: never had nimble run so fast before. _page_ 42] but only for a moment! instantly his mother flung her tail upward, so that the under side of it gleamed white even in the half light. and that--as nimble knew right well--that was the danger signal. almost before nimble knew what was happening his mother made for the shore. as she plunged through the water her tail, still aloft like a flag, twitched from side to side. nimble needed no urging to follow it. soon they scrambled, dripping, out of the lake to dive headlong into the cover of the overhanging willows. in those few seconds the light darted swiftly towards them. but it was not quite quick enough. only the ripples told where they had been standing. only the gently waving branches of the willows showed where nimble and his mother had vanished. a noise like a thunder-clap crashed upon nimble's ears and rolled and tumbled in the distance, tossed from the mountain to the hills across the lake, and back again. it frightened nimble much more than did the odd whistle that whined just above his head a moment before the thunder peal. never had he run so fast before. never had his mother set such a pace for him. usually, when startled, she stopped after going a short distance and looked back to try to get a glimpse of whoever or whatever had alarmed her. to be sure, she always stopped in a good place, like the edge of cedar swamp, where she could duck out of sight if need be. but this time nimble's mother ran on and on without pausing. "haven't you forgotten something?" her son gasped after a while. "forgotten something? what do you mean?" she asked. "haven't you forgotten to stop?" nimble inquired. a queer look came over her face. "i declare," she said, "i do believe i'd have run all night if you hadn't reminded me." she fell into a walk. and neither of them said another word until they reached the swamp, which was one of his mother's favorite hiding places. then nimble spoke again. "i waved my flag too," he said proudly. viii mrs. deer explains for the first time in his life nimble felt quite grown up. he forgot that he had not yet lived a whole summer. he had made a suggestion to his mother which she had promptly acted upon. it had never happened before. and that was enough to cause him great pleasure. then there was something else that made nimble believe himself to be a person of some account: a strange affair had happened at the lake. he had seen it all. he had taken part in it himself. really it was no wonder that he began to talk quite importantly. "it was lucky i was with you," he remarked to his mother as they rested amid the tangle of cedar swamp. "it was lucky we weren't any further out in the lake," she exclaimed. "if you hadn't been with me no doubt i'd have gone where the water was much deeper. and that light would have caught me before i could have reached the shore." what his mother said made nimble feel bigger than ever. he wasn't quite sure what had happened back there, where they had been surprised while eating water lilies. but he meant to find out, for he thought it would make a good story to tell his friends. "would the moon have burnt us if it had hit us?" he inquired. "what in the world are you talking about?" his mother asked him. he looked puzzled at her question. "wasn't that the moon that lit up the lake along the shore?" he demanded. "certainly not!" she replied. "didn't the moon fall into the water?" he asked. "no, indeed!" his mother cried. she was astonished at his question. nimble was disappointed. he had thought he had a wonderful tale to tell. and he couldn't understand yet why everything wasn't as he had supposed. "i was sure the moon fell into the lake and blew up," he explained. "what was that terrible noise we heard if it wasn't the moon bursting into pieces?" his mother didn't laugh. instead she was quite solemn as she answered nimble's last question. "that--" she said--"that was a gun that you heard. and the light that you saw came from a lantern in a boat." it was very hard for nimble to believe what she told him. "i thought i heard a piece of the moon whistle past my head," he went on. "a bullet!" his mother declared. as she spoke she moved a little distance, to a spot where the trees were not so thick. and she raised her nose towards the sky. "there!" she said. "there's the moon! it's still up there where you've always seen it." nimble looked; and at last he knew that his mother had made no mistake. but somehow he was more frightened than ever. "then--" he faltered--"then there must have been men in the boat--men that turned the light upon the shore--and fired the gun!" "they were men--yes!" said his mother. "and they were lawbreakers, too. i hope the game warden will catch them at their tricks." "what is a game warden?" nimble asked her. "he's a man," she answered. "he's a man that looks after all of us forest folk and he's the best friend we've got.... goodness, child! are you never going to stop asking questions?" ix a spike horn nimble didn't mind losing his spots, when he grew older. he had something else that gave him much more pleasure than they ever had. he had a new toy. or to be exact, he had two new toys. and everywhere he went he carried them with him. he carried them on his head. and he couldn't have left them behind in the woods even if he had wanted to--at least not until he had enjoyed them for a whole season. of course you have already guessed that he had a pair of horns. they were not very big. but neither was nimble, for that matter. so they suited him well. a little deer like him would have looked queer wearing great branching horns such as his father owned. nimble's horns were merely two spikes which stuck up out of the top of his head in a pert fashion. it was a proud day for him when an old deer spoke to him and called him "young spike horn." about that time the forest folk had begun to speak of him as a "yearling." but there was something about "spike horn" that sounded much more important. somehow there was a new crop of spike horns that summer--nimble's second summer. and every one of them had been--like him--a little spotted fawn the year before. at first nimble had thought it fun to use his new horns to jab anybody that happened to be with him. one day he even stole up behind his own mother and gave her a sharp prod with them. he never did that again. his mother quickly taught him better. she wheeled and struck him smartly with her fore feet. "there!" she cried. "that's the first time a child of mine has played that trick on me.... let it be the last!" and it was. nimble was very careful, after that, to prod only those that didn't mind such pranks. luckily he soon found that the other spike horns liked the same sort of fun that he did. they were just as proud of their new horns as he was of his. and (sad to say!) there was a good deal of boasting among them. each one declared that his own horns were the longest and strongest. all the spike horns, including nimble, were forever butting one another in play. and they had just discovered a new sport when nimble met with what he feared, for a time, was a terrible accident. late in the fall, before the deep snows came, both his horns loosened and dropped off his head. "oh! oh!" he cried when he saw what had happened. "i'll never be able to take part in another mock battle again!" for the spike horns had had gay times pretending to fight one another in a most savage fashion. after nimble lost his horns he carefully avoided all his playmates. he didn't want the other spike horns to see him. at last, to his great dismay, one day he came face to face with one of them. they both tried to dodge out of sight. but the other, whose name was dodger, was not quite quick enough. before he hid behind a thicket nimble saw that he had lost his horns too! then nimble guessed the truth. he knew why it was that he had managed to keep out of sight of his friends. every spike horn in the neighborhood had lost his horns! and every one of them had been trying to keep out of sight. x at the carrot patch during his first summer nimble never reached farmer green's carrot patch once. his mother had planned to take him there. but on account of an unexpected party she had postponed their visit. and somehow the right night for a trip after carrots never seemed to come again. now, nimble had never forgotten what his mother had told him about carrots. and he was going after some--so he promised himself--just as soon as he was big enough. when nimble's second summer rolled around he was big enough and old enough to prowl through the woods and fields much as he pleased. he was a spike horn. and he felt fit to go to the carrot patch without waiting for anybody to show him the way. so one night he stole down the hillside pasture, across the meadow, and jumped the fence into farmer green's garden. he saw at once that somebody was there ahead of him. it was jimmy rabbit. he was very busy with one of farmer green's cabbages. "i've come down to try the carrots," said nimble. jimmy rabbit made no reply, except to nod his head slightly. he was eating so fast that he really couldn't speak just then. "are these carrots?" nimble inquired, as he looked about at the big cabbages, which crossed the garden in long rows. jimmy rabbit shook his head. "they seem to be good," said nimble, "whatever they are. i'll taste of one." and he did. in fact he tasted of three or four of them, eating their centers out neatly. meanwhile jimmy rabbit was becoming uneasy. and at last he spoke. "i thought," he said, "you told me you had come down here to try the carrots." "so i did," nimble answered. "but i don't know where the carrots are." "why didn't you say so before?" jimmy rabbit asked him. and without waiting for a reply he cried, "follow me! i'll show you." and he hopped off briskly, with nimble after him. soon jimmy rabbit came to a halt. "here it is!" he said. "here's the carrot patch. help yourself!" and then he hopped away again, back to his supper of cabbages. [illustration: nimble deer followed jimmy rabbit. _page 57_] nimble deer began to eat the carrot tops. and he was greatly disappointed. "they're not half as good as those great round balls," he muttered. and he turned away from the carrots, to go back and join jimmy rabbit. but he hadn't gone far when he met jimmy bounding along in a great hurry. "old dog spot!" jimmy rabbit gasped as he whisked past nimble. "he's out to-night and he's coming this way." in one leap nimble sprang completely around and followed jimmy rabbit across the meadow, up through the pasture and over the stone wall into the woods. there they lost each other. the next morning nimble met his mother along the ridge that ran down toward cedar swamp. "i went down to the carrot patch last night," he told her. "and i must say i don't see why you're so fond of carrots. they're not half as good as some big green balls that i found in the garden. i call the carrot leaves tough. but the big green balls have very tender leaves." his mother gave him a queer look. "do you mean to tell me," she asked him, "that you ate only the _leaves_ of the carrots?" "why, yes!" said nimble. "i saw nothing else to eat. there was no fruit on them." "ho!" cried his mother. "you have to dig with your toes to reach the carrots themselves. they're down in the ground. and to my mind there's nothing any juicier and sweeter and tenderer than nice young carrots, eaten by the light of the moon." nimble felt very foolish. and then he tossed his head and said lightly, "oh, well! it wouldn't have made any difference if i _had_ dug the carrots out of the dirt. they wouldn't have tasted right anyhow. for there was no moon last night!" xi cuffy and the cave nimble did not spend all his spare moments with the other spike horns. once in a while he met cuffy bear prowling about near the foot of blue mountain. but nimble never had a mock battle with cuffy. cuffy bear was a famous boxer. and in each of his paws he carried long sharp claws. what if cuffy should forget to pull in those claws sometime, when he struck you a playful tap? ah! that wouldn't be very pleasant! this was what nimble thought about the matter. so he never butted cuffy bear nor pricked him with his spikes. on the whole they found each other good company. cuffy liked to see nimble jump. and nimble liked to see cuffy climb trees. one day, late in the fall, that year when nimble was a spike horn, he strayed half way up the side of blue mountain. it was seldom that nimble wandered so far up the steep and thickly wooded slopes. but old dog spot was ranging about the lower woods. and for once nimble did not run for cedar swamp when he heard the old dog bay. instead he climbed steadily until he was sure that he had shaken spot off his trail. nimble had stopped for a drink at the spring which marked the beginning of broad brook and there he met cuffy bear, who was just turning away from the ice-framed pool. "aren't you a long way from home?" cuffy asked him. "yes! but i can get down to my favorite ridge quickly enough, when i want to," said nimble. "do you live in this neighborhood?" "i'm not quite sure," cuffy bear replied. "i've had my eye on a snug den a little further up the mountain. i'm thinking of living there, if it suits me.... wouldn't you like to see it?" nimble told cuffy that he would be delighted. so they started up the mountain, after nimble had had his drink. cuffy bear led the way. and in a short time he stopped in front of a cave. a tangle of bushes hid the mouth of it. you'd have passed right by it without ever guessing that there was any cave there. "this is it," cuffy bear told nimble. "come right in!" "no, thank you. i'd rather not," said nimble. "i don't care for caves, myself, though this seems to be a good one." "it's worth seeing," cuffy bear urged. "no, thank you!" nimble repeated. "you don't mind if i take a look at it?" cuffy bear inquired. "maybe i can make up my mind--about living here--if i look at the cave once more." "go inside, by all means!" nimble cried. "will you wait here till i come out?" cuffy asked him. and nimble promised that he would wait. cuffy bear yawned as he turned away. and nimble thought it strange that he didn't take the trouble to beg pardon, nor to cover the yawn with a paw. only a very careless--or a very sleepy--person would forget those things, nimble knew. well, cuffy crept inside the cave. and outside nimble waited. he waited and waited, until at last the afternoon light began to fade. "i wish he'd hurry," nimble muttered. "we're going to have a storm and i don't want to stay up here in it, all night." snowflakes were already falling. and nimble wished he hadn't promised that he would wait till cuffy bear came out of the cave. he went to the entrance and called. but he got no answer. "i hope nothing has happened to him," nimble said. but something had. xii cuffy is missing far up on the dark mountainside, in the driving snow, nimble waited in front of the cave where cuffy bear had vanished. and all the time nimble was growing more uneasy. he feared that cuffy bear might be in some sort of trouble. nimble looked all about for help. but there wasn't a sign of anybody stirring, anywhere. all the mountain people seemed to have sought shelter from the storm. at last, however, peter mink came sneaking up from the spring. he had set out to follow broad brook all the way up to its beginning, on a hunt for meadow mice. and when he set out to do a thing he always finished it, no matter what the weather might be. "you're just the person i want to see!" nimble cried. "will you do me a favor?" now, peter mink never did anybody a favor if he could help it. so he promptly said, "no!" "won't you go inside this cave for me and see what's happened to cuffy bear?" nimble implored him. "he went inside the cave. i promised to wait for him here. and he has been gone for hours." "i won't go into that cave for anybody," peter mink declared. "how do i know you're not trying to play a trick on me? i don't see any bear tracks in the snow." "of course you don't!" nimble agreed. "all this snow has fallen since cuffy crawled into the cave." "why don't you go inside yourself?" peter mink inquired with something very like a sneer. "i'm too tall," said nimble. "besides, i don't like caves. i keep out of them." "so do i!" peter mink declared--though everybody knew that he went everywhere--even under the ice along broad brook and swift river. poor nimble didn't know what to do. he felt that he ought to go for help, somewhere. but he had promised cuffy bear to wait for him. then all at once an idea came to him. why not send peter mink for help? "won't you please go down to cedar swamp and ask fatty coon to come up here?" nimble begged peter. "i can't," peter answered. "i must go home now." and everybody knew that peter mink had no home at all! he was the vagabond of the woods. nimble saw then that it was useless to look for help from him. and after peter mink had gone his surly way nimble still lingered there. he was hungry. so he began to paw the snow away here and there, to uncover the ground growths. and just as he was nibbling beside a bush somebody said, "don't step on me!" it was mr. grouse, half buried in the snow. "i wondered why you were waiting here so long," mr. grouse told nimble. "when i heard you talking to that rascal, peter mink, i knew the reason. but i didn't dare speak while he was about." "are you going to spend the night here?" nimble asked him. "yes!" said mr. grouse. "i shall be snug and warm after the snow covers me." "well, your head won't be covered for some time," nimble told him. "are you willing to keep an eye out for cuffy bear? i'm going down to cedar swamp to get help. and cuffy bear might come out of the cave while i'm gone." "i'd be glad to watch," mr. grouse replied, "but it wouldn't be any use." "why not?" nimble asked him. "don't you think we'll see cuffy again?" "oh, we'll see him," mr. grouse answered. "but it won't be till towards spring. for there's no doubt that cuffy bear has fallen into his winter's sleep." and then nimble exclaimed that cuffy bear had yawned as he turned away to enter the cave. he hadn't even begged pardon, nor covered his mouth with a paw. "no doubt he was very, very sleepy," said mr. grouse. xiii cuffy bear wakens the winter after nimble lost his spike horns was a mild one. the snowfall was light. and nimble was able to roam up and down pleasant valley and about blue mountain as he pleased. it happened that a certain bright day in early spring found him far up the side of the mountain, near the cave where he had waited for cuffy bear weeks before. and as that whole queer affair came back to his mind nimble remembered how he had fed upon the green things under the snow. that thought made him hungry. so he began to paw away the soft heavy snow, which wasn't more than a foot deep; and he was enjoying a good meal when he heard a sudden _woof_ behind him. nimble wheeled instantly. and there, at the mouth of the cave, peering over the tangle which screened it, cuffy bear stood upon his hind legs, rubbing his eyes. catching sight of nimble, cuffy blinked at him. "where's nimble deer, madam?" cuffy bear growled presently. "i'm right here!" nimble replied. "but please don't call me 'madam!'" "you're not nimble deer. you're a doe," cuffy bear insisted. "you have no horns." "i'm a deer," nimble retorted. "i had horns; but i've shed them." cuffy bear _woofed_ a bit more. he seemed to be somewhat ill-tempered. "you can't fool me," he grunted. "nimble deer's horns were firm upon his head when i left him here and stepped inside this cave. he agreed to wait for me; and i'm surprised that he broke his promise." "i am nimble deer," nimble declared again. "you led me to this spot from the spring. you told me you wanted to take another look at this cave because you were thinking of making it your winter home." cuffy bear eyed nimble with astonishment. and he shambled up to nimble and sniffed at him. "it _is_ you!" cuffy cried at last. "so you _did_ wait for me!" "no, i didn't," nimble confessed. "but here you are!" cuffy bear retorted. "you _must_ have been waiting for me. and if i've kept you a bit longer than i intended to, i'm sorry. i think i fell asleep in that den and had a short nap." [illustration: nimble deer tells cuffy bear about his horns. _page 71_] "a short nap!" nimble repeated. "you've been asleep in there all winter! it's weeks and weeks since i last saw you. and i'm here now only because i happened to wander this way, when i heard old dog spot baying." cuffy bear was so surprised that he couldn't say another word. his mouth fell open. and he gazed blankly at nimble. but at last he spoke. "i must apologize to you," he said, "though it was really no wonder i called you 'madam.' you have changed a great deal since i left you here." "and you--" nimble told him--"you have changed too." "i have?" cuffy bear cried. "how's that? how have i changed?" "you look much hungrier," nimble explained. cuffy bear laid a paw across his waistcoat. "i _am_ hungry," he admitted. "and if you're going down the mountain i think i'll stroll along with you and see what i can find to eat." "very well!" nimble agreed. "one moment!" cuffy bear said hastily. "just one moment, please! wait till i go inside my cave! i believe i left my cap in there." "i'm not going to wait for you," nimble replied firmly. "for all i know you might not come out again till haying time." and then nimble trotted off down the mountainside, heading for cedar swamp. for he didn't think old dog spot would wander in that direction. xiv antlers although nimble had lost his horns he managed to go through the winter without missing them as much as he had expected. and in time he had almost forgotten the pair of spikes that he had worn on his head the summer before. then, one day, he made a great discovery. he found that new horns were sprouting to take the place of those that he had lost! "now i can have some mock battles again--when my horns get long enough," he thought. and then he stopped short. what if the spike horns of the year before had no more horns? if they were hornless they certainly wouldn't care to take part in any mock battles. nimble's fears were soon set at rest. his old playmates soon let him know that they were all going to have new horns too. and then, a little later, nimble made another great discovery. he was looking into a pool one morning when he saw something that gave him huge delight. his new horns were not like last year's horns. he beheld, mirrored in the water, a handsome pair of y-shaped antlers, each with two points! "hurrah!" he cried. "i'll make those spike horns feel like hiding themselves again." he had expected to have a pleasant time showing his new antlers to his old friends. when he met dodger the deer, nimble called to him: "see what i've got! antlers! two points!" "ho!" said dodger. "so have i got antlers. and they have two points, too." nimble had been so interested in his own horns that he hadn't looked at dodger's. and now when he gazed at them he saw that they were like his. "what about the rest of the spike horns?" nimble asked dodger. "have they----" "yes, they have!" dodger interrupted. "i tell you, 'two-pointers' are common this season." "so there aren't any more spike horns!" said nimble somewhat sadly. "oh, yes! plenty!" dodger answered. "but they're an entirely new crop. they were fawns last year." when he heard that bit of news nimble felt happier. and as soon as he parted from dodger the deer he went and found some of the new spike horns and showed them his wonderful two-point antlers. but somehow they didn't seem at all impressed. they were too much taken up with their own spikes to pay any attention to nimble. "anyhow," he said to himself, "we 'two-pointers' can have some good mock battles together." and they did. they had mock battles that became famous all around blue mountain. and of all the "two-pointers" that lived in that neighborhood, nimble and his friend dodger the deer were known as the best sham-fighters. they could look fiercer and act angrier than any of their young friends. and the way they tore into each other was almost enough to frighten you, if you had seen them. old mr. crow said it was worth flying a mile to watch one of their set-tos. xv a mock battle when nimble had three-points on each of his antlers, in his fourth summer, he felt that he was at last grown up. he was now a "three-pointer." some of the older bucks had no more points than he. many of them were but "four-pointers." his own father had been a "five-pointer." so nimble hoped, secretly, that he would have five-point antlers in another two years. as soon as his new horns were ready nimble and his friend dodger the deer began their mock battles again. and nimble found them greater fun than ever. dodger was a spry fellow. he was quick as a flash at dodging. when nimble ran at him with head lowered and horns aimed straight at him dodger could wait until nimble all but struck him, before leaping aside. and then nimble would go rushing past him. but dodger did not always dodge when attacked. sometimes he stood his ground, with his own head lowered in a threatening fashion. and then nimble checked his headlong rush and merely clashed his horns pleasantly against dodger's. there was something about the sound that sent a thrill through nimble and started his coat to bristling along his backbone with a queer, creepy feeling. one day in the fall nimble's mother came upon them in the woods when they were having one of their sham fights. "you'd better stop that!" she said to them severely. "somebody will get hurt sooner or later if you're not careful." nimble and dodger paid little heed to her warning, except to stop until the good lady had gone on and left them. then, just as they were on the point of renewing their frolic, somebody spoke in a hoarse voice. it was old mr. crow. he sat on a low branch of a spreading pine, where he had been watching the contest for some time without being noticed. "i'd have my fun if i wanted to," he croaked. "ladies are too finicky. they don't know what a good time is." now, mr. crow's remarks pleased nimble. and they pleased dodger the deer. they didn't know that the old gentleman was a famous trouble maker. so dodger and nimble drew a little distance apart, as they always did when they were getting ready to clash. "go it!" squalled mr. crow. and they started. and mr. crow jumped up and down in his excitement. "now there's going to be some real fun," he muttered. but dodger the deer leaped aside just in time to avoid being hit. and that didn't please mr. crow at all. "you fellows aren't half trying," he cried impatiently. "anyone would think you were a pair of spike horns." now, all spike horns were two whole years younger than dodger and nimble. so it was no wonder that mr. crow's words stung them. nimble charged more fiercely than ever. and dodger stood his ground. with his feet planted firmly beneath him he waited for the blow. there was a crack and a thud. "ha!" mr. crow squawked. "that's a little more like it. dodger didn't dodge that time, to be sure. but he stood still. and only a spike horn would stand and _wait_ for the enemy." of course dodger couldn't help wanting to show mr. crow that he knew how to carry on a mock battle. so the next time nimble rushed at him dodger did not wait. he jumped to meet nimble. they struck in the air with a frightful crash and fell sprawling upon the ground. "ha! that's more like it!" mr. crow applauded. "that's the sort of mock battle i like to see!" xvi mr. crow looks on nimble and his friend dodger the deer picked themselves up off the ground where they had fallen after their collision in the air. they did not feel any too pleasant. one of dodger's sharp tines had given nimble a good prick. and one of nimble's points had stung dodger like a hornet's sting. if only one of them had been pricked the whole affair might have ended differently. for then perhaps only one of them would have lost his temper. as they drew apart they were growing more angry every instant. and when they wheeled and glared at each other old mr. crow, who was watching them from his perch in the pine tree, called out: "don't stop! make it lively, now!" nimble gritted his teeth and stamped upon the ground. "i'll teach you not to prick me!" he muttered. "i'll make you wish you'd left those new antlers at home!" cried dodger the deer. "don't stop!" old mr. crow urged them once more as he teetered on his perch. "let the fun go on!" he squalled so loudly that his cousin jasper jay heard him half a mile away and came hurrying up to see what was going on. he arrived just in time to see nimble and dodger stagger back from another mad charge. "what's this? a mock battle?" jasper jay inquired as he settled down beside mr. crow. "no!" mr. crow replied in muffled tones. "it is a real one--but they don't know it yet." next to quarreling himself, old mr. crow loved to look on while others wrangled. and though he had no taste himself for actual fighting, he liked to see his neighbors pummel and peck and buffet and bounce one another. so mr. crow enjoyed watching the tilt between nimble and dodger the deer. neither mr. crow, nor his rowdy cousin jasper jay, had ever seen so furious a fracas as that one soon became. sometimes nimble and dodger rushed together with such force that it seemed to mr. crow their horns must break off. sometimes they reared and struck each other with their front hoofs. at first, whenever he felt a hurt nimble only fought the harder. when dodger's horns gouged him and his hoofs cut him nimble butted and thrust and struck all the faster. but for every buffet he repaid dodger, dodger gave him another that was heavier than ever. it was no wonder that in time nimble began to feel tired. but he didn't let dodger the deer know that. "this was easy to start," nimble thought, "but it seems hard to stop. i wish dodger would run away." in the meantime mr. crow and jasper jay agreed that the battle was growing tamer every moment. "hustle it up!" mr. crow called to nimble and dodger, while jasper jay jeered at them both and told them they were mollycoddles. "i shouldn't call this a mock battle now," mr. crow told them. "it's more like a game of tag." "if only dodger would run away!" nimble said under his breath. "i'll stop a minute and see if he won't." so he stood still, with his nose all but touching the ground. dodger the deer did not run. but he paused and stood exactly as nimble was standing. so they eyed each other for a while. and neither of them said a word. "come!" cried old mr. crow. "this will never do. give us more action!" and then dodger the deer looked up at mr. crow and jasper jay and spoke. "if you want more action why don't you two furnish it?" he asked. "that's a good idea!" nimble exclaimed. "let's see a mock battle up in the tree!" [illustration: "don't stop!" said old mr. crow, to nimble. _page 85_] but mr. crow replied hoarsely that he had to meet a friend down the valley. "i must be flapping along," he said. and off he went. jasper jay grinned and winked at nimble and dodger behind mr. crow's back. and then with a loud squall--which might have meant almost anything--he too flew away. "that was the liveliest mock battle we ever had," nimble remarked to his friend dodger. dodger agreed with what he said. nimble's mother gasped when she saw her son a little later. "you're a terrible sight!" she told him severely. "what have you been doing?" "i've been having fun with dodger the deer," nimble explained. "but to tell the truth, it wasn't as much fun as i had expected." xvii what brownie wanted nimble deer had stopped at brownie beaver's pond to get a drink. just as he raised his head from the water he spied brownie a little way off, on the bank, gnawing at a box alder tree. "good evening!" nimble called to him. "good evening!" brownie beaver answered. "i see you're busy, as usual," nimble remarked. "yes!" brownie replied. "and what are you doing--if i may ask?" "oh! i'm just rambling about," nimble explained. "then you're not doing much of anything," said brownie beaver. nimble admitted that he wasn't. "since you're not working, perhaps you'll be willing to help me," brownie suggested. "certainly!" nimble cried. he liked brownie beaver. everybody liked him--unless it was timothy turtle, who had a grudge against the whole beaver tribe. "maybe i can make arrangements with you to----" brownie began. "of course you can!" nimble interrupted. "that's very kind of you," brownie said. "i'm sure i'm much obliged to you." "you're quite welcome," nimble assured him. "you're sure you won't mind!" brownie beaver inquired. "not at all! no, indeed! what is it you want me to do for you? do you want me to help you roll a log into the water, when you've finished cutting down that tree? i might use my horns for a cant hook, such as the lumbermen have." "no! it's not that--thank you!" brownie beaver mumbled. he had not stopped working, while he talked. and having some chips in his mouth he did not speak any too clearly. "maybe you'd like me to walk back and forth along the top of your dam and make it firmer," nimble suggested. "no, it's not that," brownie told him. "the dam is firm. it has been here a great many years, ever since my great-great-grandfather's time.... you've noticed my house, i dare say," he went on. "i have," nimble answered. "it's a good one, though the chimney looks a bit lopsided, to me. shall i give it a push and see if i can straighten it?" "no, indeed--thank you!" said brownie hurriedly. "for mercy's sake, don't touch my chimney! i worked a long time to make it. and if i do say so, it's the best one in the whole village." well, nimble deer couldn't guess what it was that brownie beaver wanted him to do. he couldn't think of any other way in which he might help. "then what--" he demanded--"what is it you want?" "there's something i need for my house," brownie explained. "shingles!" nimble cried. "no!" brownie said, as he shook his head. "i hope you don't want a pair of antlers to fasten over your chimney piece!" nimble exclaimed. "i shouldn't care to part with my antlers--not just at present!" "no!" brownie said once more. "i'm glad of that," nimble replied. for a moment he had been worried. and then brownie beaver told him what he had in mind: "i need a flag to fly over my house." "that would be fine," nimble observed. "but i don't see how i could help you with that." "i've heard that you have a flag. i thought perhaps you'd let me have it--or borrow it, at least," brownie beaver told him. nimble deer looked puzzled. "i haven't any flag," he said. and then he cried, "yes! yes, i have one!" "ah! i was told you had," said brownie beaver. "who told you?" "old mr. crow!" brownie beaver said. "i might have known it," nimble muttered. "he has played a joke on you. it's true that i have a flag; but it's not the kind of flag you want. some people call my tail a flag, on account of the way i wave it in the air when i'm startled. of course you wouldn't care to have my tail on the top of your house." and brownie beaver admitted that he shouldn't. "but i can't help being disappointed," he confessed. xviii the muley cow nimble deer was a famous jumper. and so was the muley cow. in farmer green's herd there was no other that could match her. living as he did in the pasture, billy woodchuck had often seen and admired the muley cow as she jumped the fence in order to get into the clover patch, or the cornfield, or the orchard. and jimmy rabbit, who lived in the woods, had come to believe--and even boast--that there wasn't anyone that could jump higher than nimble deer. so billy woodchuck and jimmy rabbit could never agree upon this question of the best jumper in pleasant valley. and there was only one way to settle their difference of opinion. old mr. crow told them that. "you must have a contest," he declared. and everybody was willing. the muley cow said (when asked) that she would be delighted. and when nimble deer heard of the plan he ran all the way to the back pasture at once. for that was where mr. crow said the contest ought to take place. nimble reached the back pasture just in time to see the muley cow arrive there. she leaped the fence. and at the same time she grazed the top rail. "good morning, madam!" nimble said to the muley cow. and while she was answering him nimble jumped the fence into the pasture from which the muley cow had come; and then he jumped back again, into the back pasture. and he didn't touch the fence by so much as a single hair. then billy woodchuck crawled under the fence and came hurrying up. "what are you doing?" he asked. "i'm just stretching my legs a bit," nimble explained. at that answer billy woodchuck set up a loud clamor. "it's not fair!" he howled. "i expected the muley cow to win the contest. but if you're going to stretch your legs she'll certainly be beaten unless she stretches hers too." now, old mr. crow was on hand to see the fun. and not being very friendly with the muley cow he didn't want her to win the contest. so he began to squall. "she mustn't stretch her legs any more than nimble stretches his," he objected in his hoarse croak. "nimble jumped the fence twice to stretch his legs. she has jumped once already. let her jump the fence once more and then they'll be even and the real contest can begin." "that's fair enough," said jimmy rabbit. but billy woodchuck began to chatter and scold. "it's a trick--a trick of mr. crow's!" he cried. "if the muley cow jumps once more to stretch her legs she'll be on the wrong side of the fence. she won't be in the back pasture then. and how could she have the contest with nimble deer?" old mr. crow gave a loud haw-haw. but he still insisted that the muley cow might have only one more leg-stretching jump, when jimmy rabbit hurried up to him and said something nobody else could hear. and mr. crow listened and then nodded his head. "it's all right," the old gentleman told billy woodchuck. "let the muley cow stretch her legs all she likes." xix the jumping contest having had mr. crow's permission, the muley cow went on stretching her legs as much as she pleased. she jumped the pasture fence; and she jumped it back again. and when she seemed about to stop billy woodchuck whispered to her, "you may as well keep a-stretching them. keep a-jumping! and when the time for the real contest with nimble deer comes your legs will be stretched so long that you'll beat nimble without the slightest trouble." so the muley cow jumped over the fence and back, over the fence and back. and when at last she said she was ready for the contest billy woodchuck still urged her to stretch her legs a bit more. by the time he was willing to let her stop the muley cow's sides were heaving. meanwhile jimmy rabbit and billy woodchuck, with mr. crow's help, had picked out a clump of young hawthorns for the first test. and now that everybody was ready for the contest nimble deer cleared the clump gracefully, with a foot to spare. then came the muley cow's turn. she looked worried as she fell into a lumbering gallop and ran towards the prickly young trees. and with a mighty effort she tried to fling herself over them. as she rose into the air she gave a bellow of dismay, to fall floundering the next instant into the thorny thicket. jimmy rabbit began to hop about in circles. he knew that nimble had won the contest and jimmy was very happy. old mr. crow haw-hawed. the muley cow had lost the contest and he was glad. nimble watched the muley cow as she struggled amid the hawthorns, trying to scramble out of the tangle. "can i help you, madam?" he asked. but she never even thanked him. she was so upset that she neither wanted anybody to speak to her nor did she wish to speak to anybody else. as for billy woodchuck, he looked frightfully disappointed. he had expected the muley cow to win the jumping contest. and there she was, beaten at the very first jump! he stole up to her; and standing on his hind legs, to get as near her as he could, he said, "it's a pity you lost! i don't believe you stretched your legs enough." the muley cow snorted. "that's not the reason why," she snapped. "i stretched my legs _too much_. i jumped the fence until i was so tired i could scarcely stand. it's no wonder that nimble beat me." nimble deer could see that the muley cow was feeling quite glum. after she had struggled free of the thorns he went up to her and bowed in his most polite manner. "is there anything i can do for you?" he asked her. "yes! do let down the bars for me!" she gasped. "i want to go home. and i couldn't jump that fence again. it would be dangerous for me to try. i might fall and break a leg off. and then i'd have a short leg the rest of my life." "you could stretch it," old mr. crow suggested. but the muley cow turned her back on him and walked away. xx solving a problem jimmy rabbit was going to give a party. up and down pleasant valley and all about blue mountain the field and forest people were talking about it. almost everybody had an invitation. there were only a few that weren't asked. jimmy rabbit didn't intend to invite grumpy weasel because he was a rascal. and timothy turtle wasn't to be one of the guests because he would be sure to grumble at everybody and everything. and then there was nimble deer. jimmy rabbit said that nimble was _too big_ to come to his party. and every one told jimmy rabbit that it was a pity. all the neighbors said so much that jimmy rabbit didn't know what to do. "if i don't ask nimble you won't be pleased," jimmy complained to billy woodchuck. "and if i do ask him and he should happen to step on you during a dance you wouldn't like that." "invite him; but keep him away from the crowd!" billy woodchuck suggested. "how can i do that?" jimmy rabbit demanded. "i don't know," billy replied. "but i am sure you can find a way, if anybody can." well, after that remark there was nothing jimmy rabbit could do except to put on his thinking cap. but try as he would, he couldn't hit upon a single plan. now, nimble deer had no idea of all the trouble he was causing jimmy rabbit. to be sure, he knew that he was not invited to jimmy rabbit's party. but he was no person to sulk or feel hurt over such a matter. however, there was one thing that he thought was odd. wherever he went he was sure to come upon jimmy rabbit. sometimes nimble would hear a faint rustle. and when he looked around he would catch a glimpse of jimmy rabbit ducking out of sight behind a tree. sometimes nimble would be taking a nap under the shelter of a clump of evergreens. and he would wake up suddenly with a strange feeling that somebody was watching him. and almost always he would discover jimmy rabbit crouching near-by and staring at him. at first, at such times, nimble only spoke pleasantly to jimmy rabbit. still he couldn't help noticing that jimmy rabbit always acted queerly. he seemed to be absent minded. if nimble bade him a cheerful good morning jimmy rabbit was likely to reply with a good evening. if nimble said, "it's a fine day," jimmy would say, "yes! it does look like rain." at last, one day, jimmy rabbit made the oddest answer of all. when nimble spied him peering from behind a stump he called, "hullo! i'm glad to see you." to which remark jimmy rabbit said, "i hope to see you later." "now, i wonder--" nimble mused--"i wonder what he means." and then nimble asked jimmy rabbit a question: "are you feeling well?" "as well as could be expected!" jimmy rabbit told him. "you don't seem like yourself," said nimble. "i haven't seen you smile for over a week." then, strangely enough, jimmy rabbit jumped into the air and kicked and smiled. "at last," he cried, "i feel better. i have solved the problem. will you come to my party and help me a week from to-night?" nimble deer thanked him and said that he would. xxi an untold secret all the field and forest people soon knew that at last jimmy rabbit had invited nimble deer to his party. and everybody was pleased--that is, everybody except grumpy weasel and old timothy turtle, who were left out in the cold, so to speak. grumpy weasel, when he heard the news, said, "humph!" and timothy turtle, when he heard it, said, "ho!" and they both declared that they were _glad_ they were not going to the party. old mr. crow carried the news far and wide. it was he that told billy woodchuck, in farmer green's clover patch. and billy woodchuck almost choked over a clover top, he was so excited. "where's jimmy rabbit?" he asked mr. crow. "i want to ask him something." "i couldn't say where he is," said mr. crow. "i don't think he'd want me to tell. but i'll find him for you and i'll ask him your question--if you'll tell me what it is." that was mr. crow's way. he was so curious. "thank you!" said billy woodchuck. "i don't want to trouble you, mr. crow." and though mr. crow tried to learn what the question was, billy woodchuck wouldn't tell him. later billy was almost sorry he hadn't accepted mr. crow's help. for he couldn't find jimmy rabbit anywhere. and then billy happened to meet nimble deer. "i hear you're going to the party," billy said to him. "how are you going to keep out of the crowd?" that was the question he had wanted to ask jimmy rabbit. "keep out of the crowd!" nimble exclaimed. "i don't expect to keep out of it. the crowd at a party is more than half the fun. since i'm to help jimmy rabbit i'll have to be where the people are." "oh!" said billy woodchuck. he had been a bit worried, for he didn't want nimble deer to step on him at the party. even though it might be an accident, being stepped on by so big a chap as nimble would be no joke. everybody knew that nimble's hoofs were sharp. but now billy had learned something that set his fears at rest. nimble deer was going to _help_ jimmy at the party. "ah!" billy woodchuck murmured to himself. "that means that jimmy rabbit has a plan. and it must be a good one; for his plans are always fine." "what are you going to do to help?" he asked nimble. "jimmy rabbit didn't tell me," nimble replied. "maybe i'm to entertain the company by having a mock battle with somebody. how would you like to have a mock battle with me?" "i shouldn't care for it at all!" "well, i dare say _somebody_ would enjoy a sham fight," said nimble. "i must ask jimmy rabbit who it will be." so the next time nimble found jimmy rabbit he asked him that very question. but jimmy rabbit said there were to be no battles of any kind at his party. "then how am i going to help you?" "you're going to use your horns--but not to fight," jimmy rabbit explained. and he wouldn't say another word. xxii the new hat-rack the night of jimmy rabbit's party arrived at last. the time was an hour after sunset. the place was farmer green's back pasture. and jimmy rabbit was waiting eagerly. he had told nimble deer to come early, before the other guests, because nimble was going to help him. jimmy rabbit hadn't waited long when he heard a muffled thud, followed by a swift patter. "there's nimble now!" he exclaimed. "he just jumped the stone wall and he's coming this way." jimmy rabbit was right. in a few seconds more nimble deer stood before him. "here i am!" nimble cried. "i've come early and i'm ready to help you." "good!" said jimmy rabbit. "step this way, please!" and he hopped over to a clump of evergreens. nimble followed him. "now," jimmy rabbit went on, "step inside this thicket and let only your head and neck stick out!" "what shall i do with my antlers?" nimble asked him. "they won't come off, because it's the wrong time of year to shed them." "oh! i want your antlers to show too," jimmy rabbit assured him. so nimble did exactly as jimmy rabbit had told him. then jimmy sat up a little way off, cocked his head on one side, and looked at nimble. "that's fine!" he declared. "when the moon comes up everybody will be able to see you--except what's hidden by the evergreens." "what am i going to do here?" nimble inquired. "you're to stand perfectly still," jimmy explained. "and what else?" "nothing!" jimmy rabbit answered. "the other guests will do the rest.... and now, if you don't mind, i'll leave you here; for i hear somebody coming." he scampered away then. but soon he came hurrying back. "there's something i forgot to say," he told nimble hurriedly. "you mustn't talk. you mustn't even open your mouth. you mustn't even chew your cud." "i suppose i can wink if i want to," said nimble deer. "no, indeed!" jimmy rabbit cried. "that would spoil everything." "it's going to be hard," nimble complained, "to keep so still." "oh, no!" jimmy rabbit assured him. "it will be easy. just act as if you were stuffed!" "stuffed!" nimble exclaimed. "i've never been stuffed. i hope i never shall be. and i don't know how to act as if i were." jimmy rabbit didn't even wait to hear what nimble said, but whisked away again. "dear me!" nimble muttered. "i wish i hadn't said i'd come to the party and help. for it certainly won't be any fun to stand still in this thicket, with only my head and neck sticking out." however, he had promised to help. so there was nothing to be done except to follow jimmy rabbit's orders. and at once nimble could hear jimmy rabbit welcoming some early guests. "come this way and leave your hats and coats!" jimmy rabbit was saying. and soon he returned with billy woodchuck and fatty coon at his heels. jimmy led them straight to the place where nimble stood. "hang your things on my new hat-rack!" jimmy rabbit told them as he waved a paw toward nimble's antlers. and to nimble's amazement they reached up to do as they were told. but nimble's antlers were too high for them. it was a bad moment for jimmy rabbit. xxiii how nimble helped billy woodchuck and fatty coon had come early to jimmy rabbit's party. and jimmy had told them to hang their hats and coats upon his new hat-rack--meaning nimble deer's antlers. but when they tried to do as they were bid they found that the antlers were beyond their reach. of course jimmy rabbit was most uncomfortable. he coughed and gave nimble an odd look. he even nodded his head at nimble behind his guests' backs, thereby doing his best to give nimble a hint to lower his head. but nimble deer couldn't imagine what jimmy rabbit meant. hadn't jimmy warned him not to move--not even to open his mouth, or chew his cud, or wink? so nimble stood like a statue. "i--i see my new hat-rack is too high," jimmy rabbit stammered. "let me take your hats and coats and i'll hang them up for you while you go and wait for the rest of the company over by the stone wall!" so billy woodchuck and fatty coon gave their hats and coats to jimmy. "that's a fine deer's head," fatty remarked. "it seems to me i've seen it before somewhere." "perhaps! perhaps!" jimmy rabbit answered. he wished his guests would move away. "those antlers remind me of nimble deer's," billy woodchuck remarked. and he gave nimble a wink, for he had quickly guessed the secret of the hat-rack and how jimmy rabbit had planned to have nimble at his party and yet keep him out of the crowd. "is this deer's head stuffed?" billy woodchuck asked jimmy rabbit. "perhaps! perhaps!" jimmy muttered. "move along, please!" nimble wanted to return that wink that billy woodchuck gave him. but he didn't, because jimmy rabbit had warned him to keep perfectly still. as soon as his guests had left them jimmy whispered to nimble, "lower your head a bit, for pity's sake!" nimble promptly obeyed him. and jimmy rabbit hung the hats and coats upon nimble's antlers. "now," jimmy said, "keep your head exactly where it is!" [illustration: nimble frightened uncle jerry chuck. _page 125_] "i suppose i may raise it after everybody has come to the party," nimble ventured. "no! that would never do," jimmy rabbit replied firmly. "if anybody happened to come back to get a pocket-handkerchief out of his coat he'd be sure to notice the difference." a sigh escaped nimble deer. "my neck will ache before the evening's over," he said. "couldn't i take a short walk in the woods, later, to rest myself?" "my goodness, no!" jimmy cried. "you'd be sure to lose some of the hats and coats, or tear them on some briars, or get them full of burs." "how long is the party going to last?" nimble asked. "only till midnight!" at that nimble gave a groan. "s-s-h!" jimmy rabbit laid a paw upon his lips. "keep still! stuffed animals never talk. if you don't look out somebody will hear you." and then he hurried away to join his guests. he did not want to leave them alone too long. he feared they might be saying things to each other about his new hat-rack. xxiv uncle jerry chuck soon jimmy rabbit's friends arrived at his party in throngs. and soon nimble deer's antlers bristled with hats and coats of many kinds and colors. "i must look like a christmas tree," nimble thought. "i wish jimmy rabbit and his friends would come and dance around me so i might see the fun." but they didn't. they stayed down in a little hollow some distance away. nimble could hear their voices. and they seemed to be having a delightful time. as for nimble, he wasn't having a good time at all. "i'll never help at another party!" he promised himself. he couldn't believe that midnight--and the end of the party--would ever come. at last, however, he took heart. for old uncle jerry chuck came hurrying up and began taking hats and coats off nimble's antlers. and nimble knew then that the party must be almost over. "this is a good hat!" uncle jerry muttered to himself. "i'll take it." and then he said, "this is a good coat! i'll take it." then he looked closely at another hat. "this is a good one, too!" he remarked. "i might lose the other. i'll take this one, too--and this coat here," he added, selecting a second coat that pleased him. little did uncle jerry chuck dream that the deer's head was a real, live one. and just as the old chap reached for the second coat nimble deer had to cough. he didn't want to. hadn't jimmy rabbit cautioned him not to stir--not to open his mouth? but the cough came all the same, right in uncle jerry chuck's ear. and uncle jerry jumped. he dropped both hats and both coats. and then he waddled off as fast as he could go and scrambled over the stone wall, out of sight. he didn't even wait to get his own rusty coat and tattered hat, which he had left lying on the ground. uncle jerry hadn't been gone long when all the company came jostling up to nimble. everybody--except nimble--was very merry. amid a good many jokes the company put on their hats and coats, until only aunt polly woodchuck's poke bonnet hung from nimble's horns. then--just for fun--jimmy rabbit set the bonnet on nimble's head and tied its strings under his chin. and aunt polly woodchuck herself laughed hardest of all. and then all at once something happened. a dog barked. "it's old dog spot!" somebody cried. nimble deer was the first to run. one leap took him out of the evergreen thicket in which he had been standing all the evening. three leaps more took him over the stone wall. after that nobody saw him--nor aunt polly woodchuck's bonnet--again that night. the whole company scattered and vanished like baby grouse surprised in the woods. and when old dog spot reached the clump of evergreens a few moments later he found nothing to show that there had been a party there--that is, he found nothing except a battered hat and a rusty coat lying on the ground. spot sniffed at them. "unless i'm mistaken, uncle jerry chuck has forgotten something," he murmured. "no doubt he'll be back here in a little while." so spot waited and waited there. but uncle jerry chuck was half a mile away and sound asleep in his underground chamber. and nimble deer was a mile away, over in cedar swamp, trying to tear aunt polly's bonnet off his head by rubbing his horns against a young cedar. the end [illustration: wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer.] lightfoot the deer by thornton w. burgess _with illustrations by_ _harrison cady_ grosset & dunlap publishers new york _printed by arrangement with little, brown, and company_ copyright 1921 by thornton w. burgess isbn: 0-448-02741-0 (trade edition) isbn: 0-448-13721-6 (library edition) printed in the united states of america by arrangement with little, brown, and company all rights reserved dedication to the most beautiful of our four-footed friends in the green forest with the hope that this little volume may in some degree aid in the protection of the innocent and helpless contents chapter page i peter rabbit meets lightfoot 1 ii lightfoot's new antlers 8 iii lightfoot tells how his antlers grew 15 iv the spirit of fear 22 v sammy jay brings lightfoot word 29 vi a game of hide and seek 34 vii the merry little breezes help lightfoot 39 viii wit against wit 44 ix lightfoot becomes uncertain 49 x lightfoot's clever trick 53 xi the hunted watches the hunter 58 xii lightfoot visits paddy the beaver 63 xiii lightfoot and paddy become partners 68 xiv how paddy warned lightfoot 73 xv the three watchers 78 xvi visitors to paddy's pond 83 xvii sammy jay arrives 88 xviii the hunter loses his temper 93 xix sammy jay is modest 97 xx lightfoot hears a dreadful sound 102 xxi how lightfoot got rid of the hounds 107 xxii lightfoot's long swim 111 xxiii lightfoot finds a friend 116 xxiv the hunter is disappointed 121 xxv the hunter lies in wait 126 xxvi lightfoot does the wise thing 131 xxvii sammy jay worries 136 xxviii the hunting season ends 141 xxix mr. and mrs. quack are startled 146 xxx the mystery is solved 151 xxxi a surprising discovery 156 xxxii lightfoot sees the stranger 161 xxxiii a different game of hide and seek 165 xxxiv a startling new footprint 170 xxxv lightfoot is reckless 175 xxxvi sammy jay takes a hand 180 xxxvii the great fight 185 xxxviii an unseen watcher 190 xxxix lightfoot discovers love 195 xl happy days in the green forest 200 illustrations wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer. frontispiece facing page "i don't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter. 28 "my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!" 71 "i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot." 143 lightfoot the deer chapter i peter rabbit meets lightfoot peter rabbit was on his way back from the pond of paddy the beaver deep in the green forest. he had just seen mr. and mrs. quack start toward the big river for a brief visit before leaving on their long, difficult journey to the far-away southland. farewells are always rather sad, and this particular farewell had left peter with a lump in his throat,--a queer, choky feeling. "if i were sure that they would return next spring, it wouldn't be so bad," he muttered. "it's those terrible guns. i know what it is to have to watch out for them. farmer brown's boy used to hunt me with one of them, but he doesn't any more. but even when he did hunt me it wasn't anything like what the ducks have to go through. if i kept my eyes and ears open, i could tell when a hunter was coming and could hide in a hole if i wanted to. i never had to worry about my meals. but with the ducks it is a thousand times worse. they've got to eat while making that long journey, and they can eat only where there is the right kind of food. hunters with terrible guns know where those places are and hide there until the ducks come, and the ducks have no way of knowing whether the hunters are waiting for them or not. that isn't hunting. it's--it's--" "well, what is it? what are you talking to yourself about, peter rabbit?" peter looked up with a start to find the soft, beautiful eyes of lightfoot the deer gazing down at him over the top of a little hemlock tree. "it's awful," declared peter. "it's worse than unfair. it doesn't give them any chance at all." "i suppose it must be so if you say so," replied lightfoot, "but you might tell me what all this awfulness is about." peter grinned. then he began at the beginning and told lightfoot all about mr. and mrs. quack and the many dangers they must face on their long journey to the far-away southland and back again in the spring, all because of the heartless hunters with terrible guns. lightfoot listened and his great soft eyes were filled with pity for the quack family. "i hope they will get through all right," said he, "and i hope they will get back in the spring. it is bad enough to be hunted by men at one time of the year, as no one knows better than i do, but to be hunted in the spring as well as in the fall is more than twice as bad. men are strange creatures. i do not understand them at all. none of the people of the green forest would think of doing such terrible things. i suppose it is quite right to hunt others in order to get enough to eat, though i am thankful to say that i never have had to do that, but to hunt others just for the fun of hunting is something i cannot understand at all. and yet that is what men seem to do it for. i guess the trouble is they never have been hunted themselves and don't know how it feels. sometimes i think i'll hunt one some day just to teach him a lesson. what are you laughing at, peter?" "at the idea of you hunting a man," replied peter. "your heart is all right, lightfoot, but you are too timid and gentle to frighten any one. big as you are i wouldn't fear you." with a single swift bound lightfoot sprang out in front of peter. he stamped his sharp hoofs, lowered his handsome head until the sharp points of his antlers, which people call horns, pointed straight at peter, lifted the hair along the back of his neck, and made a motion as if to plunge at him. his eyes, which peter had always thought so soft and gentle, seemed to flash fire. "oh!" cried peter in a faint, frightened-sounding voice and leaped to one side before it entered his foolish little head that lightfoot was just pretending. lightfoot chuckled. "did you say i couldn't frighten any one?" he demanded. "i--i didn't know you could look so terribly fierce," stammered peter. "those antlers look really dangerous when you point them that way. why--why--what is that hanging to them? it looks like bits of old fur. have you been tearing somebody's coat, lightfoot?" peter's eyes were wide with wonder and suspicion. chapter ii lightfoot's new antlers peter rabbit was puzzled. he stared at lightfoot the deer a wee bit suspiciously. "have you been tearing somebody's coat?" he asked again. he didn't like to think it of lightfoot, whom he always had believed quite as gentle, harmless, and timid as himself. but what else could he think? lightfoot slowly shook his head. "no," said he, "i haven't torn anybody's coat." "then what are those rags hanging on your antlers?" demanded peter. lightfoot chuckled. "they are what is left of the coverings of my new antlers," he explained. "what's that? what do you mean by new antlers?" peter was sitting up very straight, with his eyes fixed on lightfoot's antlers as though he never had seen them before. "just what i said," retorted lightfoot. "what do you think of them? i think they are the finest antlers i've ever had. when i get the rest of those rags off, they will be as handsome a set as ever was grown in the green forest." lightfoot rubbed his antlers against the trunk of a tree till some of the rags hanging to them dropped off. peter blinked very hard. he was trying to understand and he couldn't. finally he said so. "what kind of a story are you trying to fill me up with?" he demanded indignantly. "do you mean to tell me that those are not the antlers that you have had as long as i've known you? how can anything hard like those antlers grow? and if those are new ones, where are the old ones? show me the old ones, and perhaps i'll believe that these are new ones. the idea of trying to make me believe that antlers grow just like plants! i've seen bossy the cow all summer and i know she has got the same horns she had last summer. new antlers indeed!" "you are quite right, peter, quite right about bossy the cow. she never has new horns, but that isn't any reason why i shouldn't have new antlers, is it?" replied lightfoot patiently. "her horns are quite different from my antlers. i have a new pair every year. you haven't seen me all summer, have you, peter?" "no, i don't remember that i have," replied peter, trying very hard to remember when he had last seen lightfoot. "i _know_ you haven't," retorted lightfoot. "i know it because i have been hiding in a place you never visit." "what have you been hiding for?" demanded peter. "for my new antlers to grow," replied lightfoot. "when my new antlers are growing, i want to be away by myself. i don't like to be seen without them or with half grown ones. besides, i am very uncomfortable while the new antlers are growing and i want to be alone." lightfoot spoke as if he really meant every word he said, but still peter couldn't, he just _couldn't_ believe that those wonderful great antlers had grown out of lightfoot's head in a single summer. "where did you leave your old ones and when did they come off?" he asked, and there was doubt in the very tone of his voice. "they dropped off last spring, but i don't remember just where," replied lightfoot. "i was too glad to be rid of them to notice where they dropped. you see they were loose and uncomfortable, and i hadn't any more use for them because i knew that my new ones would be bigger and better. i've got one more point on each than i had last year." lightfoot began once more to rub his antlers against the tree to get off the queer rags hanging to them and to polish the points. peter watched in silence for a few minutes. then, all his suspicions returning, he said: "but you haven't told me anything about those rags hanging to your antlers." "and you haven't believed what i have already told you," retorted lightfoot. "i don't like telling things to people who won't believe me." chapter iii lightfoot tells how his antlers grew it is hard to believe what seems impossible. and yet what seems impossible to you may be a very commonplace matter to some one else. so it does not do to say that a thing cannot be possible just because you cannot understand how it can be. peter rabbit wanted to believe what lightfoot the deer had just told him, but somehow he couldn't. if he had seen those antlers growing, it would have been another matter. but he hadn't seen lightfoot since the very last of winter, and then lightfoot had worn just such handsome antlers as he now had. so peter really couldn't be blamed for not being able to believe that those old ones had been lost and in their place new ones had grown in just the few months of spring and summer. but peter didn't blame lightfoot in the least, because he had told peter that he didn't like to tell things to people who wouldn't believe what he told them when peter had asked him about the rags hanging to his antlers. "i'm trying to believe it," he said, quite humbly. "it's all true," broke in another voice. peter jumped and turned to find his big cousin, jumper the hare. unseen and unheard, he had stolen up and had overheard what peter and lightfoot had said. "how do you know it is true?" snapped peter a little crossly, for jumper had startled him. "because i saw lightfoot's old antlers after they had fallen off, and i often saw lightfoot while his new ones were growing," retorted jumper. "all right! i'll believe anything that lightfoot tells me if you say it is true," declared peter, who greatly admires his cousin, jumper. "now tell me about those rags, lightfoot. please do." lightfoot couldn't resist that "please." "those rags are what is left of a kind of covering which protected the antlers while they were growing, as i told you before," said he. "very soon after my old ones dropped off the new ones began to grow. they were not hard, not at all like they are now. they were soft and very tender, and the blood ran through them just as it does through our bodies. they were covered with a sort of skin with hairs on it like thin fur. the ends were not sharply pointed as they now are, but were big and rounded, like knobs. they were not like antlers at all, and they made my head hot and were very uncomfortable. that is why i hid away. they grew very fast, so fast that every day i could see by looking at my reflection in water that they were a little longer. it seemed to me sometimes as if all my strength went into those new antlers. and i had to be very careful not to hit them against anything. in the first place it would have hurt, and in the second place it might have spoiled the shape of them. "when they had grown to the length you now see, they began to shrink and grow hard. the knobs on the ends shrank until they became pointed. as soon as they stopped growing the blood stopped flowing up in them, and as they became hard they were no longer tender. the skin which had covered them grew dry and split, and i rubbed it off on trees and bushes. the little rags you see are what is left, but i will soon be rid of those. then i shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him." lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers against the nearest tree. "isn't he handsome," whispered peter to jumper the hare; "and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the growing of those new antlers in such a short time? it is hard to believe, but i suppose it must be true." "it is," replied jumper, "and i tell you, peter, i would hate to have lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though i were big as a man. you've always thought of lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should see him when he is angry. few people care to face him then." chapter iv the spirit of fear when the days grow cold and the nights are clear, there stalks abroad the spirit of fear. _lightfoot the deer._ it is sad but true. autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it _is_ the sad time. but it shouldn't be. old mother nature never intended that it should be. she meant it to be the _glad_ time. it is the time when all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows have got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching their children how to look out for themselves. it is the season when food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free. it is the season when old mother nature intended all her little people to be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always brings. but instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the green meadows and through the green forest, and it is called the spirit of fear. it peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly, round, bright mr. sun cannot chase away, though he shine his brightest. all night as well as all day the spirit of fear searches out the little people of the green meadows and the green forest. it will not let them sleep. it will not let them eat in peace. it drives them to seek new hiding-places and then drives them out of those. it keeps them ever ready to fly or run at the slightest sound. peter rabbit was thinking of this as he sat at the edge of the dear old briar-patch, looking over to the green forest. the green forest was no longer just green; it was of many colors, for old mother nature had set jack frost to painting the leaves of the maple-trees and the beech-trees, and the birch-trees and the poplar-trees and the chestnut-trees, and he had done his work well. very, very lovely were the reds and yellows and browns against the dark green of the pines and the spruces and the hemlocks. the purple hills were more softly purple than at any other season of the year. it was all very, very beautiful. but peter had no thought for the beauty of it all, for the spirit of fear had visited even the dear old briar-patch, and peter was afraid. it wasn't fear of reddy fox, or redtail the hawk, or hooty the owl, or old man coyote. they were forever trying to catch him, but they did not strike terror to his heart because he felt quite smart enough to keep out of their clutches. to be sure, they gave him sudden frights sometimes, when they happened to surprise him, but these frights lasted only until he reached the nearest bramble-tangle or hollow log where they could not get at him. but the fear that chilled his heart now never left him even for a moment. and peter knew that this same fear was clutching at the hearts of bob white, hiding in the brown stubble; of mrs. grouse, squatting in the thickest bramble-tangle in the green forest; of uncle billy possum and bobby coon in their hollow trees; of jerry muskrat in the smiling pool; of happy jack squirrel, hiding in the tree tops; of lightfoot the deer, lying in the closest thicket he could find. it was even clutching at the hearts of granny and reddy fox and of great, big buster bear. it seemed to peter that no one was so big or so small that this terrible spirit of fear had not searched him out. far in the distance sounded a sudden bang. peter jumped and shivered. he knew that every one else who had heard that bang had jumped and shivered just as he had. it was the season of hunters with terrible guns. it was man who had sent this terrible spirit of fear to chill the hearts of the little meadow and forest people at this very time when old mother nature had made all things so beautiful and had intended that they should be happiest and most free from care and worry. it was man who had made the autumn a sad time instead of a glad time, the very saddest time of all the year, when old mother nature had done her best to make it the most beautiful. "i don't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter, as they stared fearfully out from the dear old briar-patch. "they seem to find pleasure, actually find pleasure, in trying to kill us. i don't understand them at all. they haven't any hearts. that must be the reason; they haven't any hearts." [illustration: "i don't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter.] chapter v sammy jay brings lightfoot word sammy jay is one of those who believe in the wisdom of the old saying, "early to bed and early to rise." sammy needs no alarm clock to get up early in the morning. he is awake as soon as it is light enough to see and wastes no time wishing he could sleep a little longer. his stomach wouldn't let him if he wanted to. sammy always wakes up hungry. in this he is no different from all his feathered neighbors. so the minute sammy gets his eyes open he makes his toilet, for sammy is very neat, and starts out to hunt for his breakfast. long ago sammy discovered that there is no safer time of day to visit the dooryards of those two-legged creatures called men than very early in the morning. on this particular morning he had planned to fly over to farmer brown's dooryard, but at the last minute he changed his mind. instead, he flew over to the dooryard of another farm. it was so very early in the morning that sammy didn't expect to find anybody stirring, so you can guess how surprised he was when, just as he came in sight of that dooryard, he saw the door of the house open and a man step out. sammy stopped on the top of the nearest tree. "now what is that man doing up as early as this?" muttered sammy. then he caught sight of something under the man's arm. he didn't have to look twice to know what it was. it was a gun! yes, sir, it was a gun, a terrible gun. "ha!" exclaimed sammy, and quite forgot that his stomach was empty. "now who can that fellow be after so early in the morning? i wonder if he is going to the dear old briar-patch to look for peter rabbit, or if he is going to the old pasture in search of reddy fox, or if it is mr. and mrs. grouse he hopes to kill. i think i'll sit right here and watch." so sammy sat in the top of the tree and watched the hunter with the terrible gun. he saw him head straight for the green forest. "it's mr. and mrs. grouse after all, i guess," thought sammy. "if i knew just where they were i'd go over and warn them." but sammy didn't know just where they were and he knew that it might take him a long time to find them, so he once more began to think of breakfast and then, right then, another thought popped into his head. he thought of lightfoot the deer. sammy watched the hunter enter the green forest, then he silently followed him. from the way the hunter moved, sammy decided that he wasn't thinking of mr. and mrs. grouse. "it's lightfoot the deer, sure as i live," muttered sammy. "he ought to be warned. he certainly ought to be warned. i know right where he is. i believe i'll warn him myself." sammy found lightfoot right where he had expected to. "he's coming!" cried sammy. "a hunter with a terrible gun is coming!" chapter vi a game of hide and seek there was a game of hide and seek that danny meadow mouse once played with buster bear. it was a very dreadful game for danny. but hard as it was for danny, it didn't begin to be as hard as the game lightfoot the deer was playing with the hunter in the green forest. in the case of buster bear and danny, the latter had simply to keep out of reach of buster. as long as buster didn't get his great paws on danny, the latter was safe. then, too, danny is a very small person. he is so small that he can hide under two or three leaves. wherever he is, he is pretty sure to find a hiding-place of some sort. his small size gives him advantages in a game of hide and seek. it certainly does. but lightfoot the deer is big. he is one of the largest of the people who live in the green forest. being so big, it is not easy to hide. moreover, a hunter with a terrible gun does not have to get close in order to kill. lightfoot knew all this as he waited for the coming of the hunter of whom sammy jay had warned him. he had learned many lessons in the hunting season of the year before and he remembered every one of them. he knew that to forget even one of them might cost him his life. so, standing motionless behind a tangle of fallen trees, lightfoot listened and watched. presently over in the distance he heard sammy jay screaming, "thief, thief, thief!" a little sigh of relief escaped lightfoot. he knew that that screaming of sammy jay's was a warning to tell him where the hunter was. knowing just where the hunter was made it easier for lightfoot to know what to do. a merry little breeze came stealing through the green forest. it came from behind lightfoot and danced on towards the hunter with the terrible gun. instantly lightfoot began to steal softly away through the green forest. he took the greatest care to make no sound. he went in a half-circle, stopping every few steps to listen and test the air with his wonderful nose. can you guess what lightfoot was trying to do? he was trying to get behind the hunter so that the merry little breezes would bring to him the dreaded man-scent. so long as lightfoot could get that scent, he would know where the hunter was, though he could neither see nor hear him. if he had remained where sammy jay had found him, the hunter might have come within shooting distance before lightfoot could have located him. so the hunter with the terrible gun walked noiselessly through the green forest, stepping with the greatest care to avoid snapping a stick underfoot, searching with keen eye every thicket and likely hiding-place for a glimpse of lightfoot, and studying the ground for traces to show that lightfoot had been there. chapter vii the merry little breezes help lightfoot could you have seen the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer that morning on which the hunting season opened you might have thought that lightfoot was hunting the hunter instead of the hunter hunting lightfoot. you see, lightfoot was behind the hunter instead of in front of him. he was following the hunter, so as to keep track of him. as long as he knew just where the hunter was, he felt reasonably safe. the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends. they always bring to him all the different scents they find as they wander through the green forest. and lightfoot's delicate nose is so wonderful that he can take these scents, even though they be very faint, and tell just who or what has made them. so, though he makes the best possible use of his big ears and his beautiful eyes, he trusts more to his nose to warn him of danger. for this reason, during the hunting season when he moves about, he moves in the direction from which the merry little breezes may be blowing. he knows that they will bring to him warning of any danger which may lie in that direction. now the hunter with the terrible gun who was looking for lightfoot knew all this, for he was wise in the ways of lightfoot and of the other little people of the green forest. when he had entered the green forest that morning he had first of all made sure of the direction from which the merry little breezes were coming. then he had begun to hunt in that direction, knowing that thus his scent would be carried behind him. it is more than likely that he would have reached the hiding-place of lightfoot the deer before the latter would have known that he was in the green forest, had it not been for sammy jay's warning. when he reached the tangle of fallen trees behind which lightfoot had been hiding, he worked around it slowly and with the greatest care, holding his terrible gun ready to use instantly should lightfoot leap out. presently he found lightfoot's footprints in the soft ground and studying them he knew that lightfoot had known of his coming. "it was that confounded jay," muttered the hunter. "lightfoot heard him and knew what it meant. i know what he has done; he has circled round so as to get behind me and get my scent. it is a clever trick, a very clever trick, but two can play at that game. i'll just try that little trick myself." so the hunter in his turn made a wide circle back, and presently there was none of the dreaded man-smell among the scents which the merry little breezes brought to lightfoot. lightfoot had lost track of the hunter. chapter viii wit against wit 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 out-guessed 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. chapter ix lightfoot becomes uncertain lightfoot the deer traveled on through the green forest, straight ahead in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing. every few steps he would raise his delicate nose and test all the scents that the merry little breezes were bringing. so long as he kept the merry little breezes blowing in his face, he could be sure whether or not there was danger ahead of him. lightfoot uses his nose very much as you and i use our eyes. it tells him the things he wants to know. he knew that reddy fox had been along ahead of him, although he didn't get so much as a glimpse of reddy's red coat. once he caught just the faintest of scents which caused him to stop abruptly and test the air more carefully than ever. it was the scent of buster bear. but it was so very faint that lightfoot knew buster was not near, so he went ahead again, but even more carefully than before. after a little he couldn't smell buster at all, so he knew then that buster had merely passed that way when he was going to some other part of the green forest. lightfoot knew that he had nothing to fear in that direction so long as the merry little breezes brought him none of the dreaded man-scent, and he knew that he could trust the merry little breezes to bring him that scent if there should be a man anywhere in front of him. you know the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends. but lightfoot didn't want to keep going in that direction all day. it would take him far away from that part of the green forest with which he was familiar and which he called home. it might in time take him out of the green forest and that wouldn't do at all. so after a while lightfoot became uncertain. he didn't know just what to do. you see, he couldn't tell whether or not that hunter with the terrible gun was still following him. every once in a while he would stop in a thicket of young trees or behind a tangle of fallen trees uprooted by the wind. there he would stand, facing the direction from which he had come, and watch and listen for some sign that the hunter was still following. but after a few minutes of this he would grow uneasy and then bound away in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing, so as to be sure of not running into danger. "if only i could know if that hunter is still following, i would know better what to do," thought lightfoot. "i've got to find out." chapter x lightfoot's clever trick lightfoot the deer is smart. yes, sir, lightfoot the deer is smart. he has to be, especially in the hunting season, to save his life. if he were not smart he would have been killed long ago. he never makes the foolish mistake of thinking that other people are not smart. he knew that the hunter who had started out to follow him early that morning was not one to be easily discouraged or to be fooled by simple tricks. he had a very great respect for the smartness of that hunter. he knew that he couldn't afford to be careless for one little minute. the certainty of danger is sometimes easier to bear than the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not there really is any danger. lightfoot felt that if he could know just where the hunter was, he himself would know better what to do. the hunter might have become discouraged and given up following him. in that case he could rest and stop worrying. it would be better to know that he was being followed than not to know. but how was he to find out? lightfoot kept turning this over and over in his mind as he traveled through the green forest. then an idea came to him. "i know what i'll do. i know just what i'll do," said lightfoot to himself. "i'll find out whether or not that hunter is still following me and i'll get a little rest. goodness knows, i need a rest." lightfoot bounded away swiftly and ran for some distance, then he turned and quickly, but very, very quietly, returned in the direction from which he had just come but a little to one side of his old trail. after a while he saw what he was looking for, a pile of branches which woodchoppers had left when they had trimmed the trees they had cut down. this was near the top of a little hill. lightfoot went up the hill and stopped behind the pile of brush. for a few moments he stood there perfectly still, looking and listening. then, with a little sigh of relief, he lay down, where, without being in any danger of being seen himself, he could watch his old trail through the hollow at the bottom of the hill. if the hunter were still following him, he would pass through that hollow in plain sight. for a long time lightfoot rested comfortably behind the pile of brush. there was not a suspicious movement or a suspicious sound to show that danger was abroad in the green forest. he saw mr. and mrs. grouse fly down across the hollow and disappear among the trees on the other side. he saw unc' billy possum looking over a hollow tree and guessed that unc' billy was getting ready to go into winter quarters. he saw jumper the hare squat down under a low-hanging branch of a hemlock-tree and prepare to take a nap. he heard drummer the woodpecker at work drilling after worms in a tree not far away. little by little lightfoot grew easy in his mind. it must be that that hunter had become discouraged and was no longer following him. chapter xi the hunted watches the hunter 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. chapter xii lightfoot visits paddy the beaver deep in the green forest is the pond where lives paddy the beaver. it is paddy's own pond, for he made it himself. he made it by building a dam across the laughing brook. when lightfoot bounded away through the green forest, after watching the hunter pass through the hollow below him, he remembered paddy's pond. "that's where i'll go," thought lightfoot. "it is such a lonesome part of the green forest that i do not believe that hunter will come there. i'll just run over and make paddy a friendly call." so lightfoot bounded along deeper and deeper into the green forest. presently through the trees he caught the gleam of water. it was paddy's pond. lightfoot approached it cautiously. he felt sure he was rid of the hunter who had followed him so far that day, but he knew that there might be other hunters in the green forest. he knew that he couldn't afford to be careless for even one little minute. lightfoot had lived long enough to know that most of the sad things and dreadful things that happen in the green forest and on the green meadows are due to carelessness. no one who is hunted, be he big or little, can afford ever to be careless. now lightfoot had known of hunters hiding near water, hoping to shoot him when he came to drink. that always seemed to lightfoot a dreadful thing, an unfair thing. but hunters had done it before and they might do it again. so lightfoot was careful to approach paddy's pond up-wind. that is, he approached the side of the pond from which the merry little breezes were blowing toward him, and all the time he kept his nose working. he knew that if any hunters were hidden there, the merry little breezes would bring him their scent and thus warn him. he had almost reached the edge of paddy's pond when from the farther shore there came a sudden crash. it startled lightfoot terribly for just an instant. then he guessed what it meant. that crash was the falling of a tree. there wasn't enough wind to blow over even the most shaky dead tree. there had been no sound of axes, so he knew it could not have been chopped down by men. it must be that paddy the beaver had cut it, and if paddy had been working in daylight, it was certain that no one had been around that pond for a long time. so lightfoot hurried forward eagerly, cautiously. when he reached the bank he looked across towards where the sound of that falling tree had come from; a branch of a tree was moving along in the water and half hidden by it was a brown head. it was paddy the beaver taking the branch to his food pile. chapter xiii lightfoot and paddy become partners the instant lightfoot saw paddy the beaver he knew that for the time being, at least, there was no danger. he knew that paddy is one of the shyest of all the little people of the green forest and that when he is found working in the daytime it means that he has been undisturbed for a long time; otherwise he would work only at night. paddy saw lightfoot almost as soon as he stepped out on the bank. he kept right on swimming with the branch of a poplar-tree until he reached his food pile, which, you know, is in the water. there he forced the branch down until it was held by other branches already sunken in the pond. this done, he swam over to where lightfoot was watching. "hello, lightfoot!" he exclaimed. "you are looking handsomer than ever. how are you feeling these fine autumn days?" "anxious," replied lightfoot. "i am feeling terribly anxious. do you know what day this is?" "no," replied paddy, "i don't know what day it is, and i don't particularly care. it is enough for me that it is one of the finest days we've had for a long time." "i wish i could feel that way," said lightfoot wistfully. "i wish i could feel that way, paddy, but i can't. no, sir, i can't. you see, this is the first of the most dreadful days in all the year for me. the hunters started looking for me before mr. sun was really out of bed. at least one hunter did, and i don't doubt there are others. i fooled that one, but from now to the end of the hunting season there will not be a single moment of daylight when i will feel absolutely safe." paddy crept out on the bank and chewed a little twig of poplar thoughtfully. paddy says he can always think better if he is chewing something. "that's bad news, lightfoot. i'm sorry to hear it. i certainly am sorry to hear it," said paddy. "why anybody wants to hunt such a handsome fellow as you are, i cannot understand. my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!" [illustration: "my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!"] "they are the best i've ever had; but do you know, paddy, i suspect that they may be one of the reasons i am hunted so," replied lightfoot a little sadly. "good looks are not always to be desired. have you seen any hunters around here lately?" paddy shook his head. "not a single hunter," he replied. "i tell you what it is, lightfoot, let's be partners for a while. you stay right around my pond. if i see or hear or smell anything suspicious, i'll warn you. you do the same for me. two sets of eyes, ears and noses are better than one. what do you say, lightfoot?" "i'll do it," replied lightfoot. chapter xiv how paddy warned lightfoot it was a queer partnership, that partnership between lightfoot and paddy, but it was a good partnership. they had been the best of friends for a long time. paddy had always been glad to have lightfoot visit his pond. to tell the truth, he was rather fond of handsome lightfoot. you know paddy is himself not at all handsome. on land he is a rather clumsy-looking fellow and really homely. so he admired lightfoot greatly. that is one reason why he proposed that they be partners. lightfoot himself thought the idea a splendid one. he spent that night browsing not far from paddy's pond. with the coming of daylight he lay down in a thicket of young hemlock-trees near the upper end of the pond. it was a quiet, peaceful day. it was so quiet and peaceful and beautiful it was hard to believe that hunters with terrible guns were searching the green forest for beautiful lightfoot. but they were, and lightfoot knew that sooner or later one of them would be sure to visit paddy's pond. so, though he rested and took short naps all through that beautiful day, he was anxious. he couldn't help but be. the next morning found lightfoot back in the same place. but this morning he took no naps. he rested, but all the time he was watchful and alert. a feeling of uneasiness possessed him. he felt in his bones that danger in the shape of a hunter with a terrible gun was not far distant. but the hours slipped away, and little by little he grew less uneasy. he began to hope that that day would prove as peaceful as the previous day had been. then suddenly there was a sharp report from the farther end of paddy's pond. it was almost like a pistol shot. however, it wasn't a pistol shot. it wasn't a shot at all. it was the slap of paddy's broad tail on the surface of the water. instantly lightfoot was on his feet. he knew just what that meant. he knew that paddy had seen or heard or smelled a hunter. it was even so. paddy had heard a dry stick snap. it was a very tiny snap, but it was enough to warn paddy. with only his head above water he had watched in the direction from which that sound had come. presently, stealing quietly along towards the pond, a hunter had come in view. instantly, paddy had brought his broad tail down on the water with all his force. he knew that lightfoot would know that that meant danger. then paddy had dived, and swimming under water, had sought the safety of his house. he had done his part, and there was nothing more he could do. chapter xv the three watchers when paddy the beaver slapped the water with his broad tail, making a noise like a pistol shot, lightfoot understood that this was meant as a warning of danger. he was on his feet instantly, with eyes, ears, and nose seeking the cause of paddy's warning. after a moment or two he stole softly up to the top of a little ridge some distance back from paddy's pond, but from the top of which he could see the whole of the pond. there he hid among some close-growing young hemlock-trees. it wasn't long before he saw a hunter with a terrible gun come down to the shore of the pond. now the hunter had heard paddy slap the water with his broad tail. of course. there would have been something very wrong with his ears had he failed to hear it. "confound that beaver!" muttered the hunter crossly. "if there was a deer anywhere around this pond, he probably is on his way now. i'll have a look around and see if there are any signs." so the hunter went on to the edge of paddy's pond and then began to walk around it, studying the ground as he walked. presently he found the footprints of lightfoot in the mud where light foot had gone down to the pond to drink. "i thought as much," muttered the hunter. "those tracks were made last night. that deer probably was lying down somewhere near here, and i might have had a shot but for that pesky beaver. i'll just look the land over, and then i think i'll wait here awhile. if that deer isn't too badly scared, he may come back." so the hunter went quite around the pond, looking into all likely hiding-places. he found where lightfoot had been lying, and he knew that in all probability lightfoot had been there when paddy gave the danger signal. "it's of no use for me to try to follow him," thought the hunter. "it is too dry for me to track him. he may not be so badly scared, after all. i'll just find a good place and wait." so the hunter found an old log behind some small trees and there sat down. he could see all around paddy's pond. he sat perfectly still. he was a clever hunter and he knew that so long as he did not move he was not likely to be noticed by any sharp eyes that might come that way. what he didn't know was that lightfoot had been watching him all the time and was even then standing where he could see him. and another thing he didn't know was that paddy the beaver had come out of his house and, swimming under water, had reached a hiding-place on the opposite shore from which he too had seen the hunter sit down on the log. so the hunter watched for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy watched the hunter. chapter xvi visitors to paddy's pond that hunter was a man of patience. also he was a man who understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows. he knew that if he would not be seen he must not move. so he didn't move. he kept as motionless as if he were a part of the very log on which he was sitting. for some time there was no sign of any living thing. then, from over the tree tops in the direction of the big river, came the whistle of swift wings, and mr. and mrs. quack alighted with a splash in the pond. for a few moments they sat on the water, a picture of watchful suspicion. they were looking and listening to make sure that no danger was near. satisfied at last, they began to clean their feathers. it was plain that they felt safe. paddy the beaver was tempted to warn them that they were not as safe as they thought, but as long as the hunter did not move paddy decided to wait. now the hunter was sorely tempted to shoot these ducks, but he knew that if he did he would have no chance that day to get lightfoot the deer, and it was lightfoot he wanted. so mr. and mrs. quack swam about within easy range of that terrible gun without once suspecting that danger was anywhere near. by and by the hunter's keen eyes caught a movement at one end of paddy's dam. an instant later bobby coon appeared. it was clear that bobby was quite unsuspicious. he carried something, but just what the hunter could not make out. he took it down to the edge of the water and there carefully washed it. then he climbed up on paddy's dam and began to eat. you know bobby coon is very particular about his food. whenever there is water near, bobby washes his food before eating. once more the hunter was tempted, but did not yield to the temptation, which was a very good thing for bobby coon. all this lightfoot saw as he stood among the little hemlock-trees at the top of the ridge behind the hunter. he saw and he understood. "it is because he wants to kill me that he doesn't shoot at mr. and mrs. quack or bobby coon," thought lightfoot a little bitterly. "what have i ever done that he should be so anxious to kill me?" still the hunter sat without moving. mr. and mrs. quack contentedly hunted for food in the mud at the bottom of paddy's pond. bobby coon finished his meal, crossed the dam and disappeared in the green forest. he had gone off to take a nap somewhere. time slipped away. the hunter continued to watch patiently for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy the beaver watched the hunter. finally, another visitor appeared at the upper end of the pond--a visitor in a wonderful coat of red. it was reddy fox. chapter xvii sammy jay arrives when reddy fox arrived at the pond of paddy the beaver, the hunter who was hiding there saw him instantly. so did lightfoot. but no one else did. he approached in that cautious, careful way that he always uses when he is hunting. the instant he reached a place where he could see all over paddy's pond, he stopped as suddenly as if he had been turned to stone. he stopped with one foot lifted in the act of taking a step. he had seen mr. and mrs. quack. now you know there is nothing reddy fox likes better for a dinner than a duck. the instant he saw mr. and mrs. quack, a gleam of longing crept into his eyes and his mouth began to water. he stood motionless until both mr. and mrs. quack had their heads under water as they searched for food in the mud in the bottom of the pond. then like a red flash he bounded out of sight behind the dam of paddy the beaver. presently the hunter saw reddy's black nose at the end of the dam as reddy peeped around it to watch mr. and mrs. quack. the latter were slowly moving along in that direction as they fed. reddy was quick to see this. if he remained right where he was, and mr. and mrs. quack kept on feeding in that direction, the chances were that he would have a dinner of fat duck. all he need do was to be patient and wait. so, with his eyes fixed fast on mr. and mrs. quack, reddy fox crouched behind paddy's dam and waited. watching reddy and the ducks, the hunter almost forgot lightfoot the deer. mr. and mrs. quack were getting very near to where reddy was waiting for them. the hunter was tempted to get up and frighten those ducks. he didn't want reddy fox to have them, because he hoped some day to get them himself. "i suppose," thought he, "i was foolish not to shoot them when i had the chance. they are too far away now, and it looks very much as if that red rascal will get one of them. i believe i'll spoil that red scamp's plans by frightening them away. i don't believe that deer will be back here to-day anyway, so i may as well save those ducks." but the hunter did nothing of the kind. you see, just as he was getting ready to step out from his hiding-place, sammy jay arrived. he perched in a tree close to the end of paddy's dam and at once he spied reddy fox. it didn't take him a second to discover what reddy was hiding there for. "thief, thief, thief!" screamed sammy, and then looked down at reddy with a mischievous look in his sharp eyes. there is nothing sammy jay delights in more than in upsetting the plans of reddy fox. at the sound of sammy's voice, mr. and mrs. quack swam hurriedly towards the middle of the pond. they knew exactly what that warning meant. reddy fox looked up at sammy jay and snarled angrily. then, knowing it was useless to hide longer, he bounded away through the green forest to hunt elsewhere. chapter xviii the hunter loses his temper the hunter, hidden near the pond of paddy the beaver, chuckled silently. that is to say, he laughed without making any sound. the hunter thought the warning of mr. and mrs. quack by sammy jay was a great joke on reddy. to tell the truth, he was very much pleased. as you know, he wanted those ducks himself. he suspected that they would stay in that little pond for some days, and he planned to return there and shoot them after he had got lightfoot the deer. he wanted to get lightfoot first, and he knew that to shoot at anything else might spoil his chance of getting a shot at lightfoot. "sammy jay did me a good turn," thought the hunter, "although he doesn't know it. reddy fox certainly would have caught one of those ducks had sammy not come along just when he did. it would have been a shame to have had one of them caught by that fox. i mean to get one, and i hope both of them, myself." now when you come to think of it, it would have been a far greater shame for the hunter to have killed mr. and mrs. quack than for reddy fox to have done so. reddy was hunting them because he was hungry. the hunter would have shot them for sport. he didn't need them. he had plenty of other food. reddy fox doesn't kill just for the pleasure of killing. so the hunter continued to sit in his hiding-place with very friendly feelings for sammy jay. sammy watched reddy fox disappear and then flew over to that side of the pond where the hunter was. mr. and mrs. quack called their thanks to sammy, to which he replied, that he had done no more for them than he would do for anybody, or than they would have done for him. for some time sammy sat quietly in the top of the tree, but all the time his sharp eyes were very busy. by and by he spied the hunter sitting on the log. at first he couldn't make out just what it was he was looking at. it didn't move, but nevertheless sammy was suspicious. presently he flew over to a tree where he could see better. right away he spied the terrible gun, and he knew just what that was. once more he began to yell, "thief! thief! thief!" at the top of his lungs. it was then that the hunter lost his temper. he knew that now he had been discovered by sammy jay, and it was useless to remain there longer. he was angry clear through. chapter xix sammy jay is modest as soon as the angry hunter with the terrible gun had disappeared among the trees of the green forest, and lightfoot was sure that he had gone for good, lightfoot came out from his hiding-place on top of the ridge and walked down to the pond of paddy the beaver for a drink. he knew that it was quite safe to do so, for sammy jay had followed the hunter, all the time screaming, "thief! thief! thief!" every one within hearing could tell just where that hunter was by sammy's voice. it kept growing fainter and fainter, and by that lightfoot knew that the hunter was getting farther and farther away. paddy the beaver swam out from his hiding-place and climbed out on the bank near lightfoot. there was a twinkle in his eyes. "that blue-coated mischief-maker isn't such a bad fellow at heart, after all, is he?" said he. lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and set his ears forward to catch the sound of sammy's voice in the distance. "sammy jay may be a mischief-maker, as some people say," said he, "but you can always count on him to prove a true friend in time of danger. he brought me warning of the coming of the hunter the other morning. you saw him save mr. and mrs. quack a little while ago, and then he actually drove that hunter away. i suppose sammy jay has saved more lives than any one i know of. i wish he would come back here and let me thank him." some time later sammy jay did come back. "well," said he, as he smoothed his feathers, "i chased that fellow clear to the edge of the green forest, so i guess there will be nothing more to fear from him to-day. i'm glad to see he hasn't got you yet, lightfoot. i've been a bit worried about you." "sammy," said lightfoot, "you are one of the best friends i have. i don't know how i can ever thank you for what you have done for me." "don't try," replied sammy shortly. "i haven't done anything but what anybody else would have done. old mother nature gave me a pair of good eyes and a strong voice. i simply make the best use of them i can. just to see a hunter with a terrible gun makes me angry clear through. i'd rather spoil his hunting than eat." "you want to watch out, sammy. one of these days a hunter will lose his temper and shoot you, just to get even with you," warned paddy the beaver. "don't worry about me," replied sammy "i know just how far those terrible guns can shoot, and i don't take any chances. by the way, lightfoot, the green forest is full of hunters looking for you. i've seen a lot of them, and i know they are looking for you because they do not shoot at anybody else even when they have a chance." chapter xx lightfoot hears a dreadful sound day after day, lightfoot the deer played hide and seek for his life with the hunters who were seeking to kill him. he saw them many times, though not one of them saw him. more than once a hunter passed close to lightfoot's hiding-place without once suspecting it. but poor lightfoot was feeling the strain. he was growing thin, and he was so nervous that the falling of a dead leaf from a tree would startle him. there is nothing quite so terrible as being continually hunted. it was getting so that lightfoot half expected a hunter to step out from behind every tree. only when the black shadows wrapped the green forest in darkness did he know a moment of peace. and those hours of safety were filled with dread of what the next day might bring. early one morning a terrible sound rang through the green forest and brought lightfoot to his feet with a startled jump. it was the baying of hounds following a trail. at first it did not sound so terrible. lightfoot had often heard it before. many times he had listened to the baying of bowser the hound, as he followed reddy fox. it had not sounded so terrible then because it meant no danger to lightfoot. at first, as he listened early that morning, he took it for granted that those hounds were after reddy, and so, though startled, he was not worried. but suddenly a dreadful suspicion came to him and he grew more and more anxious as he listened. in a few minutes there was no longer any doubt in his mind. those hounds were following his trail. it was then that the sound of that baying became terrible. he must run for his life! those hounds would give him no rest. and he knew that in running from them, he would no longer be able to watch so closely for the hunters with terrible guns. he would no longer be able to hide in thickets. at any time he might be driven right past one of those hunters. lightfoot bounded away with such leaps as only lightfoot can make. in a little while the voices of the hounds grew fainter. lightfoot stopped to get his breath and stood trembling as he listened. the baying of the hounds again grew louder and louder. those wonderful noses of theirs were following his trail without the least difficulty. in a panic of fear, lightfoot bounded away again. as he crossed an old road, the green forest rang with the roar of a terrible gun. something tore a strip of bark from the trunk of a tree just above lightfoot's back. it was a bullet and it had just missed lightfoot. it added to his terror and this in turn added to his speed. so lightfoot ran and ran, and behind him the voices of the hounds continued to ring through the green forest. chapter xxi how lightfoot got rid of the hounds poor lightfoot! it seemed to him that there were no such things as justice and fair play. had it been just one hunter at a time against whom he had to match his wits it would not have been so bad. but there were many hunters with terrible guns looking for him, and in dodging one he was likely at any time to meet another. this in itself seemed terribly unfair and unjust. but now, added to this was the greater unfairness of being trailed by hounds. do you wonder that lightfoot thought of men as utterly heartless? you see, he could not know that those hounds had not been put on his trail, but had left home to hunt for their own pleasure. he could not know that it was against the law to hunt him with dogs. but though none of those hunters looking for him were guilty of having put the hounds on his trail, each one of them was willing and eager to take advantage of the fact that the hounds were on his trail. already he had been shot at once and he knew that he would be shot at again if he should be driven where a hunter was hidden. the ground was damp and scent always lies best on damp ground. this made it easy for the hounds to follow him with their wonderful noses. lightfoot tried every trick he could think of to make those hounds lose the scent. "if only i could make them lose it long enough for me to get a little rest, it would help," panted lightfoot, as he paused for just an instant to listen to the baying of the hounds. but he couldn't. they allowed him no rest. he was becoming very, very tired. he could no longer bound lightly over fallen logs or brush, as he had done at first. his lungs ached as he panted for breath. he realized that even though he should escape the hunters he would meet an even more terrible death unless he could get rid of those hounds. there would come a time when he would have to stop. then those hounds would catch up with him and tear him to pieces. it was then that he remembered the big river. he turned towards it. it was his only chance and he knew it. straight through the green forest, out across the green meadows to the bank of the big river, lightfoot ran. for just a second he paused to look behind. the hounds were almost at his heels. lightfoot hesitated no longer but plunged into the big river and began to swim. on the banks the hounds stopped and bayed their disappointment, for they did not dare follow lightfoot out into the big river. chapter xxii lightfoot's long swim the big river was very wide. it would have been a long swim for lightfoot had he been fresh and at his best. strange as it may seem, lightfoot is a splendid swimmer, despite his small, delicate feet. he enjoys swimming. but now lightfoot was terribly tired from his long run ahead of the hounds. for a time he swam rapidly, but those weary muscles grew still more weary, and by the time he reached the middle of the big river it seemed to him that he was not getting ahead at all. at first he had tried to swim towards a clump of trees he could see on the opposite bank above the point where he had entered the water, but to do this he had to swim against the current and he soon found that he hadn't the strength to do this. then he turned and headed for a point down the big river. this made the swimming easier, for the current helped him instead of hindering him. even then he could feel his strength leaving him. had he escaped those hounds and the terrible hunters only to be drowned in the big river? this new fear gave him more strength for a little while. but it did not last long. he was three fourths of the way across the big river but still that other shore seemed a long distance away. little by little hope died in the heart of lightfoot the deer. he would keep on just as long as he could and then,--well, it was better to drown than to be torn to pieces by dogs. just as lightfoot felt that he could not take another stroke and that the end was at hand, one foot touched something. then, all four feet touched. a second later he had found solid footing and was standing with the water only up to his knees. he had found a little sand bar out in the big river. with a little gasp of returning hope, lightfoot waded along until the water began to grow deeper again. he had hoped that he would be able to wade ashore, but he saw now that he would have to swim again. so for a long time he remained right where he was. he was so tired that he trembled all over, and he was as frightened as he was tired. he knew that standing out there in the water he could be seen for a long distance, and that made him nervous and fearful. supposing a hunter on the shore he was trying to reach should see him. then he would have no chance at all, for the hunter would simply wait for him and shoot him as he came out of the water. but rest he must, and so he stood for a long time on the little sand bar in the big river. and little by little he felt his strength returning. chapter xxiii lightfoot finds a friend as lightfoot rested, trying to recover his breath, out there on the little sand bar in the big river, his great, soft, beautiful eyes watched first one bank and then the other. on the bank he had left, he could see two black-and-white specks moving about, and across the water came the barking of dogs. those two specks were the hounds who had driven him into the big river. they were barking now, instead of baying. presently a brown form joined the black-and-white specks. it was a hunter drawn there by the barking of the dogs. he was too far away to be dangerous, but the mere sight of him filled lightfoot with terror again. he watched the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes. presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the hunter. he headed straight towards lightfoot, and then lightfoot knew that his brief rest was at an end. he must once more swim or be shot by the hunter in the boat. so lightfoot again struck out for the shore. his rest had given him new strength, but still he was very, very tired and swimming was hard work. slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank. what new dangers might be waiting there, he did not know. he had never been on that side of the big river. he knew nothing of the country on that side. but the uncertainty was better than the certainty behind him. he could hear the sound of the oars as the hunter in the boat did his best to get to him before he should reach the shore. on lightfoot struggled. at last he felt bottom beneath his feet. he staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then for an instant it seemed to him his heart stopped beating. right in front of him stood a man. he had come out into the back yard of the home of that man. it is doubtful which was the more surprised, lightfoot or the man. right then and there lightfoot gave up in despair. he couldn't run. it was all he could do to walk. the long chase by the hounds on the other side of the big river and the long swim across the big river had taken all his strength. not a spark of hope remained to lightfoot. he simply stood still and trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness. then a surprising thing happened. the man spoke softly. he advanced, not threateningly but slowly, and in a friendly way. he walked around back of lightfoot and then straight towards him. lightfoot walked on a few steps, and the man followed, still talking softly. little by little he urged lightfoot on, driving him towards an open shed in which was a pile of hay. without understanding just how, lightfoot knew that he had found a friend. so he entered the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay. chapter xxiv the hunter is disappointed how he knew he was safe, lightfoot the deer couldn't have told you. he just knew it, that was all. he couldn't understand a word said by the man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed the bank after his long swim across the big river. but he didn't have to understand words to know that he had found a friend. so he allowed the man to drive him gently over to an open shed where there was a pile of soft hay and there he lay down, so tired that it seemed to him he couldn't move another step. it was only a few minutes later that the hunter who had followed lightfoot across the river reached the bank and scrambled out of his boat. lightfoot's friend was waiting just at the top of the bank. of course the hunter saw him at once. "hello, friend!" cried the hunter. "did you see a deer pass this way a few minutes ago? he swam across the river, and if i know anything about it he's too tired to travel far now. i've been hunting that fellow for several days, and if i have any luck at all i ought to get him this time." "i'm afraid you won't have any luck at all," said lightfoot's friend. "you see, i don't allow any hunting on my land." the hunter looked surprised, and then his surprise gave way to anger. "you mean," said he, "that you intend to get that deer yourself." lightfoot's friend shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't mean anything of the kind. i mean that that deer is not to be killed if i can prevent it, and while it is on my land, i think i can. the best thing for you to do, my friend, is to get into your boat and row back where you came from. are those your hounds barking over there?" "no," replied the hunter promptly. "i know the law just as well as you do, and it is against the law to hunt deer with dogs. i don't even know who owns those two hounds over there." "that may be true," replied lightfoot's friend. "i don't doubt it is true. but you are willing to take advantage of the fact that the dogs of some one else have broken the law. you knew that those dogs had driven that deer into the big river and you promptly took advantage of the fact to try to reach that deer before he could get across. you are not hunting for the pleasure of hunting but just to kill. you don't know the meaning of justice or fairness. now get off my land. get back into your boat and off my land as quick as you can. that deer is not very far from here and so tired that he cannot move. just as long as he will stay here, he will be safe, and i hope he will stay until this miserable hunting season is ended. now go." muttering angrily, the hunter got back into his boat and pushed off, but he didn't row back across the river. chapter xxv the hunter lies in wait if ever there was an angry hunter, it was the one who had followed lightfoot the deer across the big river. when he was ordered to get off the land where lightfoot had climbed out, he got back into his boat, but he didn't row back to the other side. instead, he rowed down the river, finally landing on the same side but on land which lightfoot's friend did not own. "when that deer has become rested he'll become uneasy," thought the hunter. "he won't stay on that man's land. he'll start for the nearest woods. i'll go up there and wait for him. i'll get that deer if only to spite that fellow back there who drove me off. had it not been for him, i'd have that deer right now. he was too tired to have gone far. he's got the handsomest pair of antlers i've seen for years. i can sell that head of his for a good price." so the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed out. he climbed up the bank and studied the land. across a wide meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some thick woods. he grinned. "that's where that deer will head for," he decided. "there isn't any other place for him to go. all i've got to do is be patient and wait." so the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow to the brush-grown pasture. there he hid among the bushes where he could peep out and watch the land of lightfoot's friend. he was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting lightfoot. at the same time he chuckled, because he thought himself very smart. lightfoot couldn't possibly reach the shelter of the woods without giving him a shot, and he hadn't the least doubt that lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he felt able to travel. so he made himself comfortable and prepared to wait the rest of the day, if necessary. now lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that hunter's mind. "we'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself, as he walked back towards the shed where poor lightfoot was resting. he did not go too near lightfoot, for he did not want to alarm him. he just kept within sight of lightfoot, paying no attention to him but going about his work. you see, this man loved and understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, and he knew that there was no surer way of winning lightfoot's confidence and trust than by appearing to take no notice of him. lightfoot, watching him, understood. he knew that this man was a friend and would do him no harm. little by little, the wonderful, blessed feeling of safety crept over lightfoot. no hunter could harm him here. chapter xxvi lightfoot does the wise thing all the rest of that day the hunter with the terrible gun lay hidden in the bushes of the pasture where he could watch for lightfoot the deer to leave the place of safety he had found. it required a lot of patience on the part of the hunter, but the hunter had plenty of patience. it sometimes seems as if hunters have more patience than any other people. but this hunter waited in vain. jolly, round, red mr. sun sank down in the west to his bed behind the purple hills. the black shadows crept out and grew blacker. one by one the stars began to twinkle. still the hunter waited, and still there was no sign of lightfoot. at last it became so dark that it was useless for the hunter to remain longer. disappointed and once more becoming angry, he tramped back to the big river, climbed into his boat and rowed across to the other side. then he tramped home and his thoughts were very bitter. he knew that he could have shot lightfoot had it not been for the man who had protected the deer. he even began to suspect that this man had himself killed lightfoot, for he had been sure that as soon as he had become rested lightfoot would start for the woods, and lightfoot had done nothing of the kind. in fact, the hunter had not had so much as another glimpse of lightfoot. the reason that the hunter had been so disappointed was that lightfoot was smart. he was smart enough to understand that the man who was saving him from the hunter had done it because he was a true friend. all the afternoon lightfoot had rested on a bed of soft hay in an open shed and had watched this man going about his work and taking the utmost care to do nothing to frighten lightfoot. "he not only will let no one else harm me, but he himself will not harm me," thought lightfoot. "as long as he is near, i am safe. i'll stay right around here until the hunting season is over, then i'll swim back across the big river to my home in the dear green forest." so all afternoon lightfoot rested and did not so much as put his nose outside that open shed. that is why the hunter got no glimpse of him. when it became dark, so dark that he knew there was no longer danger, lightfoot got up and stepped out under the stars. he was feeling quite himself again. his splendid strength had returned. he bounded lightly across the meadow and up into the brushy pasture where the hunter had been hidden. there and in the woods back of the pasture he browsed, but at the first hint of the coming of another day, lightfoot turned back, and when his friend, the farmer, came out early in the morning to milk the cows, there was lightfoot back in the open shed. the farmer smiled. "you are as wise as you are handsome, old fellow," said he. chapter xxvii sammy jay worries it isn't often sammy jay worries about anybody but himself. truth to tell, he doesn't worry about himself very often. you see, sammy is smart, and he knows he is smart. under that pointed cap of his are some of the cleverest wits in all the green forest. sammy seldom worries about himself because he feels quite able to take care of himself. but sammy jay was worrying now. he was worrying about lightfoot the deer. yes, sir, sammy jay was worrying about lightfoot the deer. for two days he had been unable to find lightfoot or any trace of lightfoot. but he did find plenty of hunters with terrible guns. it seemed to him that they were everywhere in the green forest. sammy began to suspect that one of them must have succeeded in killing lightfoot the deer. sammy knew all of lightfoot's hiding-places. he visited every one of them. lightfoot wasn't to be found, and no one whom sammy met had seen lightfoot for two days. sammy felt badly. you see, he was very fond of lightfoot. you remember it was sammy who warned lightfoot of the coming of the hunter on the morning when the dreadful hunting season began. ever since the hunting season had opened, sammy had done his best to make trouble for the hunters. whenever he had found one of them he had screamed at the top of his voice to warn every one within hearing just where that hunter was. once a hunter had lost his temper and shot at sammy, but sammy had suspected that something of the kind might happen, and he had taken care to keep just out of reach. sammy had known all about the chasing of lightfoot by the hounds. everybody in the green forest had known about it. you see, everybody had heard the voices of those hounds. once, lightfoot had passed right under the tree in which sammy was sitting, and a few moments later the two hounds had passed with their noses to the ground as they followed lightfoot's trail. that was the last sammy had seen of lightfoot. he had been able to save lightfoot from the hunters, but he couldn't save him from the hounds. the more sammy thought things over, the more he worried. "i am afraid those hounds drove him out where a hunter could get a shot and kill him, or else that they tired him out and killed him themselves," thought sammy. "if he were alive, somebody certainly would have seen him and nobody has, since the day those hounds chased him. i declare, i have quite lost my appetite worrying about him. if lightfoot is dead, and i am almost sure he is, the green forest will never seem the same." chapter xxviii the hunting season ends the very worst things come to an end at last. no matter how bad a thing is, it cannot last forever. so it was with the hunting season for lightfoot the deer. there came a day when the law protected all deer,--a day when the hunters could no longer go searching for lightfoot. usually there was great rejoicing among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows when the hunting season ended and they knew that lightfoot would be in no more danger until the next hunting season. but this year there was no rejoicing. you see, no one could find lightfoot. the last seen of him was when he was running for his life with two hounds baying on his trail and the green forest filled with hunters watching for a chance to shoot him. sammy jay had hunted everywhere through the green forest. blacky the crow, whose eyes are quite as sharp as those of sammy jay, had joined in the search. they had found no trace of lightfoot. paddy the beaver said that for three days lightfoot had not visited his pond for a drink. billy mink, who travels up and down the laughing brook, had looked for lightfoot's footprints in the soft earth along the banks and had found only old ones. jumper the hare had visited lightfoot's favorite eating places at night, but lightfoot had not been in any of them. [illustration: "i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot."] "i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot. either those hounds caught him and killed him, or he was shot by one of those hunters. the green forest will never be the same without him. i don't think i shall want to come over here very much. there isn't one of all the other people who live in the green forest who would be missed as lightfoot will be." bobby coon nodded. "that's true, sammy," said he. "without lightfoot, the green forest will never be the same. he never harmed anybody. why those hunters should have been so anxious to kill one so beautiful is something i can't understand. for that matter, i don't understand why they want to kill any of us. if they really needed us for food, it would be a different matter, but they don't. have you been up in the old pasture and asked old man coyote if he has seen anything of lightfoot?" sammy nodded. "i've been up there twice," said he. "old man coyote has been lying very low during the days, but nights he has done a lot of traveling. you know old man coyote has a mighty good nose, but not once since the day those hounds chased lightfoot has he found so much as a tiny whiff of lightfoot's scent. i thought he might have found the place where lightfoot was killed, but he hasn't, although he has looked for it. well, the hunting season for lightfoot is over, but i am afraid it has ended too late." chapter xxix mr. and mrs. quack are startled it was the evening of the day after the closing of the hunting season for lightfoot the deer. jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept out across the big river. mr. and mrs. quack were getting their evening meal among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river. they took turns in searching for the rice grains in the mud. while mrs. quack tipped up and seemed to stand on her head as she searched in the mud for rice, mr. quack kept watch for possible danger. then mrs. quack took her turn at keeping watch, while mr. quack stood on his head and hunted for rice. it was wonderfully quiet and peaceful. there was not even a ripple on the big river. it was so quiet that they could hear the barking of a dog at a farmhouse a mile away. they were far enough out from the bank to have nothing to fear from reddy fox or old man coyote. so they had nothing to fear from any one save hooty the owl. it was for hooty that they took turns in watching. it was just the hour when hooty likes best to hunt. by and by they heard hooty's hunting call. it was far away in the green forest. then mr. and mrs. quack felt easier, and they talked in low, contented voices. they felt that for a while at least there was nothing to fear. suddenly a little splash out in the big river caught mr. quack's quick ear. as mrs. quack brought her head up out of the water, mr. quack warned her to keep quiet. noiselessly they swam among the brown stalks until they could see out across the big river. there was another little splash out there in the middle. it wasn't the splash made by a fish; it was a splash made by something much bigger than any fish. presently they made out a silver line moving towards them from the black shadows. they knew exactly what it meant. it meant that some one was out there in the big river moving towards them. could it be a boat containing a hunter? with their necks stretched high, mr. and mrs. quack watched. they were ready to take to their strong wings the instant they discovered danger. but they did not want to fly until they were sure that it _was_ danger approaching. they were startled, very much startled. presently they made out what looked like the branch of a tree moving over the water towards them. that was queer, very queer. mr. quack said so. mrs. quack said so. both were growing more and more suspicious. they couldn't understand it at all, and it is always best to be suspicious of things you cannot understand. mr. and mrs. quack half lifted their wings to fly. chapter xxx the mystery is solved it was very mysterious. yes, sir, it was very mysterious. mr. quack thought so. mrs. quack thought so. there, out in the big river, in the midst of the black shadows, was something which looked like the branch of a tree. but instead of moving down the river, as the branch of a tree would if it were floating, this was coming straight across the river as if it were swimming. but how could the branch of a tree swim? that was too much for mr. quack. it was too much for mrs. quack. so they sat perfectly still among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river, and not for a second did they take their eyes from that strange thing moving towards them. they were ready to spring into the air and trust to their swift wings the instant they should detect danger. but they did not want to fly unless they had to. besides, they were curious. they were very curious indeed. they wanted to find out what that mysterious thing moving through the water towards them was. so mr. and mrs. quack watched that thing that looked like a swimming branch draw nearer and nearer, and the nearer it drew the more they were puzzled, and the more curious they felt. if it had been the pond of paddy the beaver instead of the big river, they would have thought it was paddy swimming with a branch for his winter food pile. but paddy the beaver was way back in his own pond, deep in the green forest, and they knew it. so this thing became more and more of a mystery. the nearer it came, the more nervous and anxious they grew, and at the same time the greater became their curiosity. at last mr. quack felt that not even to gratify his curiosity would it be safe to wait longer. he prepared to spring into the air, knowing that mrs. quack would follow him. it was just then that a funny little sound reached him. it was half snort, half cough, as if some one had sniffed some water up his nose. there was something familiar about that sound. mr. quack decided to wait a few minutes longer. "i'll wait," thought mr. quack, "until that thing, whatever it is, comes out of those black shadows into the moonlight. somehow i have a feeling that we are in no danger." so mr. and mrs. quack waited and watched. in a few minutes the thing that looked like the branch of a tree came out of the black shadows into the moonlight, and then the mystery was solved. it was a mystery no longer. they saw that they had mistaken the antlers of lightfoot the deer for the branch of a tree. lightfoot was swimming across the big river on his way back to his home in the green forest. at once mr. and mrs. quack swam out to meet him and to tell him how glad they were that he was alive and safe. chapter xxxi a surprising discovery probably there was no happier thanksgiving in all the great world than the thanksgiving of lightfoot the deer, when the dreadful hunting season ended and he was once more back in his beloved green forest with nothing to fear. all his neighbors called on him to tell him how glad they were that he had escaped and how the green forest would not have been the same if he had not returned. so lightfoot roamed about without fear and was happy. it seemed to him that he could not be happier. there was plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear. what more could any one ask? he began to grow sleek and fat and handsomer than ever. the days were growing colder and the frosty air made him feel good. just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking place at the laughing brook. as he put down his head to drink he saw something which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was thirsty. what do you think it was he saw? it was a footprint in the soft mud. yes, sir, it was a footprint. for a long time lightfoot stood staring at that footprint. in his great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise. you see, that footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller. to lightfoot it was a very wonderful footprint. he was quite sure that never had he seen such a dainty footprint. he forgot to drink. instead, he began to search for other footprints, and presently he found them. each was as dainty as that first one. who could have made them? that is what lightfoot wanted to know and what he meant to find out. it was clear to him that there was a stranger in the green forest, and somehow he didn't resent it in the least. in fact, he was glad. he couldn't have told why, but it was true. lightfoot put his nose to the footprints and sniffed of them. even had he not known by looking at those prints that they had been made by a stranger, his nose would have told him this. a great longing to find the maker of those footprints took possession of him. he lifted his handsome head and listened for some slight sound which might show that the stranger was near. with his delicate nostrils he tested the wandering little night breezes for a stray whiff of scent to tell him which way to go. but there was no sound and the wandering little night breezes told him nothing. lightfoot followed the dainty footprints up the bank. there they disappeared, for the ground was hard. lightfoot paused, undecided which way to go. chapter xxxii lightfoot sees the stranger lightfoot the deer was unhappy. it was a strange unhappiness, an unhappiness such as he had never known before. you see, he had discovered that there was a stranger in the green forest, a stranger of his own kind, another deer. he knew it by dainty footprints in the mud along the laughing brook and on the edge of the pond of paddy the beaver. he knew it by other signs which he ran across every now and then. but search as he would, he was unable to find that newcomer. he had searched everywhere but always he was just too late. the stranger had been and gone. now there was no anger in lightfoot's desire to find that stranger. instead, there was a great longing. for the first time in his life lightfoot felt lonely. so he hunted and hunted and was unhappy. he lost his appetite. he slept little. he roamed about uneasily, looking, listening, testing every merry little breeze, but all in vain. then, one never-to-be-forgotten night, as he drank at the laughing brook, a strange feeling swept over him. it was the feeling of being watched. lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and a slight movement caught his quick eye and drew it to a thicket not far away. the silvery light of gentle mistress moon fell full on that thicket, and thrust out from it was the most beautiful head in all the great world. at least, that is the way it seemed to lightfoot, though to tell the truth it was not as beautiful as his own, for it was uncrowned by antlers. for a long minute lightfoot stood gazing. a pair of wonderful, great, soft eyes gazed back at him. then that beautiful head disappeared. with a mighty bound, lightfoot cleared the laughing brook and rushed over to the thicket in which that beautiful head had disappeared. he plunged in, but there was no one there. frantically he searched, but that thicket was empty. then he stood still and listened. not a sound reached him. it was as still as if there were no other living things in all the green forest. the beautiful stranger had slipped away as silently as a shadow. all the rest of that night lightfoot searched through the green forest but his search was in vain. the longing to find that beautiful stranger had become so great that he fairly ached with it. it seemed to him that until he found her he could know no happiness. chapter xxxiii a different game of hide and seek once more lightfoot the deer was playing hide and seek in the green forest. but it was a very different game from the one he had played just a short time before. you remember that then it had been for his life that he had played, and he was the one who had done all the hiding. now, he was "it", and some one else was doing the hiding. instead of the dreadful fear which had filled him in that other game, he was now filled with longing,--longing to find and make friends with the beautiful stranger of whom he had just once caught a glimpse, but of whom every day he found tracks. at times lightfoot would lose his temper. yes, sir, lightfoot would lose his temper. that was a foolish thing to do, but it seemed to him that he just couldn't help it. he would stamp his feet angrily and thrash the bushes with his great spreading antlers as if they were an enemy with whom he was fighting. more than once when he did this a pair of great, soft, gentle eyes were watching him, though he didn't know it. if he could have seen them and the look of admiration in them, he would have been more eager than ever to find that beautiful stranger. at other times lightfoot would steal about through the green forest as noiselessly as a shadow. he would peer into thickets and behind tangles of fallen trees and brush piles, hoping to surprise the one he sought. he would be very, very patient. perhaps he would come to the thicket which he knew from the signs the stranger had left only a few moments before. then his patience would vanish in impatience, and he would dash ahead, eager to catch up with the shy stranger. but always it was in vain. he had thought himself very clever but this stranger was proving herself more clever. of course it wasn't long before all the little people in the green forest knew what was going on. they knew all about that game of hide and seek just as they had known all about that other game of hide and seek with the hunters. but now, instead of trying to help lightfoot as they did then, they gave him no help at all. the fact is, they were enjoying that game. mischievous sammy jay even went so far as to warn the stranger several times when lightfoot was approaching. of course lightfoot knew when sammy did this, and each time he lost his temper. for the time being, he quite forgot all that sammy had done for him when he was the one that was being hunted. once lightfoot almost ran smack into buster bear and was so provoked by his own carelessness that instead of bounding away he actually threatened to fight buster. but when buster grinned good-naturedly at him, lightfoot thought better of it and bounded away to continue his search. then there were times when lightfoot would sulk and would declare over and over to himself, "i don't care anything about that stranger. i won't spend another minute looking for her," and then within five minutes he would be watching, listening and seeking some sign that she was still in the green forest. chapter xxxiv a startling new footprint the game of hide and seek between lightfoot the deer and the beautiful stranger whose dainty footprints had first started lightfoot to seeking her had been going on for several days and nights when lightfoot found something which gave him a shock. he had stolen very softly down to the laughing brook, hoping to surprise the beautiful stranger drinking there. she wasn't to be seen. lightfoot wondered if she had been there, so looked in the mud at the edge of the laughing brook to see if there were any fresh prints of those dainty feet. almost at once he discovered fresh footprints. they were not the prints he was looking for. no, sir, they were not the dainty prints he had learned to know so well. they were prints very near the size of his own big ones, and they had been made only a short time before. the finding of those prints was a dreadful shock to lightfoot. he understood instantly what they meant. they meant that a second stranger had come into the green forest, one who had antlers like his own. jealousy took possession of lightfoot the deer; jealousy that filled his heart with rage. "he has come here to seek that beautiful stranger i have been hunting for," thought lightfoot. "he has come here to try to steal her away from me. he has no right here in my green forest. he belongs back up on the great mountain from which he must have come, for there is no other place he could have come from. that is where that beautiful stranger must have come from, too. i want her to stay, but i must drive this fellow out. i'll make him fight. that's what i'll do; i'll make him fight! i'm not afraid of him, but i'll make him fear me." lightfoot stamped his feet and with his great antlers thrashed the bushes as if he felt that they were the enemy he sought. could you have looked into his great eyes then, you would have found nothing soft and beautiful about them. they became almost red with anger. lightfoot quivered all over with rage. the hair on the back of his neck stood up. lightfoot the deer looked anything but gentle. after he had vented his spite for a few minutes on the harmless, helpless bushes, he threw his head high in the air and whistled angrily. then he leaped over the laughing brook and once more began to search through the green forest. but this time it was not for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet. he had no time to think of her now. he must first find this newcomer and he meant to waste no time in doing it. chapter xxxv lightfoot is reckless in his search for the new stranger who had come to the green forest, lightfoot the deer was wholly reckless. he no longer stole like a gray shadow from thicket to thicket as he had done when searching for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet. he bounded along, careless of how much noise he made. from time to time he would stop to whistle a challenge and to clash his horns against the trees and stamp the ground with his feet. after such exhibitions of anger he would pause to listen, hoping to hear some sound which would tell him where the stranger was. now and then he found the stranger's tracks, and from them he knew that this stranger was doing just what he had been doing, seeking to find the beautiful newcomer with the dainty feet. each time he found these signs lightfoot's rage increased. of course it didn't take sammy jay long to discover what was going on. there is little that escapes those sharp eyes of sammy jay. as you know, he had early discovered the game of hide and seek lightfoot had been playing with the beautiful young visitor who had come down to the green forest from the great mountain. then, by chance, sammy had visited the laughing brook just as the big stranger had come down there to drink. for once sammy had kept his tongue still. "there is going to be excitement here when lightfoot discovers this fellow," thought sammy. "if they ever meet, and i have a feeling that they will, there is going to be a fight worth seeing. i must pass the word around." so sammy jay hunted up his cousin, blacky the crow, and told him what he had discovered. then he hunted up bobby coon and told him. he saw unc' billy possum sitting in the doorway of his hollow tree and told him. he discovered jumper the hare sitting under a little hemlock-tree and told him. then he flew over to the dear old briar-patch to tell peter rabbit. of course he told drummer the woodpecker, tommy tit the chickadee, and yank yank the nuthatch, who were over in the old orchard, and they at once hurried to the green forest, for they couldn't think of missing anything so exciting as would be the meeting between lightfoot and the big stranger from the great mountain. sammy didn't forget to tell paddy the beaver, but it was no news to paddy. paddy had seen the big stranger on the edge of his pond early the night before. of course, lightfoot knew nothing about all this. his one thought was to find that big stranger and drive him from the green forest, and so he continued his search tirelessly. chapter xxxvi sammy jay takes a hand sammy jay was bubbling over with excitement as he flew about through the green forest, following lightfoot the deer. he was so excited he wanted to scream. but he didn't. he kept his tongue still. you see, he didn't want lightfoot to know that he was being followed. under that pointed cap of sammy jay's are quick wits. it didn't take him long to discover that the big stranger whom lightfoot was seeking was doing his best to keep out of lightfoot's way and that he was having no difficulty in doing so because of the reckless way in which lightfoot was searching for him. lightfoot made so much noise that it was quite easy to know just where he was and to keep out of his sight. "that stranger is nearly as big as lightfoot, but it is very plain that he doesn't want to fight," thought sammy. "he must be a coward." now the truth is, the stranger was not a coward. he was ready and willing to fight if he had to, but if he could avoid fighting he meant to. you see, big as he was, he wasn't quite so big as lightfoot, and he knew it. he had seen lightfoot's big footprints, and from their size he knew that lightfoot must be bigger and heavier than he. then, too, he knew that he really had no right to be there in the green forest. that was lightfoot's home and so he was an intruder. he knew that lightfoot would feel this way about it and that this would make him fight all the harder. so the big stranger wanted to avoid a fight if possible. but he wanted still more to find that beautiful young visitor with the dainty feet for whom lightfoot had been looking. he wanted to find her just as lightfoot wanted to find her, and he hoped that if he did find her, he could take her away with him back to the great mountain. if he had to, he would fight for her, but until he had to he would keep out of the fight. so he dodged lightfoot and at the same time looked for the beautiful stranger. all this sammy jay guessed, and after a while he grew tired of following lightfoot for nothing. "i'll have to take a hand in this thing myself," muttered sammy. "at this rate, lightfoot never will find that big stranger!" so sammy stopped following lightfoot and began to search through the green forest for the big stranger. it didn't take very long to find him. he was over near the pond of paddy the beaver. as soon as he saw him, sammy began to scream at the top of his lungs. at once he heard the sound of snapping twigs at the top of a little ridge back of paddy's pond and knew that lightfoot had heard and understood. chapter xxxvii the great fight down from the top of the ridge back of the pond of paddy the beaver plunged lightfoot the deer, his eyes blazing with rage. he had understood the screaming of sammy jay. he knew that somewhere down there was the big stranger he had been looking for. the big stranger had understood sammy's screaming quite as well as lightfoot. he knew that to run away now would be to prove himself a coward and forever disgrace himself in the eyes of miss daintyfoot, for that was the name of the beautiful stranger he had been seeking. he _must_ fight. there was no way out of it, he _must_ fight. the hair on the back of his neck stood up with anger just as did the hair on the neck of lightfoot. his eyes also blazed. he bounded out into a little open place by the pond of paddy the beaver and there he waited. meanwhile sammy jay was flying about in the greatest excitement, screaming at the top of his lungs, "a fight! a fight! a fight!" blacky the crow, over in another part of the green forest, heard him and took up the cry and at once hurried over to paddy's pond. everybody who was near enough hurried there. bobby coon and unc' billy possum climbed trees from which they could see and at the same time be safe. billy mink hurried to a safe place on the dam of paddy the beaver. paddy himself climbed up on the roof of his house out in the pond. peter rabbit and jumper the hare, who happened to be not far away, hurried over where they could peep out from under some young hemlock-trees. buster bear shuffled down the hill and watched from the other side of the pond. reddy and granny fox were both there. for what seemed like the longest time, but which was for only a minute, lightfoot and the big stranger stood still, glaring at each other. then, snorting with rage, they lowered their heads and plunged together. their antlers clashed with a noise that rang through the green forest, and both fell to their knees. there they pushed and struggled. then they separated and backed away, to repeat the movement over again. it was a terrible fight. everybody said so. if they had not known before, everybody knew now what those great antlers were for. once the big stranger managed to reach lightfoot's right shoulder with one of the sharp points of his antlers and made a long tear in lightfoot's gray coat. it only made lightfoot fight harder. sometimes they would rear up and strike with their sharp hoofs. back and forth they plunged, and the ground was torn up by their feet. both were getting out of breath, and from time to time they had to stop for a moment's rest. then they would come together again more fiercely than ever. never had such a fight been seen in the green forest. chapter xxxviii an unseen watcher as lightfoot the deer and the big stranger from the great mountain fought in the little opening near the pond of paddy the beaver, neither knew or cared who saw them. each was filled fully with rage and determined to drive the other from the green forest. each was fighting for the right to win the love of miss daintyfoot. neither of them knew that miss daintyfoot herself was watching them. but she was. she had heard the clash of their great antlers as they had come together the first time, and she had known exactly what it meant. timidly she had stolen forward to a thicket where, safely hidden, she could watch that terrible fight. she knew that they were fighting for her. of course. she knew it just as she had known how both had been hunting for her. what she didn't know for some time was which one she wanted to win that fight. both lightfoot and the big stranger were handsome. yes, indeed, they were very handsome. lightfoot was just a little bit the bigger and it seemed to her just a little bit the handsomer. she almost wanted him to win. then, when she saw how bravely the big stranger was fighting and how well he was holding his own, even though he was a little smaller than lightfoot, she almost hoped he would win. that great fight lasted a long time. to pretty miss daintyfoot it seemed that it never would end. but after a while lightfoot's greater size and strength began to tell. little by little the big stranger was forced back towards the edge of the open place. now he would be thrown to his knees when lightfoot wasn't. as lightfoot saw this, he seemed to gain new strength. at last he caught the stranger in such a way that he threw him over. while the stranger struggled to get to his feet again, lightfoot's sharp antlers made long tears in his gray coat. the stranger was beaten and he knew it. the instant he succeeded in getting to his feet he turned tail and plunged for the shelter of the green forest. with a snort of triumph, lightfoot plunged after him. but now that he was beaten, fear took possession of the stranger. all desire to fight left him. his one thought was to get away, and fear gave him speed. straight back towards the great mountain from which he had come the stranger headed. lightfoot followed only a short distance. he knew that that stranger was going for good and would not come back. then lightfoot turned back to the open place where they had fought. there he threw up his beautiful head, crowned by its great antlers, and whistled a challenge to all the green forest. as she looked at him, miss daintyfoot knew that she had wanted him to win. she knew that there simply couldn't be anybody else so handsome and strong and brave in all the great world. chapter xxxix lightfoot discovers love wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer as he stood in the little opening by the pond of paddy the beaver, his head thrown back proudly, as he received the congratulations of his neighbors of the green forest who had seen him win the great fight with the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain. to beautiful miss daintyfoot, peeping out from the thicket where she had hidden to watch the great fight, lightfoot was the most wonderful person in all the great world. she adored him, which means that she loved him just as much as it was possible for her to love. but lightfoot didn't know this. in fact, he didn't know that miss daintyfoot was there. his one thought had been to drive out of the green forest the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain. he had been jealous of that big stranger, though he hadn't known that he was jealous. the real cause of his anger and desire to fight had been the fear that the big stranger would find miss daintyfoot and take her away. of course this was nothing but jealousy. now that the great fight was over, and he knew that the big stranger was hurrying back to the great mountain, all lightfoot's anger melted away. in its place was a great longing to find miss daintyfoot. his great eyes became once more soft and beautiful. in them was a look of wistfulness. lightfoot walked down to the edge of the water and drank, for he was very, very thirsty. then he turned, intending to take up once more his search for beautiful miss daintyfoot. when he turned he faced the thicket in which miss daintyfoot was hiding. his keen eyes caught a little movement of the branches. a beautiful head was slowly thrust out, and lightfoot gazed again into a pair of soft eyes which he was sure were the most beautiful eyes in all the great world. he wondered if she would disappear and run away as she had the last time he saw her. he took a step or two forward. the beautiful head was withdrawn. lightfoot's heart sank. then he bounded forward into that thicket. he more than half expected to find no one there, but when he entered that thicket he received the most wonderful surprise in all his life. there stood miss daintyfoot, timid, bashful, but with a look in her eyes which lightfoot could not mistake. in that instant lightfoot understood the meaning of that longing which had kept him hunting for her and of the rage which had filled him when he had discovered the presence of the big stranger from the great mountain. it was love. lightfoot knew that he loved miss daintyfoot and, looking into her soft, gentle eyes, he knew that miss daintyfoot loved him. chapter xl happy days in the green forest these were happy days in the green forest. at least, they were happy for lightfoot the deer. they were the happiest days he had ever known. you see, he had won beautiful, slender, young miss daintyfoot, and now she was no longer miss daintyfoot but mrs. lightfoot. lightfoot was sure that there was no one anywhere so beautiful as she, and mrs. lightfoot knew that there was no one so handsome and brave as he. wherever lightfoot went, mrs. lightfoot went. he showed her all his favorite hiding-places. he led her to his favorite eating-places. she did not tell him that she was already acquainted with every one of them, that she knew the green forest quite as well as he did. if he had stopped to think how day after day she had managed to keep out of his sight while he hunted for her, he would have realized that there was little he could show her which she did not already know. but he didn't stop to think and proudly led her from place to place. and mrs. lightfoot wisely expressed delight with all she saw quite as if it were all new. of course, all the little people of the green forest hurried to pay their respects to mrs. lightfoot and to tell lightfoot how glad they felt for him. and they really did feel glad. you see, they all loved lightfoot and they knew that now he would be happier than ever, and that there would be no danger of his leaving the green forest because of loneliness. the green forest would not be the same at all without lightfoot the deer. lightfoot told mrs. lightfoot all about the terrible days of the hunting season and how glad he was that she had not been in the green forest then. he told her how the hunters with terrible guns had given him no rest and how he had had to swim the big river to get away from the hounds. "i know," replied mrs. lightfoot softly. "i know all about it. you see, there were hunters on the great mountain. in fact, that is how i happened to come down to the green forest. they hunted me so up there that i did not dare stay, and i came down here thinking that there might be fewer hunters. i wouldn't have believed that i could ever be thankful to hunters for anything, but i am, truly i am." there was a puzzled look on lightfoot's face. "what for?" he demanded. "i can't imagine anybody being thankful to hunters for anything." "oh, you stupid," cried mrs. lightfoot. "don't you see that if i hadn't been driven down from the great mountain, i never would have found _you_?" "you mean, i never would have found _you_," retorted lightfoot. "i guess i owe these hunters more than you do. i owe them the greatest happiness i have ever known, but i never would have thought of it myself. isn't it queer how things which seem the very worst possible sometimes turn out to be the very best possible?" blacky the crow is one of lightfoot's friends, but sometimes even friends are envious. it is so with blacky. he insists that he is quite as important in the green forest as is lightfoot and that his doings are quite as interesting. therefore just to please him the next book is to be blacky the crow. lightfoot the deer by thornton w. burgess contents i: peter rabbit meets lightfoot ii: lightfoot's new antlers iii: lightfoot tells how his antlers grew iv: the spirit of fear v: sammy jay brings lightfoot word vi: a game of hide and seek vii: the merry little breezes help lightfoot viii: wit against wit ix: lightfoot becomes uncertain x: lightfoot's clever trick xi: the hunted watches the hunter xii: lightfoot visits paddy the beaver xiii: lightfoot and paddy become partners xiv: how paddy warned lightfoot xv: the three watchers xvi: visitors to paddy's pond xvii: sammy jay arrives xviii: the hunter loses his temper xix: sammy jay is modest xx: lightfoot hears a dreadful sound xxi: how lightfoot got rid of the hounds xxii: lightfoot's long swim xxiii: lightfoot finds a friend xxiv: the hunter is disappointed xxv: the hunter lies in wait xxvi: lightfoot does the wise thing xxvii: sammy jay worries xxviii: the hunting season ends xxix: mr. and mrs. quack are startled xxx: the mystery is solved xxxi: a surprising discovery xxxii: lightfoot sees the stranger xxxiii: a different game of hide and seek xxxiv: a startling new footprint xxxv: lightfoot is reckless xxxvi: sammy jay takes a hand xxxvii: the great fight xxxviii: an unseen watcher xxxix: lightfoot discovers love xl: happy days in the green forest chapter i: peter rabbit meets lightfoot peter rabbit was on his way back from the pond of paddy the beaver deep in the green forest. he had just seen mr. and mrs. quack start toward the big river for a brief visit before leaving on their long, difficult journey to the far-away southland. farewells are always rather sad, and this particular farewell had left peter with a lump in his throat,--a queer, choky feeling. "if i were sure that they would return next spring, it wouldn't be so bad," he muttered. "it's those terrible guns. i know what it is to have to watch out for them. farmer brown's boy used to hunt me with one of them, but he doesn't any more. but even when he did hunt me it wasn't anything like what the ducks have to go through. if i kept my eyes and ears open, i could tell when a hunter was coming and could hide in a hole if i wanted to. i never had to worry about my meals. but with the ducks it is a thousand times worse. they've got to eat while making that long journey, and they can eat only where there is the right kind of food. hunters with terrible guns know where those places are and hide there until the ducks come, and the ducks have no way of knowing whether the hunters are waiting for them or not. that isn't hunting. it's--it's--" "well, what is it? what are you talking to yourself about, peter rabbit?" peter looked up with a start to find the soft, beautiful eyes of lightfoot the deer gazing down at him over the top of a little hemlock tree. "it's awful," declared peter. "it's worse than unfair. it doesn't give them any chance at all." "i suppose it must be so if you say so," replied lightfoot, "but you might tell me what all this awfulness is about." peter grinned. then he began at the beginning and told lightfoot all about mr. and mrs. quack and the many dangers they must face on their long journey to the far-away southland and back again in the spring, all because of the heartless hunters with terrible guns. lightfoot listened and his great soft eyes were filled with pity for the quack family. "i hope they will get through all right," said he, "and i hope they will get back in the spring. it is bad enough to be hunted by men at one time of the year, as no one knows better than i do, but to be hunted in the spring as well as in the fall is more than twice as bad. men are strange creatures. i do not understand them at all. none of the people of the green forest would think of doing such terrible things. i suppose it is quite right to hunt others in order to get enough to eat, though i am thankful to say that i never have had to do that, but to hunt others just for the fun of hunting is something i cannot understand at all. and yet that is what men seem to do it for. i guess the trouble is they never have been hunted themselves and don't know how it feels. sometimes i think i'll hunt one some day just to teach him a lesson. what are you laughing at, peter?" "at the idea of you hunting a man," replied peter. "your heart is all right, lightfoot, but you are too timid and gentle to frighten any one. big as you are i wouldn't fear you." with a single swift bound lightfoot sprang out in front of peter. he stamped his sharp hoofs, lowered his handsome head until the sharp points of his antlers, which people call horns, pointed straight at peter, lifted the hair along the back of his neck, and made a motion as if to plunge at him. his eyes, which peter had always thought so soft and gentle, seemed to flash fire. "oh!" cried peter in a faint, frightened-sounding voice and leaped to one side before it entered his foolish little head that lightfoot was just pretending. lightfoot chuckled. "did you say i couldn't frighten any one?" he demanded. "i--i didn't know you could look so terribly fierce," stammered peter. "those antlers look really dangerous when you point them that way. why--why--what is that hanging to them? it looks like bits of old fur. have you been tearing somebody's coat, lightfoot?" peter's eyes were wide with wonder and suspicion. chapter ii: lightfoot's new antlers peter rabbit was puzzled. he stared at lightfoot the deer a wee bit suspiciously. "have you been tearing somebody's coat?" he asked again. he didn't like to think it of lightfoot, whom he always had believed quite as gentle, harmless, and timid as himself. but what else could he think? lightfoot slowly shook his head. "no," said he, "i haven't torn anybody's coat." "then what are those rags hanging on your antlers?" demanded peter. lightfoot chuckled. "they are what is left of the coverings of my new antlers," he explained. "what's that? what do you mean by new antlers?" peter was sitting up very straight, with his eyes fixed on lightfoot's antlers as though he never had seen them before. "just what i said," retorted lightfoot. "what do you think of them? i think they are the finest antlers i've ever had. when i get the rest of those rags off, they will be as handsome a set as ever was grown in the green forest." lightfoot rubbed his antlers against the trunk of a tree till some of the rags hanging to them dropped off. peter blinked very hard. he was trying to understand and he couldn't. finally he said so. "what kind of a story are you trying to fill me up with?" he demanded indignantly. "do you mean to tell me that those are not the antlers that you have had as long as i've known you? how can anything hard like those antlers grow? and if those are new ones, where are the old ones? show me the old ones, and perhaps i'll believe that these are new ones. the idea of trying to make me believe that antlers grow just like plants! i've seen bossy the cow all summer and i know she has got the same horns she had last summer. new antlers indeed!" "you are quite right, peter, quite right about bossy the cow. she never has new horns, but that isn't any reason why i shouldn't have new antlers, is it?" replied lightfoot patiently. "her horns are quite different from my antlers. i have a new pair every year. you haven't seen me all summer, have you, peter?" "no, i don't remember that i have," replied peter, trying very hard to remember when he had last seen lightfoot. "i know you haven't," retorted lightfoot. "i know it because i have been hiding in a place you never visit." "what have you been hiding for?" demanded peter. "for my new antlers to grow," replied lightfoot. "when my new antlers are growing, i want to be away by myself. i don't like to be seen without them or with halfgrown ones. besides, i am very uncomfortable while the new antlers are growing and i want to be alone." lightfoot spoke as if he really meant every word he said, but still peter couldn't, he just couldn't believe that those wonderful great antlers had grown out of lightfoot's head in a single summer. "where did you leave your old ones and when did they come off?" he asked, and there was doubt in the very tone of his voice. "they dropped off last spring, but i don't remember just where," replied lightfoot. "i was too glad to be rid of them to notice where they dropped. you see they were loose and uncomfortable, and i hadn't any more use for them because i knew that my new ones would be bigger and better. i've got one more point on each than i had last year." lightfoot began once more to rub his antlers against the tree to get off the queer rags hanging to them and to polish the points. peter watched in silence for a few minutes. then, all his suspicions returning, he said: "but you haven't told me anything about those rags hanging to your antlers." "and you haven't believed what i have already told you," retorted lightfoot. "i don't like telling things to people who won't believe me." chapter iii: lightfoot tells how his antlers grew it is hard to believe what seems impossible. and yet what seems impossible to you may be a very commonplace matter to some one else. so it does not do to say that a thing cannot be possible just because you cannot understand how it can be. peter rabbit wanted to believe what lightfoot the deer had just told him, but somehow he couldn't. if he had seen those antlers growing, it would have been another matter. but he hadn't seen lightfoot since the very last of winter, and then lightfoot had worn just such handsome antlers as he now had. so peter really couldn't be blamed for not being able to believe that those old ones had been lost and in their place new ones had grown in just the few months of spring and summer. but peter didn't blame lightfoot in the least, because he had told peter that he didn't like to tell things to people who wouldn't believe what he told them when peter had asked him about the rags hanging to his antlers. "i'm trying to believe it," he said, quite humbly. "it's all true," broke in another voice. peter jumped and turned to find his big cousin, jumper the hare. unseen and unheard, he had stolen up and had overheard what peter and lightfoot had said. "how do you know it is true?" snapped peter a little crossly, for jumper had startled him. "because i saw lightfoot's old antlers after they had fallen off, and i often saw lightfoot while his new ones were growing," retorted jumper. "all right! i'll believe anything that lightfoot tells me if you say it is true," declared peter, who greatly admires his cousin, jumper. "now tell me about those rags, lightfoot. please do." lightfoot couldn't resist that "please." "those rags are what is left of a kind of covering which protected the antlers while they were growing, as i told you before," said he. "very soon after my old ones dropped off the new ones began to grow. they were not hard, not at all like they are now. they were soft and very tender, and the blood ran through them just as it does through our bodies. they were covered with a sort of skin with hairs on it like thin fur. the ends were not sharply pointed they now are, but were big and rounded, like knobs. they were not like antlers at all, and they made my head hot and were very uncomfortable. that is why i hid away. they grew very fast, so fast that every day i could see by looking at my reflection in water that they were a little longer. it seemed to me sometimes as if all my strength went into those new antlers. and i had to be very careful not to hit them against anything. in the first place it would have hurt, and in the second place it might have spoiled the shape of them. "when they had grown to the length you now see, they began to shrink and grow hard. the knobs on the ends shrank until they became pointed. as soon as they stopped growing the blood stopped flowing up in them, and as they became hard they were no longer tender. the skin which had covered them grew dry and split, and i rubbed it off on trees and bushes. the little rags you see are what is left, but i will soon be rid of those. then i shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him." lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers against the nearest tree. "isn't he handsome," whispered peter to jumper the hare; "and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the growing of those new antlers in such a short time? it is hard to believe, but i suppose it must be true." "it is," replied jumper, "and i tell you, peter, i would hate to have lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though i were big as a man. you've always thought of lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should see him when he is angry. few people care to face him then." chapter iv: the spirit of fear when the days grow cold and the nights are clear, there stalks abroad the spirit of fear. --lightfoot the deer. it is sad but true. autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it is the sad time. but it shouldn't be. old mother nature never intended that it should be. she meant it to be the glad time. it is the time when all the little people of the green forest and the green meadows have got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching their children how to look out for themselves. it is the season when food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free. it is the season when old mother nature intended all her little people to be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always brings. but instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the green meadows and through the green forest, and it is called the spirit of fear. it peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly, round, bright mr. sun cannot chase away, though he shine his brightest. all night as well as all day the spirit of fear searches out the little people of the green meadows and the green forest. it will not let them sleep. it will not let them eat in peace. it drives them to seek new hiding-places and then drives them out of those. it keeps them ever ready to fly or run at the slightest sound. peter rabbit was thinking of this as he sat at the edge of the dear old briar-patch, looking over to the green forest. the green forest was no longer just green; it was of many colors, for old mother nature had set jack frost to painting the leaves of the maple-trees and the beech-trees, and the birch-trees and the poplar-trees and the chestnut-trees, and he had done his work well. very, very lovely were the reds and yellows and browns against the dark green of the pines and the spruces and the hemlocks. the purple hills were more softly purple than at any other season of the year. it was all very, very beautiful. but peter had no thought for the beauty of it all, for the spirit of fear had visited even the dear old briar-patch, and peter was afraid. it wasn't fear of reddy fox, or redtail the hawk, or hooty the owl, or old man coyote. they were forever trying to catch him, but they did not strike terror to his heart because he felt quite smart enough to keep out of their clutches. to be sure, they gave him sudden frights sometimes, when they happened to surprise him, but these frights lasted only until he reached the nearest bramble-tangle or hollow log where they could not get at him. but the fear that chilled his heart now never left him even for a moment. and peter knew that this same fear was clutching at the hearts of bob white, hiding in the brown stubble; of mrs. grouse, squatting in the thickest bramble-tangle in the green forest; of uncle billy possum and bobby coon in their hollow trees; of jerry muskrat in the smiling pool; of happy jack squirrel, hiding in the tree tops; of lightfoot the deer, lying in the closest thicket he could find. it was even clutching at the hearts of granny and reddy fox and of great, big buster bear. it seemed to peter that no one was so big or so small that this terrible spirit of fear had not searched him out. far in the distance sounded a sudden bang. peter jumped and shivered. he knew that every one else who had heard that bang had jumped and shivered just as he had. it was the season of hunters with terrible guns. it was man who had sent this terrible spirit of fear to chill the hearts of the little meadow and forest people at this very time when old mother nature had made all things so beautiful and had intended that they should be happiest and most free from care and worry. it was man who had made the autumn a sad time instead of a glad time, the very saddest time of all the year, when old mother nature had done her best to make it the most beautiful. "i don't understand these men creatures," said peter to little mrs. peter, as they stared fearfully out from the dear old briar-patch. "they seem to find pleasure, actually find pleasure, in trying to kill us. i don't understand them at all. they haven't any hearts. that must be the reason; they haven't any hearts." chapter v: sammy jay brings lightfoot word sammy jay is one of those who believe in the wisdom of the old saying, "early to bed and early to rise." sammy needs no alarm clock to get up early in the morning. he is awake as soon as it is light enough to see and wastes no time wishing he could sleep a little longer. his stomach wouldn't let him if he wanted to. sammy always wakes up hungry. in this he is no different from all his feathered neighbors. so the minute sammy gets his eyes open he makes his toilet, for sammy is very neat, and starts out to hunt for his breakfast. long ago sammy discovered that there is no safer time of day to visit the dooryards of those two-legged creatures called men than very early in the morning. on this particular morning he had planned to fly over to farmer brown's dooryard, but at the last minute he changed his mind. instead, he flew over to the dooryard of another farm. it was so very early in the morning that sammy didn't expect to find anybody stirring, so you can guess how surprised he was when, just as he came in sight of that dooryard, he saw the door of the house open and a man step out. sammy stopped on the top of the nearest tree. "now what is that man doing up as early as this?" muttered sammy. then he caught sight of something under the man's arm. he didn't have to look twice to know what it was. it was a gun! yes, sir, it was a gun, a terrible gun. "ha!" exclaimed sammy, and quite forgot that his stomach was empty. "now who can that fellow be after so early in the morning? i wonder if he is going to the dear old briar-patch to look for peter rabbit, or if he is going to the old pasture in search of reddy fox, or if it is mr. and mrs. grouse he hopes to kill. i think i'll sit right here and watch." so sammy sat in the top of the tree and watched the hunter with the terrible gun. he saw him head straight for the green forest. "it's mr. and mrs. grouse after all, i guess," thought sammy. "if i knew just where they were i'd go over and warn them." but sammy didn't know just where they were and he knew that it might take him a long time to find them, so he once more began to think of breakfast and then, right then, another thought popped into his head. he thought of lightfoot the deer. sammy watched the hunter enter the green forest, then he silently followed him. from the way the hunter moved, sammy decided that he wasn't thinking of mr. and mrs. grouse. "it's lightfoot the deer, sure as i live," muttered sammy. "he ought to be warned. he certainly ought to be warned. i know right where he is. i believe i'll warn him myself." sammy found lightfoot right where he had expected to. "he's coming!" cried sammy. "a hunter with a terrible gun is coming!" chapter vi: a game of hide and seek there was a game of hide and seek that danny meadow mouse once played with buster bear. it was a very dreadful game for danny. but hard as it was for danny, it didn't begin to be as hard as the game lightfoot the deer was playing with the hunter in the green forest. in the case of buster bear and danny, the latter had simply to keep out of reach of buster. as long as buster didn't get his great paws on danny, the latter was safe. then, too, danny is a very small person. he is so small that he can hide under two or three leaves. wherever he is, he is pretty sure to find a hiding-place of some sort. his small size gives him advantages in a game of hide and seek. it certainly does. but lightfoot the deer is big. he is one of the largest of the people who live in the green forest. being so big, it is not easy to hide. moreover, a hunter with a terrible gun does not have to get close in order to kill. lightfoot knew all this as he waited for the coming of the hunter of whom sammy jay had warned him. he had learned many lessons in the hunting season of the year before and he remembered every one of them. he knew that to forget even one of them might cost him his life. so, standing motionless behind a tangle of fallen trees, lightfoot listened and watched. presently over in the distance he heard sammy jay screaming, "thief, thief, thief!" a little sigh of relief escaped lightfoot. he knew that that screaming of sammy jay's was a warning to tell him where the hunter was. knowing just where the hunter was made it easier for lightfoot to know what to do. a merry little breeze came stealing through the green forest. it came from behind lightfoot and danced on towards the hunter with the terrible gun. instantly lightfoot began to steal softly away through the green forest. he took the greatest care to make no sound. he went in a half-circle, stopping every few steps to listen and test the air with his wonderful nose. can you guess what lightfoot was trying to do? he was trying to get behind the hunter so that the merry little breezes would bring to him the dreaded man-scent. so long as lightfoot could get that scent, he would know where the hunter was, though he could neither see nor hear him. if he had remained where sammy jay had found him, the hunter might have come within shooting distance before lightfoot could have located him. so the hunter with the terrible gun walked noiselessly through the green forest, stepping with the greatest care to avoid snapping a stick underfoot, searching with keen eye every thicket and likely hiding-place for a glimpse of lightfoot, and studying the ground for traces to show that lightfoot had been there. chapter vii: the merry little breezes help lightfoot could you have seen the hunter with the terrible gun and lightfoot the deer that morning on which the hunting season opened you might have thought that lightfoot was hunting the hunter instead of the hunter hunting lightfoot. you see, lightfoot was behind the hunter instead of in front of him. he was following the hunter, so as to keep track of him. as long as he knew just where the hunter was, he felt reasonably safe. the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends. they always bring to him all the different scents they find as they wander through the green forest. and lightfoot's delicate nose is so wonderful that he can take these scents, even though they be very faint, and tell just who or what has made them. so, though he makes the best possible use of his big ears and his beautiful eyes, he trusts more to his nose to warn him of danger. for this reason, during the hunting season when he moves about, he moves in the direction from which the merry little breezes may be blowing. he knows that they will bring to him warning of any danger which may lie in that direction. now the hunter with the terrible gun who was looking for lightfoot knew all this, for he was wise in the ways of lightfoot and of the other little people of the green forest. when he had entered the green forest that morning he had first of all made sure of the direction from which the merry little breezes were coming. then he had begun to hunt in that direction, knowing that thus his scent would be carried behind him. it is more than likely that he would have reached the hiding-place of lightfoot the deer before the latter would have known that he was in the green forest, had it not been for sammy jay's warning. when he reached the tangle of fallen trees behind which lightfoot had been hiding, he worked around it slowly and with the greatest care, holding his terrible gun ready to use instantly should lightfoot leap out. presently he found lightfoot's footprints in the soft ground and studying them he knew that lightfoot had known of his coming. "it was that confounded jay," muttered the hunter. "lightfoot heard him and knew what it meant. i know what he has done; he has circled round so as to get behind me and get my scent. it is a clever trick, a very clever trick, but two can play at that game. i'll just try that little trick myself." so the hunter in his turn made a wide circle back, and presently there was none of the dreaded man-smell among the scents which the merry little breezes brought to lightfoot. lightfoot had lost track of the hunter. chapter viii: wit against wit 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. chapter ix: lightfoot becomes uncertain lightfoot the deer traveled on through the green forest, straight ahead in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing. every few steps he would raise his delicate nose and test all the scents that the merry little breezes were bringing. so long as he kept the merry little breezes blowing in his face, he could be sure whether or not there was danger ahead of him. lightfoot uses his nose very much as you and i use our eyes. it tells him the things he wants to know. he knew that reddy fox had been along ahead of him, although he didn't get so much as a glimpse of reddy's red coat. once he caught just the faintest of scents which caused him to stop abruptly and test the air more carefully than ever. it was the scent of buster bear. but it was so very faint that lightfoot knew buster was not near, so he went ahead again, but even more carefully than before. after a little he couldn't smell buster at all, so he knew then that buster had merely passed that way when he was going to some other part of the green forest. lightfoot knew that he had nothing to fear in that direction so long as the merry little breezes brought him none of the dreaded man-scent, and he knew that he could trust the merry little breezes to bring him that scent if there should be a man anywhere in front of him. you know the merry little breezes are lightfoot's best friends. but lightfoot didn't want to keep going in that direction all day. it would take him far away from that part of the green forest with which he was familiar and which he called home. it might in time take him out of the green forest and that wouldn't do at all. so after a while lightfoot became uncertain. he didn't know just what to do. you see, he couldn't tell whether or not that hunter with the terrible gun was still following him. every once in a while he would stop in a thicket of young trees or behind a tangle of fallen trees uprooted by the wind. there he would stand, facing the direction from which he had come, and watch and listen for some sign that the hunter was still following. but after a few minutes of this he would grow uneasy and then bound away in the direction from which the merry little breezes were blowing, so as to be sure of not running into danger. "if only i could know if that hunter is still following, i would know better what to do," thought lightfoot. "i've got to find out." chapter x: lightfoot's clever trick lightfoot the deer is smart. yes, sir, lightfoot the deer is smart. he has to be, especially in the hunting season, to save his life. if he were not smart he would have been killed long ago. he never makes the foolish mistake of thinking that other people are not smart. he knew that the hunter who had started out to follow him early that morning was not one to be easily discouraged or to be fooled by simple tricks. he had a very great respect for the smartness of that hunter. he knew that he couldn't afford to be careless for one little minute. the certainty of danger is sometimes easier to bear than the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not there really is any danger. lightfoot felt that if he could know just where the hunter was, he himself would know better what to do. the hunter might have become discouraged and given up following him. in that case he could rest and stop worrying. it would be better to know that he was being followed than not to know. but how was he to find out? lightfoot kept turning this over and over in his mind as he traveled through the green forest. then an idea came to him. "i know what i'll do. i know just what i'll do," said lightfoot to himself. "i'll find out whether or not that hunter is still following me and i'll get a little rest. goodness knows, i need a rest." lightfoot bounded away swiftly and ran for some distance, then he turned and quickly, but very, very quietly, returned in the direction from which he had just come but a little to one side of his old trail. after a while he saw what he was looking for, a pile of branches which woodchoppers had left when they had trimmed the trees they had cut down. this was near the top of a little hill. lightfoot went up the hill and stopped behind the pile of brush. for a few moments he stood there perfectly still, looking and listening. then, with a little sigh of relief, he lay down, where, without being in any danger of being seen himself, he could watch his old trail through the hollow at the bottom of the hill. if the hunter were still following him, he would pass through that hollow in plain sight. for a long tune lightfoot rested comfortably behind the pile of brush. there was not a suspicious movement or a suspicious sound to show that danger was abroad in the green forest. he saw mr. and mrs. grouse fly down across the hollow and disappear among the trees on the other side. he saw unc' billy possum looking over a hollow tree and guessed that unc' billy was getting ready to go into winter quarters. he saw jumper the hare squat down under a low-hanging branch of a hemlock-tree and prepare to take a nap. he heard drummer the woodpecker at work drilling after worms in a tree not far away. little by little lightfoot grew easy in his mind. it must be that that hunter had become discouraged and was no longer following him. chapter xi: the hunted watches the hunter 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. chapter xii: lightfoot visits paddy the beaver deep in the green forest is the pond where lives paddy the beaver. it is paddy's own pond, for he made it himself. he made it by building a dam across the laughing brook. when lightfoot bounded away through the green forest, after watching the hunter pass through the hollow below him, he remembered paddy's pond. "that's where i'll go," thought lightfoot. "it is such a lonesome part of the green forest that i do not believe that hunter will come there. i'll just run over and make paddy a friendly call." so lightfoot bounded along deeper and deeper into the green forest. presently through the trees he caught the gleam of water. it was paddy's pond. lightfoot approached it cautiously. he felt sure he was rid of the hunter who had followed him so far that day, but he knew that there might be other hunters in the green forest. he knew that he couldn't afford to be careless for even one little minute. lightfoot had lived long enough to know that most of the sad things and dreadful things that happen in the green forest and on the green meadows are due to carelessness. no one who is hunted, be he big or little, can afford ever to be careless. now lightfoot had known of hunters hiding near water, hoping to shoot him when he came to drink. that always seemed to lightfoot a dreadful thing, an unfair thing. but hunters had done it before and they might do it again. so lightfoot was careful to approach paddy's pond upwind. that is, he approached the side of the pond from which the merry little breezes were blowing toward him, and all the time he kept his nose working. he knew that if any hunters were hidden there, the merry little breezes would bring him their scent and thus warn him. he had almost reached the edge of paddy's pond when from the farther shore there came a sudden crash. it startled lightfoot terribly for just an instant. then he guessed what it meant. that crash was the falling of a tree. there wasn't enough wind to blow over even the most shaky dead tree. there had been no sound of axes, so he knew it could not have been chopped down by men. it must be that paddy the beaver had cut it, and if paddy had been working in daylight, it was certain that no one had been around that pond for a long time. so lightfoot hurried forward eagerly, cautiously. when he reached the bank he looked across towards where the sound of that falling tree had come from; a branch of a tree was moving along in the water and half hidden by it was a brown head. it was paddy the beaver taking the branch to his food pile. chapter xiii: lightfoot and paddy become partners the instant lightfoot saw paddy the beaver he knew that for the time being, at least, there was no danger. he knew that paddy is one of the shyest of all the little people of the green forest and that when he is found working in the daytime it means that he has been undisturbed for a long time; otherwise he would work only at night. paddy saw lightfoot almost as soon as he stepped out on the bank. he kept right on swimming with the branch of a poplar-tree until he reached his food pile, which, you know, is in the water. there he forced the branch down until it was held by other branches already sunken in the pond. this done, he swam over to where lightfoot was watching. "hello, lightfoot!" he exclaimed. "you are looking handsomer than ever. how are you feeling these fine autumn days?" "anxious," replied lightfoot. "i am feeling terribly anxious. do you know what day this is?" "no," replied paddy, "i don't know what day it is, and i don't particularly care. it is enough for me that it is one of the finest days we've had for a long time." "i wish i could feel that way," said lightfoot wistfully. "i wish i could feel that way, paddy, but i can't. no, sir, i can't. you see, this is the first of the most dreadful days in all the year for me. the hunters started looking for me before mr. sun was really out of bed. at least one hunter did, and i don't doubt there are others. i fooled that one, but from now to the end of the hunting season there will not be a single moment of daylight when i will feel absolutely safe." paddy crept out on the bank and chewed a little twig of poplar thoughtfully. paddy says he can always think better if he is chewing something. "that's bad news, lightfoot. i'm sorry to hear it. i certainly am sorry to hear it," said paddy. "why anybody wants to hunt such a handsome fellow as you are, i cannot understand. my, but that's a beautiful set of antlers you have!" "they are the best i've ever had; but do you know, paddy, i suspect that they may be one of the reasons i am hunted so," replied lightfoot a little sadly. "good looks are not always to be desired. have you seen any hunters around here lately?" paddy shook his lead. "not a single hunter," he replied. "i tell you what it is, lightfoot, let's be partners for a while. you stay right around my pond. if i see or hear or smell anything suspicious, i'll warn you. you do the same for me. two sets of eyes, ears and noses are better than one. what do you say, lightfoot?" "i'll do it," replied lightfoot. chapter xiv: how paddy warned lightfoot it was a queer partnership, that partnership between lightfoot and paddy, but it was a good partnership. they had been the best of friends for a long time. paddy had always been glad to have lightfoot visit his pond. to tell the truth, he was rather fond of handsome lightfoot. you know paddy is himself not at all handsome. on land he is a rather clumsy-looking fellow and really homely. so he admired lightfoot greatly. that is one reason why he proposed that they be partners. lightfoot himself thought the idea a splendid one. he spent that night browsing not far from paddy's pond. with the coming of daylight he lay down in a thicket of young hemlock-trees near the upper end of the pond. it was a quiet, peaceful day. it was so quiet and peaceful and beautiful it was hard to believe that hunters with terrible guns were searching the green forest for beautiful lightfoot. but they were, and lightfoot knew that sooner or later one of them would be sure to visit paddy's pond. so, though he rested and took short naps all through that beautiful day, he was anxious. he couldn't help but be. the next morning found lightfoot back in the same place. but this morning he took no naps. he rested, but all the time he was watchful and alert. a feeling of uneasiness possessed him. he felt in his bones that danger in the shape of a hunter with a terrible gun was not far distant. but the hours slipped away, and little by little he grew less uneasy. he began to hope that that day would prove as peaceful as the previous day had been. then suddenly there was a sharp report from the farther end of paddy's pond. it was almost like a pistol shot. however, it wasn't a pistol shot. it wasn't a shot at all. it was the slap of paddy's broad tail on the surface of the water. instantly lightfoot was on his feet. he knew just what that meant. he knew that paddy had seen or heard or smelled a hunter. it was even so. paddy had heard a dry stick snap. it was a very tiny snap, but it was enough to warn paddy. with only his head above water he had watched in the direction from which that sound had come. presently, stealing quietly along towards the pond, a hunter had come in view. instantly paddy had brought his broad tail down on the water with all his force. he knew that lightfoot would know that that meant danger. then paddy had dived, and swimming under water, had sought the safety of his house. he had done his part, and there was nothing more he could do. chapter xv: the three watchers when paddy the beaver slapped the water with his broad tail, making a noise like a pistol shot, lightfoot understood that this was meant as a warning of danger. he was on his feet instantly, with eyes, ears and nose seeking the cause of paddy's warning. after a moment or two he stole softly up to the top of a little ridge some distance back from paddy's pond, but from the top of which he could see the whole of the pond. there he hid among some close-growing young hemlock-trees. it wasn't long before he saw a hunter with a terrible gun come down to the shore of the pond. now the hunter had heard paddy slap the water with his broad tail. of course. there would have been something very wrong with his ears had he failed to hear it. "confound that beaver!" muttered the hunter crossly. "if there was a deer anywhere around this pond, he probably is on his way now. i'll have a look around and see if there are any signs." so the hunter went on to the edge of paddy's pond and then began to walk around it, studying the ground as he walked. presently he found the footprints of lightfoot in the mud where lightfoot had gone down to the pond to drink. "i thought as much," muttered the hunter. "those tracks were made last night. that deer probably was lying down somewhere near here, and i might have had a shot but for that pesky beaver. i'll just look the land over, and then i think i'll wait here awhile. if that deer isn't too badly scared, he may come back." so the hunter went quite around the pond, looking into all likely hiding-places. he found where lightfoot had been lying, and he knew that in all probability lightfoot had been there when paddy gave the danger signal. "it's of no use for me to try to follow him," thought the hunter. "it is too dry for me to track him. he may not be so badly scared, after all. i'll just find a good place and wait." so the hunter found an old log behind some small trees and there sat down. he could see all around paddy's pond. he sat perfectly still. he was a clever hunter and he knew that so long as he did not move he was not likely to be noticed by any sharp eyes that might come that way. what he didn't know was that lightfoot had been watching him all the time and was even then standing where he could see him. and another thing he didn't know was that paddy the beaver had come out of his house and, swimming under water, had reached a hiding-place on the opposite shore from which he too had seen the hunter sit down on the log. so the hunter watched for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy watched the hunter. chapter xvi: visitors to paddy's pond that hunter was a man of patience. also he was a man who understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows. he knew that if he would not be seen he must not move. so he didn't move. he kept as motionless as if he were a part of the very log on which he was sitting. for some time there was no sign of any living thing. then, from over the tree tops in the direction of the big river, came the whistle of swift wings, and mr. and mrs. quack alighted with a splash in the pond. for a few moments they sat on the water, a picture of watchful suspicion. they were looking and listening to make sure that no danger was near. satisfied at last, they began to clean their feathers. it was plain that they felt safe. paddy the beaver was tempted to warn them that they were not as safe as they thought, but as long as the hunter did not move paddy decided to wait. now the hunter was sorely tempted to shoot these ducks, but he knew that if he did he would have no chance that day to get lightfoot the deer, and it was lightfoot he wanted. so mr. and mrs. quack swam about within easy range of that terrible gun without once suspecting that danger was anywhere near. by and by the hunter's keen eyes caught a movement at one end of paddy's dam. an instant later bobby coon appeared. it was clear that bobby was quite unsuspicious. he carried something, but just what the hunter could not make out. he took it down to the edge of the water and there carefully washed it. then he climbed up on paddy's dam and began to eat. you know bobby coon is very particular about his food. whenever there is water near, bobby washes his food before eating. once more the hunter was tempted, but did not yield to the temptation, which was a very good thing for bobby coon. all this lightfoot saw as he stood among the little hemlock-trees at the top of the ridge behind the hunter. he saw and he understood. "it is because he wants to kill me that he doesn't shoot at mr. and mrs. quack or bobby coon," thought lightfoot a little bitterly. "what have i ever done that he should be so anxious to kill me?" still the hunter sat without moving. mr. and mrs. quack contentedly hunted for food in the mud at the bottom of paddy's pond. bobby coon finished his meal, crossed the dam and disappeared in the green forest. he had gone off to take a nap somewhere. time slipped away. the hunter continued to watch patiently for lightfoot, and lightfoot and paddy the beaver watched the hunter. finally, another visitor appeared at the upper end of the pond--a visitor in a wonderful coat of red. it was reddy fox. chapter xvii: sammy jay arrives when reddy fox arrived at the pond of paddy the beaver, the hunter who was hiding there saw him instantly. so did lightfoot. but no one else did. he approached in that cautious, careful way that he always uses when he is hunting. the instant he reached a place where he could see all over paddy's pond, he stopped as suddenly as if he had been turned to stone. he stopped with one foot lifted in the act of taking a step. he had seen mr. and mrs. quack. now you know there is nothing reddy fox likes better for a dinner than a duck. the instant he saw mr. and mrs. quack, a gleam of longing crept into his eyes and his mouth began to water. he stood motionless until both mr. and mrs. quack had their heads under water as they searched for food in the mud in the bottom of the pond. then like a red flash he bounded out of sight behind the dam of paddy the beaver. presently the hunter saw reddy's black nose at the end of the dam as reddy peeped around it to watch mr. and mrs. quack. the latter were slowly moving along in that direction as they fed. reddy was quick to see this. if he remained right where he was, and mr. and mrs. quack kept on feeding in that direction, the chances were that he would have a dinner of fat duck. all he need do was to be patient and wait. so, with his eyes fixed fast on mr. and mrs. quack, reddy fox crouched behind paddy's dam and waited. watching reddy and the ducks, the hunter almost forgot lightfoot the deer. mr. and mrs. quack were getting very near to where reddy was waiting for them. the hunter was tempted to get up and frighten those ducks. he didn't want reddy fox to have them, because he hoped some day to get them himself. "i suppose," thought he, "i was foolish not to shoot them when i had the chance. they are too far away now, and it looks very much as if that red rascal will get one of them. i believe i'll spoil that red scamp's plans by frightening them away. i don't believe that deer will be back here to-day anyway, so i may as well save those ducks." but the hunter did nothing of the kind. you see, just as he was getting ready to step out from his hiding-place, sammy jay arrived. he perched in a tree close to the end of paddy's dam and at once he spied reddy fox. it didn't take him a second to discover what reddy was hiding there for. "thief, thief, thief!" screamed sammy, and then looked down at reddy with a mischievous look in his sharp eyes. there is nothing sammy jay delights in more than in upsetting the plans of reddy fox. at the sound of sammy's voice, mr. and mrs. quack swam hurriedly towards the middle of the pond. they knew exactly what that warning meant. reddy fox looked up at sammy jay and snarled angrily. then, knowing it was useless to hide longer, he bounded away through the green forest to hunt elsewhere. chapter xviii: the hunter loses his temper the hunter, hidden near the pond of paddy the beaver, chuckled silently. that is to say, he laughed without making any sound. the hunter thought the warning of mr. and mrs. quack by sammy jay was a great joke on reddy. to tell the truth, he was very much pleased. as you know, he wanted those ducks himself. he suspected that they would stay in that little pond for some days, and he planned to return there and shoot them after he had got lightfoot the deer. he wanted to get lightfoot first, and he knew that to shoot at anything else might spoil his chance of getting a shot at lightfoot. "sammy jay did me a good turn," thought the hunter, "although he doesn't know it. reddy fox certainly would have caught one of those ducks had sammy not come along just when he did. it would have been a shame to have had one of them caught by that fox. i mean to get one, and i hope both of them, myself." now when you come to think of it, it would have been a far greater shame for the hunter to have killed mr. and mrs. quack than for reddy fox to have done so. reddy was hunting them because he was hungry. the hunter would have shot them for sport. he didn't need them. he had plenty of other food. reddy fox doesn't kill just for the pleasure of killing. so the hunter continued to sit in his hiding-place with very friendly feelings for sammy jay. sammy watched reddy fox disappear and then flew over to that side of the pond where the hunter was. mr. and mrs. quack called their thanks to sammy, to which he replied, that he had done no more for them than he would do for anybody, or than they would have done for him. for some time sammy sat quietly in the top of the tree, but all the time his sharp eyes were very busy. by and by he spied the hunter sitting on the log. at first he couldn't make out just what it was he was looking at. it didn't move, but nevertheless sammy was suspicious. presently he flew over to a tree where he could see better. right away he spied the terrible gun, and he knew just what that was. once more he began to yell, "thief! thief! thief!" at the top of his lungs. it was then that the hunter lost his temper. he knew that now he had been discovered by sammy jay, and it was useless to remain there longer. he was angry clear through. chapter xix: sammy jay is modest as soon as the angry hunter with the terrible gun had disappeared among the trees of the green forest, and lightfoot was sure that he had gone for good, lightfoot came out from his hiding-place on top of the ridge and walked down to the pond of paddy the beaver for a drink. he knew that it was quite safe to do so, for sammy jay had followed the hunter, all the time screaming, "thief! thief! thief!" every one within hearing could tell just where that hunter was by sammy's voice. it kept growing fainter and fainter, and by that lightfoot knew that the hunter was getting farther and farther away. paddy the beaver swam out from his hiding-place and climbed out on the bank near lightfoot. there was a twinkle in his eyes. "that blue-coated mischief-maker isn't such a bad fellow at heart, after all, is he?" said he. lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and set his ears forward to catch the sound of sammy's voice in the distance. "sammy jay may be a mischief-maker, as some people say," said he, "but you can always count on him to prove a true friend in time of danger. he brought me warning of the coming of the hunter the other morning. you saw him save mr. and mrs. quack a little while ago, and then he actually drove that hunter away. i suppose sammy jay has saved more lives than any one i know of. i wish he would come back here and let me thank him." some time later sammy jay did come back. "well," said he, as he smoothed his feathers, "i chased that fellow clear to the edge of the green forest, so i guess there will be nothing more to fear from him today. i'm glad to see he hasn't got you yet, lightfoot. i've been a bit worried about you." "sammy," said lightfoot, "you are one of the best friends i have. i don't know how i can ever thank you for what you have done for me." "don't try," replied sammy shortly. "i haven't done anything but what anybody else would have done. old mother nature gave me a pair of good eyes and a strong voice. i simply make the best use of them i can. just to see a hunter with a terrible gun makes me angry clear through. i'd rather spoil his hunting than eat." "you want to watch out, sammy. one of these days a hunter will lose his temper and shoot you, just to get even with you," warned paddy the beaver. "don't worry about me," replied sammy. "i know just how far those terrible guns can shoot, and i don't take any chances. by the way, lightfoot, the green forest is full of hunters looking for you. i 've seen a lot of them, and i know they are looking for you because they do not shoot at anybody else even when they have a chance." chapter xx: lightfoot hears a dreadful sound day after day, lightfoot the deer played hide and seek for his life with the hunters who were seeking to kill him. he saw them many times, though not one of them saw him. more than once a hunter passed close to lightfoot's hiding-place without once suspecting it. but poor lightfoot was feeling the strain. he was growing thin, and he was so nervous that the falling of a dead leaf from a tree would startle him. there is nothing quite so terrible as being continually hunted. it was getting so that lightfoot half expected a hunter to step out from behind every tree. only when the black shadows wrapped the green forest in darkness did he know a moment of peace. and those hours of safety were filled with dread of what the next day might bring. early one morning a terrible sound rang through the green forest and brought lightfoot to his feet with a startled jump. it was the baying of hounds following a trail. at first it did not sound so terrible. lightfoot had often heard it before. many times he had listened to the baying of bowser the hound, as he followed reddy fox. it had not sounded so terrible then because it meant no danger to lightfoot. at first, as he listened early that morning, he took it for granted that those hounds were after reddy, and so, though startled, he was not worried. but suddenly a dreadful suspicion came to him and he grew more and more anxious as he listened. in a few minutes there was no longer any doubt in his mind. those hounds were following his trail. it was then that the sound of that baying became terrible. he must run for his life! those hounds would give him no rest. and he knew that in running from them, he would no longer be able to watch so closely for the hunters with terrible guns. he would no longer be able to hide in thickets. at any time he might be driven right past one of those hunters. lightfoot bounded away with such leaps as only lightfoot can make. in a little while the voices of the hounds grew fainter. lightfoot stopped to get his breath and stood trembling as he listened. the baying of the hounds again grew louder and louder. those wonderful noses of theirs were following his trail without the least difficulty. in a panic of fear, lightfoot bounded away again. as he crossed an old road, the green forest rang with the roar of a terrible gun. something tore a strip of bark from the trunk of a tree just above lightfoot's back. it was a bullet and it had just missed lightfoot. it added to his terror and this in turn added to his speed. so lightfoot ran and ran, and behind him the voices of the hounds continued to ring through the green forest. chapter xxi: how lightfoot got rid of the hounds poor lightfoot! it seemed to him that there were no such things as justice and fair play. had it been just one hunter at a time against whom he had to match his wits it would not have been so bad. but there were many hunters with terrible guns looking for him, and in dodging one he was likely at any time to meet another. this in itself seemed terribly unfair and unjust. but now, added to this was the greater unfairness of being trailed by hounds. do you wonder that lightfoot thought of men as utterly heartless? you see, he could not know that those hounds had not been put on his trail, but had left home to hunt for their own pleasure. he could not know that it was against the law to hunt him with dogs. but though none of those hunters looking for him were guilty of having put the hounds on his trail, each one of them was willing and eager to take advantage of the fact that the hounds were on his trail. already he had been shot at once and he knew that he would be shot at again if he should be driven where a hunter was hidden. the ground was damp and scent always lies best on damp ground. this made it easy for the hounds to follow him with their wonderful noses. lightfoot tried every trick he could think of to make those hounds lose the scent. "if only i could make them lose it long enough for me to get a little rest, it would help," panted lightfoot, as he paused for just an instant to listen to the baying of the hounds. but he couldn't. they allowed him no rest. he was becoming very, very tired. he could no longer bound lightly over fallen logs or brush, as he had done at first. his lungs ached as he panted for breath. he realized that even though he should escape the hunters he would meet an even more terrible death unless he could get rid of those hounds. there would come a time when he would have to stop. then those hounds would catch up with him and tear him to pieces. it was then that he remembered the big river. he turned towards it. it was his only chance and he knew it. straight through the green forest, out across the green meadows to the bank of the big river, lightfoot ran. for just a second he paused to look behind. the hounds were almost at his heels. lightfoot hesitated no longer but plunged into the big river and began to swim. on the banks the hounds stopped and bayed their disappointment, for they did not dare follow lightfoot out into the big river. chapter xxii: lightfoot's long swim the big river was very wide. it would have been a long swim for lightfoot had he been fresh and at his best. strange as it may seem, lightfoot is a splendid swimmer, despite his small, delicate feet. he enjoys swimming. but now lightfoot was terribly tired from his long run ahead of the hounds. for a time he swam rapidly, but those weary muscles grew still more weary, and by the time he reached the middle of the big river it seemed to him that he was not getting ahead at all. at first he had tried to swim towards a clump of trees he could see on the opposite bank above the point where he had entered the water, but to do this he had to swim against the current and he soon found that he hadn't the strength to do this. then he turned and headed for a point down the big river. this made the swimming easier, for the current helped him instead of hindering him. even then he could feel his strength leaving him. had he escaped those hounds and the terrible hunters only to be drowned in the big river? this new fear gave him more strength for a little while. but it did not last long. he was three fourths of the way across the big river but still that other shore seemed a long distance away. little by little hope died in the heart of lightfoot the deer. he would keep on just as long as he could and then,--well, it was better to drown than to be torn to pieces by dogs. just as lightfoot felt that he could not take another stroke and that the end was at hand, one foot touched something. then, all four feet touched. a second later he had found solid footing and was standing with the water only up to his knees. he had found a little sand bar out in the big river. with a little gasp of returning hope, lightfoot waded along until the water began to grow deeper again. he had hoped that he would be able to wade ashore, but he saw now that he would have to swim again. so for a long time he remained right where he was. he was so tired that he trembled all over, and he was as frightened as he was tired. he knew that standing out there in the water he could be seen for a long distance, and that made him nervous and fearful. supposing a hunter on the shore he was trying to reach should see him. then he would have no chance at all, for the hunter would simply wait for him and shoot him as he came out of the water. but rest he must, and so he stood for a long time on the little sand bar in the big river. and little by little he felt his strength returning. chapter xxiii: lightfoot finds a friend as lightfoot rested, trying to recover his breath, out there on the little sand bar in the big river, his great, soft, beautiful eyes watched first one bank and then the other. on the bank he had left, he could see two black-and-white specks moving about, and across the water came the barking of dogs. those two specks were the hounds who had driven him into the big river. they were barking now, instead of baying. presently a brown form joined the black-and-white specks. it was a hunter drawn there by the barking of the dogs. he was too far away to be dangerous, but the mere sight of him filled lightfoot with terror again. he watched the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes. presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the hunter. he headed straight towards lightfoot, and then lightfoot knew that his brief rest was at an end. he must once more swim or be shot by the hunter in the boat. so lightfoot again struck out for the shore. his rest had given him new strength, but still he was very, very tired and swimming was hard work. slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank. what new dangers might be waiting there, he did not know. he had never been on that side of the big river. he knew nothing of the country on that side. but the uncertainty was better than the certainty behind him. he could hear the sound of the oars as the hunter in the boat did his best to get to him before he should reach the shore. on lightfoot struggled. at last he felt bottom beneath his feet. he staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then for an instant it seemed to him his heart stopped beating. right in front of him stood a man. he had come out into the back yard of the home of that man. it is doubtful which was the more surprised, lightfoot or the man. right then and there lightfoot gave up in despair. he couldn't run. it was all he could do to walk. the long chase by the hounds on the other side of the big river and the long swim across the big river had taken all his strength. not a spark of hope remained to lightfoot. he simply stood still and trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness. then a surprising thing happened. the man spoke softly. he advanced, not threateningly but slowly, and in a friendly way. he walked around back of lightfoot and then straight towards him. lightfoot walked on a few steps, and the man followed, still talking softly. little by little he urged lightfoot on, driving him towards an open shed in which was a pile of hay. without understanding just how, lightfoot knew that he had found a friend. so he entered the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay. chapter xxiv: the hunter is disappointed how he knew he was safe, lightfoot the deer couldn't have told you. he just knew it, that was all. he couldn't understand a word said by the man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed the bank after his long swim across the big river. but he didn't have to understand words to know that he had found a friend. so he allowed the man to drive him gently over to an open shed where there was a pile of soft hay and there he lay down, so tired that it seemed to him he couldn't move another step. it was only a few minutes later that the hunter who had followed lightfoot across the river reached the bank and scrambled out of his boat. lightfoot's friend was waiting just at the top of the bank. of course the hunter saw him at once. "hello, friend!" cried the hunter. "did you see a deer pass this way a few minutes ago? he swam across the river, and if i know anything about it he's too tired to travel far now. i've been hunting that fellow for several days, and if i have any luck at all i ought to get him this time." "i'm afraid you won't have any luck at all," said lightfoot's friend. "you see, i don't allow any hunting on my land." the hunter looked surprised, and then his surprise gave way to anger. "you mean," said he, "that you intend to get that deer yourself." lightfoot's friend shook his head. "no," said he, "i don't mean anything of the kind. i mean that that deer is not to be killed if i can prevent it, and while it is on my land, i think i can. the best thing for you to do, my friend, is to get into your boat and row back where you came from. are those your hounds barking over there?" "no," replied the hunter promptly. "i know the law just as well as you do, and it is against the law to hunt deer with dogs. i don't even know who owns those two hounds over there." "that may be true," replied lightfoot's friend. "i don't doubt it is true. but you are willing to take advantage of the fact that the dogs of some one else have broken the law. you knew that those dogs had driven that deer into the big river and you promptly took advantage of the fact to try to reach that deer before he could get across. you are not hunting for the pleasure of hunting but just to kill. you don't know the meaning of justice or fairness. now get off my land. get back into your boat and off my land as quick as you can. that deer is not very far from here and so tired that he cannot move. just as long as he will stay here, he will be safe, and i hope he will stay until this miserable hunting season is ended. now go." muttering angrily, the hunter got back into his boat and pushed off, but he didn't row back across the river. chapter xxv: the hunter lies in wait if ever there was an angry hunter, it was the one who had followed lightfoot the deer across the big river. when he was ordered to get off the land where lightfoot had climbed out, he got back into his boat, but he didn't row back to the other side. instead, he rowed down the river, finally landing on the same side but on land which lightfoot's friend did not own. "when that deer has become rested he'll become uneasy," thought the hunter. "he won't stay on that man's land. he'll start for the nearest woods. i'll go up there and wait for him. i'll get that deer if only to spite that fellow back there who drove me off. had it not been for him, i'd have that deer right now. he was too tired to have gone far. he's got the handsomest pair of antlers i've seen for years. i can sell that head of his for a good price." so the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed out. he climbed up the bank and studied the land. across a wide meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some thick woods. he grinned. "that's where that deer will head for," he decided. "there isn't any other place for him to go. all i've got to do is be patient and wait." so the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow to the brush-grown pasture. there he hid among the bushes where he could peep out and watch the land of lightfoot's friend. he was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting lightfoot. at the same time he chuckled, because he thought himself very smart. lightfoot couldn't possibly reach the shelter of the woods without giving him a shot, and he hadn't the least doubt that lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he felt able to travel. so he made himself comfortable and prepared to wait the rest of the day, if necessary. now lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that hunter's mind. "we'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself, as he walked back towards the shed where poor lightfoot was resting. he did not go too near lightfoot, for he did not want to alarm him. he just kept within sight of lightfoot, paying no attention to him but going about his work. you see, this man loved and understood the little people of the green forest and the green meadows, and he knew that there was no surer way of winning lightfoot's confidence and trust than by appearing to take no notice of him. lightfoot, watching him, understood. he knew that this man was a friend and would do him no harm. little by little, the wonderful, blessed feeling of safety crept over lightfoot. no hunter could harm him here. chapter xxvi: lightfoot does the wise thing all the rest of that day the hunter with the terrible gun lay hidden in the bushes of the pasture where he could watch for lightfoot the deer to leave the place of safety he had found. it required a lot of patience on the part of the hunter, but the hunter had plenty of patience. it sometimes seems as if hunters have more patience than any other people. but this hunter waited in vain. jolly, round, red mr. sun sank down in the west to his bed behind the purple hills. the black shadows crept out and grew blacker. one by one the stars began to twinkle. still the hunter waited, and still there was no sign of lightfoot. at last it became so dark that it was useless for the hunter to remain longer. disappointed and once more becoming angry, he tramped back to the big river, climbed into his boat and rowed across to the other side. then he tramped home and his thoughts were very bitter. he knew that he could have shot lightfoot had it not been for the man who had protected the deer. he even began to suspect that this man had himself killed lightfoot, for he had been sure that as soon as he had become rested lightfoot would start for the woods, and lightfoot had done nothing of the kind. in fact, the hunter had not had so much as another glimpse of lightfoot. the reason that the hunter had been so disappointed was that lightfoot was smart. he was smart enough to understand that the man who was saving him from the hunter had done it because he was a true friend. all the afternoon lightfoot had rested on a bed of soft hay in an open shed and had watched this man going about his work and taking the utmost care to do nothing to frighten lightfoot. "he not only will let no one else harm me, but he himself will not harm me," thought lightfoot. "as long as he is near, i am safe. i'll stay right around here until the hunting season is over, then i'll swim back across the big river to my home in the dear green forest." so all afternoon lightfoot rested and did not so much as put his nose outside that open shed. that is why the hunter got no glimpse of him. when it became dark, so dark that he knew there was no longer danger, lightfoot got up and stepped out under the stars. he was feeling quite himself again. his splendid strength had returned. he bounded lightly across the meadow and up into the brushy pasture where the hunter had been hidden. there and in the woods back of the pasture he browsed, but at the first hint of the coming of another day, lightfoot turned back, and when his friend, the farmer, came out early in the morning to milk the cows, there was lightfoot back in the open shed. the farmer smiled. "you are as wise as you are handsome, old fellow," said he. chapter xxvii: sammy jay worries it isn't often sammy jay worries about anybody but himself. truth to tell, he doesn't worry about himself very often. you see, sammy is smart, and he knows he is smart. under that pointed cap of his are some of the cleverest wits in all the green forest. sammy seldom worries about himself because he feels quite able to take care of himself. but sammy jay was worrying now. he was worrying about lightfoot the deer. yes, sir, sammy jay was worrying about lightfoot the deer. for two days he had been unable to find lightfoot or any trace of lightfoot. but he did find plenty of hunters with terrible guns. it seemed to him that they were everywhere in the green forest. sammy began to suspect that one of them must have succeeded in killing lightfoot the deer. sammy knew all of lightfoot's hiding-places. he visited every one of them. lightfoot wasn't to be found, and no one whom sammy met had seen lightfoot for two days. sammy felt badly. you see, he was very fond of lightfoot. you remember it was sammy who warned lightfoot of the coming of the hunter on the morning when the dreadful hunting season began. ever since the hunting season had opened, sammy had done his best to make trouble for the hunters. whenever he had found one of them he had screamed at the top of his voice to warn every one within hearing just where that hunter was. once a hunter had lost his temper and shot at sammy, but sammy had suspected that something of the kind might happen, and he had taken care to keep just out of reach. sammy had known all about the chasing of lightfoot by the hounds. everybody in the green forest had known about it. you see, everybody had heard the voices of those hounds. once, lightfoot had passed right under the tree in which sammy was sitting, and a few moments later the two hounds had passed with their noses to the ground as they followed lightfoot's trail. that was the last sammy had seen of lightfoot. he had been able to save lightfoot from the hunters, but he couldn't save him from the hounds. the more sammy thought things over, the more he worried. "i am afraid those hounds drove him out where a hunter could get a shot and kill him, or else that they tired him out and killed him themselves," thought sammy. "if he were alive, somebody certainly would have seen him and nobody has, since the day those hounds chased him. i declare, i have quite lost my appetite worrying about him. if lightfoot is dead, and i am almost sure he is, the green forest will never seem the same." chapter xxviii: the hunting season ends the very worst things come to an end at last. no matter how bad a thing is, it cannot last forever. so it was with the hunting season for lightfoot the deer. there came a day when the law protected all deer,--a day when the hunters could no longer go searching for lightfoot. usually there was great rejoicing among the little people of the green forest and the green meadows when the hunting season ended and they knew that lightfoot would be in no more danger until the next hunting season. but this year there was no rejoicing. you see, no one could find lightfoot. the last seen of him was when he was running for his life with two hounds baying on his trail and the green forest filled with hunters watching for a chance to shoot him. sammy jay had hunted everywhere through the green forest. blacky the crow, whose eyes are quite as sharp as those of sammy jay, had joined in the search. they had found no trace of lightfoot. paddy the beaver said that for three days lightfoot had not visited his pond for a drink. billy mink, who travels up and down the laughing brook, had looked for lightfoot's footprints in the soft earth along the banks and had found only old ones. jumper the hare had visited lightfoot's favorite eating places at night, but lightfoot had not been in any of them. "i tell you what it is," said sammy jay to bobby coon, "something has happened to lightfoot. either those hounds caught him and killed him, or he was shot by one of those hunters. the green forest will never be the same without him. i don't think i shall want to come over here very much. there isn't one of all the other people who live in the green forest who would be missed as lightfoot will be." bobby coon nodded. "that's true, sammy," said he. "without lightfoot, the green forest will never be the same. he never harmed anybody. why those hunters should have been so anxious to kill one so beautiful is something i can't understand. for that matter, i don't understand why they want to kill any of us. if they really needed us for food, it would be a different matter, but they don't. have you been up in the old pasture and asked old man coyote if he has seen anything of lightfoot?" sammy nodded. "i've been up there twice," said he. "old man coyote has been lying very low during the days, but nights he has done a lot of traveling. you know old man coyote has a mighty good nose, but not once since the day those hounds chased lightfoot has he found so much as a tiny whiff of lightfoot's scent. i thought he might have found the place where lightfoot was killed, but he hasn't, although he has looked for it. well, the hunting season for lightfoot is over, but i am afraid it has ended too late." chapter xxix: mr. and mrs. quack are startled it was the evening of the day after the closing of the hunting season for lightfoot the deer. jolly, round, red mr. sun had gone to bed behind the purple hills, and the black shadows had crept out across the big river. mr. and mrs. quack were getting their evening meal among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river. they took turns in searching for the rice grains in the mud. while mrs. quack tipped up and seemed to stand on her head as she searched in the mud for rice, mr. quack kept watch for possible danger. then mrs. quack took her turn at keeping watch, while mr. quack stood on his head and hunted for rice. it was wonderfully quiet and peaceful. there was not even a ripple on the big river. it was so quiet that they could hear the barking of a dog at a farmhouse a mile away. they were far enough out from the bank to have nothing to fear from reddy fox or old man coyote. so they had nothing to fear from any one save hooty the owl. it was for hooty that they took turns in watching. it was just the hour when hooty likes best to hunt. by and by they heard booty's hunting call. it was far away in the green forest, then mr. and mrs. quack felt easier, and they talked in low, contented voices. they felt that for a while at least there was nothing to fear. suddenly a little splash out in the big river caught mr. quack's quick ear. as mrs. quack brought her head up out of the water, mr. quack warned her to keep quiet. noiselessly they swam among the brown stalks until they could see out across the big river. there was another little splash out there in the middle. it wasn't the splash made by a fish; it was a splash made by something much bigger than any fish. presently they made out a silver line moving towards them from the black shadows. they knew exactly what it meant. it meant that some one was out there in the big river moving towards them. could it be a boat containing a hunter? with their necks stretched high, mr. and mrs. quack watched. they were ready to take to their strong wings the instant they discovered danger. but they did not want to fly until they were sure that it was danger approaching. they were startled, very much startled. presently they made out what looked like the branch of a tree moving over the water towards them. that was queer, very queer. mr. quack said so. mrs. quack said so. both were growing more and more suspicious. they couldn't understand it at all, and it is always best to be suspicious of things you cannot understand. mr. and mrs. quack half lifted their wings to fly. chapter xxx: the mystery is solved it was very mysterious. yes, sir, it was very mysterious. mr. quack thought so. mrs. quack thought so. there, out in the big river, in the midst of the black shadows, was something which looked like the branch of a tree. but instead of moving down the river, as the branch of a tree would if it were floating, this was coming straight across the river as if it were swimming. but how could the branch of a tree swim? that was too much for mr. quack. it was too much for mrs. quack. so they sat perfectly still among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the edge of the big river, and not for a second did they take their eyes from that strange thing moving towards them. they were ready to spring into the air and trust to their swift wings the instant they should detect danger. but they did not want to fly unless they had to. besides, they were curious. they were very curious indeed. they wanted to find out what that mysterious thing moving through the water towards them was. so mr. and mrs. quack watched that thing that looked like a swimming branch draw nearer and nearer, and the nearer it drew the more they were puzzled, and the more curious they felt. if it had been the pond of paddy the beaver instead of the big river, they would have thought it was paddy swimming with a branch for his winter food pile. but paddy the beaver was way back in his own pond, deep in the green forest, and they knew it. so this thing became more and more of a mystery. the nearer it came, the more nervous and anxious they grew, and at the same time the greater became their curiosity. at last mr. quack felt that not even to gratify his curiosity would it be safe to wait longer. he prepared to spring into the air, knowing that mrs. quack would follow him. it was just then that a funny little sound reached him. it was half snort, half cough, as if some one had sniffed some water up his nose. there was something familiar about that sound. mr. quack decided to wait a few minutes longer. "i'll wait," thought mr. quack, "until that thing, whatever it is, comes out of those black shadows into the moonlight. somehow i have a feeling that we are in no danger." so mr. and mrs. quack waited and watched. in a few minutes the thing that looked like the branch of a tree came out of the black shadows into the moonlight, and then the mystery was solved. it was a mystery no longer. they saw that they had mistaken the antlers of lightfoot the deer for the branch of a tree. lightfoot was swimming across the big river on his way back to his home in the green forest. at once mr. and mrs. quack swam out to meet him and to tell him how glad they were that he was alive and safe. chapter xxxi: a surprising discovery probably there was no happier thanksgiving in all the great world than the thanksgiving of lightfoot the deer, when the dreadful hunting season ended and he was once more back in his beloved green forest with nothing to fear. all his neighbors called on him to tell him how glad they were that he had escaped and how the green forest would not have been the same if he had not returned. so lightfoot roamed about without fear and was happy. it seemed to him that he could not be happier. there was plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear. what more could any one ask? he began to grow sleek and fat and handsomer than ever. the days were growing colder and the frosty air made him feel good. just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking place at the laughing brook. as he put down his head to drink he saw something which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was thirsty. what do you think it was he saw? it was a footprint in the soft mud. yes, sir, it was a footprint. for a long time lightfoot stood staring at that footprint. in his great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise. you see, that footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller. to lightfoot it was a very wonderful footprint. he was quite sure that never had he seen such a dainty footprint. he forgot to drink. instead, he began to search for other footprints, and presently he found them. each was as dainty as that first one. who could have made them? that is what lightfoot wanted to know and what he meant to find out. it was clear to him that there was a stranger in the green forest, and somehow he didn't resent it in the least. in fact, he was glad. he couldn't have told why, but it was true. lightfoot put his nose to the footprints and sniffed of them. even had he not known by looking at those prints that they had been made by a stranger, his nose would have told him this. a great longing to find the maker of those footprints took possession of him. he lifted his handsome head and listened for some slight sound which might show that the stranger was near. with his delicate nostrils he tested the wandering little night breezes for a stray whiff of scent to tell him which way to go. but there was no sound and the wandering little night breezes told him nothing. lightfoot followed the dainty footprints up the bank. there they disappeared, for the ground was hard. lightfoot paused, undecided which way to go. chapter xxxii: lightfoot sees the stranger lightfoot the deer was unhappy. it was a strange unhappiness, an unhappiness such as he had never known before. you see, he had discovered that there was a stranger in the green forest, a stranger of his own kind, another deer. he knew it by dainty footprints in the mud along the laughing brook and on the edge of the pond of paddy the beaver. he knew it by other signs which he ran across every now and then. but search as he would, he was unable to find that newcomer. he had searched everywhere but always he was just too late. the stranger had been and gone. now there was no anger in lightfoot's desire to find that stranger. instead, there was a great longing. for the first time in his life lightfoot felt lonely. so he hunted and hunted and was unhappy. he lost his appetite. he slept little. he roamed about uneasily, looking, listening, testing every merry little breeze, but all in vain. then, one never-to-be-forgotten night, as he drank at the laughing brook, a strange feeling swept over him. it was the feeling of being watched. lightfoot lifted his beautiful head and a slight movement caught his quick eye and drew it to a thicket not far away. the silvery light of gentle mistress moon fell full on that thicket, and thrust out from it was the most beautiful head in all the great world. at least, that is the way it seemed to lightfoot, though to tell the truth it was not as beautiful as his own, for it was uncrowned by antlers. for a long minute lightfoot stood gazing. a pair of wonderful, great, soft eyes gazed back at him. then that beautiful head disappeared. with a mighty bound, lightfoot cleared the laughing brook and rushed over to the thicket in which that beautiful head had disappeared. he plunged in, but there was no one there. frantically he searched, but that thicket was empty. then he stood still and listened. not a sound reached him. it was as still as if there were no other living things in all the green forest. the beautiful stranger had slipped away as silently as a shadow. all the rest of that night lightfoot searched through the green forest but his search was in vain. the longing to find that beautiful stranger had become so great that he fairly ached with it. it seemed to him that until he found her he could know no happiness. chapter xxxiii: a different game of hide and seek once more lightfoot the deer was playing hide and seek in the green forest. but it was a very different game from the one he had played just a short time before. you remember that then it had been for his life that he had played, and he was the one who had done all the hiding. now, he was "it", and some one else was doing the hiding. instead of the dreadful fear which had filled him in that other game, he was now filled with longing,--longing to find and make friends with the beautiful stranger of whom he had just once caught a glimpse, but of whom every day he found tracks. at times lightfoot would lose his temper. yes, sir, lightfoot would lose his temper. that was a foolish thing to do, but it seemed to him that he just couldn't help it. he would stamp his feet angrily and thrash the bushes with his great spreading antlers as if they were an enemy with whom he was fighting. more than once when he did this a pair of great, soft, gentle eyes were watching him, though he didn't know it. if he could have seen them and the look of admiration in them, he would have been more eager than ever to find that beautiful stranger. at other times lightfoot would steal about through the green forest as noiselessly as a shadow. he would peer into thickets and behind tangles of fallen trees and brush piles, hoping to surprise the one he sought. he would be very, very patient. perhaps he would come to the thicket which he knew from the signs the stranger had left only a few moments before. then his patience would vanish in impatience, and he would dash ahead, eager to catch up with the shy stranger. but always it was in vain. he had thought himself very clever but this stranger was proving herself more clever. of course it wasn't long before all the little people in the green forest knew what was going on. they knew all about that game of hide and seek just as they had known all about that other game of hide and seek with the hunters. but now, instead of trying to help lightfoot as they did then, they gave him no help at all. the fact is, they were enjoying that game. mischievous sammy jay even went so far as to warn the stranger several times when lightfoot was approaching. of course lightfoot knew when sammy did this, and each time he lost his temper. for the time being, he quite forgot all that sammy had done for him when he was the one that was being hunted. once lightfoot almost ran smack into buster bear and was so provoked by his own carelessness that instead of bounding away he actually threatened to fight buster. but when buster grinned good-naturedly at him, lightfoot thought better of it and bounded away to continue his search. then there were times when lightfoot would sulk and would declare over and over to himself, "i don't care anything about that stranger. i won't spend another minute looking for her." and then within five minutes he would be watching, listening and seeking some sign that she was still in the green forest. chapter xxxiv: a startling new footprint the game of hide and seek between lightfoot the deer and the beautiful stranger whose dainty footprints had first started lightfoot to seeking her had been going on for several days and nights when lightfoot found something which gave him a shock. he had stolen very softly clown to the laughing brook, hoping to surprise the beautiful stranger drinking there. she wasn't to be seen. lightfoot wondered if she had been there, so looked in the mud at the edge of the laughing brook to see if there were any fresh prints of those dainty feet. almost at once he discovered fresh footprints. they were not the prints he was looking for. no, sir, they were not the dainty prints he had learned to know so well. they were prints very near the size of his own big ones, and they had been made only a short time before. the finding of those prints was a dreadful shock to lightfoot. he understood instantly what they meant. they meant that a second stranger had come into the green forest, one who had antlers like his own. jealousy took possession of lightfoot the deer; jealousy that filled his heart with rage. "he has come here to seek that beautiful stranger i have been hunting for," thought lightfoot. "he has come here to try to steal her away from me. he has no right here in my green forest. he belongs back up on the great mountain from which he must have come, for there is no other place he could have come from. that is where that beautiful stranger must have come from, too. i want her to stay, but i must drive this fellow out. i'll make him fight. that's what i'll do; i'll make him fight! i'm not afraid of him, but i'll make him fear me." lightfoot stamped his feet and with his great antlers thrashed the bushes as if he felt that they were the enemy he sought. could you have looked into his great eyes then, you would have found nothing soft and beautiful about them. they became almost red with anger. lightfoot quivered all over with rage. the hair on the back of his neck stood up. lightfoot the deer looked anything but gentle. after he had vented his spite for a few minutes on the harmless, helpless bushes, he threw his head high in the air and whistled angrily. then he leaped over the laughing brook and once more began to search through the green forest. but this time it was not for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet. he had no time to think of her now. he must first find this newcomer and he meant to waste no time in doing it. chapter xxxv: lightfoot is reckless in his search for the new stranger who had come to the green forest, lightfoot the deer was wholly reckless. he no longer stole like a gray shadow from thicket to thicket as he had done when searching for the beautiful stranger with the dainty feet. he bounded along, careless of how much noise he made. from time to time he would stop to whistle a challenge and to clash his horns against the trees and stamp the ground with his feet. after such exhibitions of anger he would pause to listen, hoping to hear some sound which would tell him where the stranger was. now and then he found the stranger's tracks, and from them he knew that this stranger was doing: just what he had been doing, seeking to find the beautiful newcomer with the dainty feet. each time he found these signs lightfoot's rage increased. of course it didn't take sammy jay long to discover what was going on. there is little that escapes those sharp eyes of sammy jay. as you know, he had early discovered the game of hide and seek lightfoot had been playing with the beautiful young visitor who had come down to the green forest from the great mountain. then, by chance, sammy had visited the laughing brook just as the big stranger had come down there to drink. for once sammy had kept his tongue still. "there is going to be excitement here when lightfoot discovers this fellow," thought sammy. "if they ever meet, and i have a feeling that they will, there is going to be a fight worth seeing. i must pass the word around." so sammy jay hunted up his cousin, blacky the crow, and told him what he had discovered. then he hunted up bobby coon and told him. he saw unc' billy possum sitting in the doorway of his hollow tree and told him. he discovered jumper the hare sitting under a little hemlock-tree and told him. then he flew over to the dear old briar-patch to tell peter rabbit. of course he told drummer the woodpecker, tommy tit the chickadee, and yank yank the nuthatch, who were over in the old orchard, and they at once hurried to the green forest, for they couldn't think of missing anything so exciting as would be the meeting between lightfoot and the big stranger from the great mountain. sammy didn't forget to tell paddy the beaver, but it was no news to paddy. paddy had seen the big stranger on the edge of his pond early the night before. of course, lightfoot knew nothing about all this. his one thought was to find that big stranger and drive him from the green forest, and so he continued his search tirelessly. chapter xxxvi: sammy jay takes a hand sammy jay was bubbling over with excitement as he flew about through the green forest, following lightfoot the deer. he was so excited he wanted to scream. but he didn't. he kept his tongue still. you see, he didn't want lightfoot to know that he was being followed. under that pointed cap of sammy jay's are quick wits. it didn't take him long to discover that the big stranger whom lightfoot was seeking was doing his best to keep out of lightfoot's way and that he was having no difficulty in doing so because of the reckless way in which lightfoot was searching for him. lightfoot made so much noise that it was quite easy to know just where he was and so keep out of his sight. "that stranger is nearly as big as lightfoot, but it is very plain that he doesn't want to fight," thought sammy. "he must be a coward." now the truth is, the stranger was not a coward. he was ready and willing to fight if he had to, but if he could avoid fighting he meant to. you see, big as he was, he wasn't quite so big as lightfoot, and he knew it. he had seen lightfoot's big footprints, and from their size he knew that lightfoot must be bigger and heavier than he. then, too, he knew that he really had no right to be there in the green forest. that was lightfoot's home and so he was an intruder. he knew that lightfoot would feel this way about it and that this would make him fight all the harder. so the big stranger wanted to avoid a fight if possible. but he wanted still more to find that beautiful young visitor with the dainty feet for whom lightfoot had been looking. he wanted to find her just as lightfoot wanted to find her, and he hoped that if he did find her, he could take her away with him back to the great mountain. if he had to, he would fight for her, but until he had to he would keep out of the fight. so he dodged lightfoot and at the same time looked for the beautiful stranger. all this sammy jay guessed, and after a while he grew tired of following lightfoot for nothing. "i'll have to take a hand in this thing myself," muttered sammy. "at this rate, lightfoot never will find that big stranger!" so sammy stopped following lightfoot and began to search through the green forest for the big stranger. it didn't take very long to find him. he was over near the pond of paddy the beaver. as soon as he saw him, sammy began to scream at the top of his lungs. at once he heard the sound of snapping twigs at the top of a little ridge back of paddy's pond and knew that lightfoot had heard and understood. chapter xxxvii: the great fight down from the top of the ridge back of the pond of paddy the beaver plunged lightfoot the deer, his eyes blazing with rage. he had understood the screaming of sammy jay. he knew that somewhere down there was the big stranger he had been looking for. the big stranger had understood sammy's screaming quite as well as lightfoot. he knew that to run away now would be to prove himself a coward and forever disgrace himself in the eyes of miss daintyfoot, for that was the name of the beautiful stranger he had been seeking. he must fight. there was no way out of it, he must fight. the hair on the back of his neck stood up with anger just as did the hair on the neck of lightfoot. his eyes also blazed. he bounded out into a little open place by the pond of paddy the beaver and there he waited. meanwhile sammy jay was flying about in the greatest excitement, screaming at the top of his lungs, "a fight! a fight! a fight!" blacky the crow, over in another part of the green forest, heard him and took up the cry and at once hurried over to paddy's pond. everybody who was near enough hurried there. bobby coon and unc' billy possum climbed trees from which they could see and at the same time be safe. billy mink hurried to a safe place on the dam of paddy the beaver. paddy himself climbed up on the roof of his house out in the pond. peter rabbit and jumper the hare, who happened to be not far away, hurried over where they could peep out from under some young hemlock-trees. buster bear shuffled down the hill and watched from the other side of the pond. reddy and granny fox were both there. for what seemed like the longest time, but which was for only a minute, lightfoot and the big stranger stood still, glaring at each other. then, snorting with rage, they lowered their heads and plunged together. their antlers clashed with a noise that rang through the green forest, and both fell to their knees. there they pushed and struggled. then they separated and backed away, to repeat the movement over again. it was a terrible fight. everybody said so. if they had not known before, everybody knew now what those great antlers were for. once the big stranger managed to reach lightfoot's right shoulder with one of the sharp points of his antlers and made a long tear in lightfoot's gray coat. it only made lightfoot fight harder. sometimes they would rear up and strike with their sharp hoofs. back and forth they plunged, and the ground was torn up by their feet. both were getting out of breath, and from time to time they had to stop for a moment's rest. then they would come together again more fiercely than ever. never had such a fight been seen in the green forest. chapter xxxviii: an unseen watcher as lightfoot the deer and the big stranger from the great mountain fought in the little opening near the pond of paddy the beaver, neither knew or cared who saw them. each was filled fully with rage and determined to drive the other from the green forest. each was fighting for the right to win the love of miss daintyfoot. neither of them knew that miss daintyfoot herself was watching them. but she was. she had heard the clash of their great antlers as they had come together the first time, and she had known exactly what it meant. timidly she had stolen forward to a thicket where, safely hidden, she could watch that terrible fight. she knew that they were fighting for her. of course. she knew it just as she had known how both had been hunting for her. what she didn't know for some time was which one she wanted to win that fight. both lightfoot and the big stranger were handsome. yes, indeed, they were very handsome. lightfoot was just a little bit the bigger and it seemed to her just a little bit the handsomer. she almost wanted him to win. then, when she saw how bravely the big stranger was fighting and how well he was holding his own, even though he was a little smaller than lightfoot, she almost hoped he would win. that great fight lasted a long time. to pretty miss daintyfoot it seemed that it never would end. but after a while lightfoot's greater size and strength began to tell. little by little the big stranger was forced back towards the edge of the open place. now he would be thrown to his knees when lightfoot wasn't. as lightfoot saw this, he seemed to gain new strength. at last he caught the stranger in such a way that he threw him over. while the stranger struggled to get to his feet again, lightfoot's sharp antlers made long tears in his gray coat. the stranger was beaten and he knew it. the instant he succeeded in getting to his feet he turned tail and plunged for the shelter of the green forest. with a snort of triumph, lightfoot plunged after him. but now that he was beaten, fear took possession of the stranger. all desire to fight left him. his one thought was to get away, and fear gave him speed. straight back towards the great mountain from which he had come the stranger headed. lightfoot followed only a short distance. he knew that that stranger was going for good and would not come back. then lightfoot turned back to the open place where they had fought. there he threw up his beautiful head, crowned by its great antlers, and whistled a challenge to all the green forest. as she looked at him, miss daintyfoot knew that she had wanted him to win. she knew that there simply couldn't be anybody else so handsome and strong and brave in all the great world. chapter xxxix: lightfoot discovers love wonderfully handsome was lightfoot the deer as he stood in the little opening by the pond of paddy the beaver, his head thrown back proudly, as he received the congratulations of his neighbors of the green forest who had seen him win the great fight with the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain. to beautiful miss daintyfoot, peeping out from the thicket where she had hidden to watch the great fight, lightfoot was the most wonderful person in all the great world. she adored him, which means that she loved him just as much as it was possible for her to love. but lightfoot didn't know this. in fact, he didn't know that miss daintyfoot was there. his one thought had been to drive out of the green forest the big stranger who had come down from the great mountain. he had been jealous of that big stranger, though he hadn't known that he was jealous. the real cause of his anger and desire to fight had been the fear that the big stranger would find miss daintyfoot and take her away. of course this was nothing but jealousy. now that the great fight was over, and he knew that the big stranger was hurrying back to the great mountain, all lightfoot's anger melted away. in its place was a great longing to find miss daintyfoot. his great eyes became once more soft and beautiful. in them was a look of wistfulness. lightfoot walked down to the edge of the water and drank, for he was very, very thirsty. then he turned, intending to take up once more his search for beautiful miss daintyfoot. when he turned he faced the thicket in which miss daintyfoot was hiding. his keen eyes caught a little movement of the branches. a beautiful head was slowly thrust out, and lightfoot gazed again into a pair of soft eyes which he was sure were the most beautiful eyes in all the great world. he wondered if she would disappear and run away as she had the last time he saw her. he took a step or two forward. the beautiful head was withdrawn. lightfoot's heart sank. then he bounded forward into that thicket. he more than half expected to find no one there, but when he entered that thicket he received the most wonderful surprise in all his life. there stood miss daintyfoot, timid, bashful, but with a look in her eyes which lightfoot could not mistake. in that instant light-foot understood the meaning of that longing which had kept him hunting for her and of the rage which had filled him when he had discovered the presence of the big stranger from the great mountain. it was love. lightfoot knew that he loved miss daintyfoot and, looking into her soft, gentle eyes, he knew that miss daintyfoot loved him. chapter xl: happy days in the green forest these were happy days in the green forest. at least, they were happy for lightfoot the deer. they were the happiest days he had ever known. you see, he had won beautiful, slender, young miss daintyfoot, and now she was no longer miss daintyfoot but mrs. lightfoot. lightfoot was sure that there was no one anywhere so beautiful as she, and mrs. lightfoot knew that there was no one so handsome and brave as he. wherever lightfoot went, mrs. lightfoot went. he showed her all his favorite hiding-places. he led her to his favorite eating-places. she did not tell him that she was already acquainted with every one of them, that she knew the green forest quite as well as he did. if he had stopped to think how day after day she had managed to keep out of his sight while he hunted for her, he would have realized that there was little he could show her which she did not already know. but he didn't stop to think and proudly led her from place to place. and mrs. lightfoot wisely expressed delight with all she saw quite as if it were all new. of course, all the little people of the green forest hurried to pay their respects to mrs. lightfoot and to tell lightfoot how glad they felt for him. and they really did feel glad. you see, they all loved lightfoot and they knew that now he would be happier than ever, and that there would be no danger of his leaving the green forest because of loneliness. the green forest would not be the same at all without lightfoot the deer. lightfoot told mrs. lightfoot all about the terrible days of the hunting season and how glad he was that she had not been in the green forest then. he told her how the hunters with terrible guns had given him no rest and how he had had to swim the big river to get away from the hounds. "i know," replied mrs. lightfoot softly. "i know all about it. you see, there were hunters on the great mountain. in fact, that is how i happened to come down to the green forest. they hunted me so up there that i did not dare stay, and i came down here thinking that there might be fewer hunters. i wouldn't have believed that i could ever be thankful to hunters for anything, but i am, truly i am." there was a puzzled look on lightfoot's face. "what for?" he demanded. "i can't imagine anybody being thankful to hunters for anything." "oh, you stupid," cried mrs. lightfoot. "don't you see that if i hadn't been driven down from the great mountain, i never would have found you?" "you mean, i never would have found you," retorted lightfoot. "i guess i owe these hunters more than you do. i owe them the greatest happiness i have ever known, but i never would have thought of it myself. isn't it queer how things which seem the very worst possible sometimes turn out to be the very best possible?" blacky the crow is one of lightfoot's friends, but sometimes even friends are envious. it is so with blacky. he insists that he is quite as important in the green forest as is lightfoot and that his doings are quite as interesting. therefore just to please him the next book is to be blacky the crow. usda forest service research paper nc-52 1971 [illustration] ecological studies of the timber wolf in northeastern minnesota north central forest experiment station forest service u. s. department of agriculture foreword the largest population of timber wolves remaining in the united states (excluding alaska) lives in northern minnesota. many of these wolves inhabit the superior national forest, so protecting the habitat of this endangered species is largely a forest service responsibility. as the "age of ecology" broadens into the 1970's, wolves and wolf habitat will become a subject of concerted research. forest land managers will have to know more about how the timber wolf fits into a forest system. building on nearly 50 years of research in northern forests, we at the north central station intend to expand our studies of wildlife habitat. we are happy to publish the enclosed papers as one step in this direction. d. b. king, director north central forest experiment station d. b. king, director forest service--u.s. department of agriculture folwell avenue st. paul, minnesota 55101 ecological studies of the timber wolf in northeastern minnesota l. david mech and l. d. frenzel, jr. (editors) contents movements, behavior, and ecology of timber wolves in northeastern minnesota l. david mech, l. d. frenzel, jr., robert r. ream, and john w. winship 1 an analysis of the age, sex, and condition of deer killed by wolves in northeastern minnesota l. david mech and l. d. frenzel, jr. 35 the effect of snow conditions on the vulnerability of white-tailed deer to wolf predation l. david mech, l. d. frenzel, jr., and p. d. karns 51 the possible occurrence of the great plains wolf in northeastern minnesota l. david mech and l. d. frenzel, jr. 60 the authors dr. mech, formerly with the department of biology, macalester college, st. paul, minnesota, is now employed by the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife, twin cities, minnesota. dr. frenzel, formerly with the department of biology, macalester college, st. paul, minnesota, is now employed by the department of entomology, fisheries, and wildlife, university of minnesota, st. paul, minnesota. dr. ream, formerly with the north central forest experiment station (maintained in cooperation with the university of minnesota), forest service, u.s. department of agriculture, is now employed by the school of forestry, university of montana, missoula, montana. mr. winship is with the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife, twin cities, minnesota. mr. karns is with the minnesota department of conservation, forest lake, minnesota. for sale by the superintendent of documents, u.s. government printing office, washington, d.c. 20402 movements, behavior, and ecology of timber wolves in northeastern minnesota l. david mech, l. d. frenzel, jr., robert r. ream, and john w. winship the largest population of wolves (_canis lupus_) remaining today in the continental united states outside of alaska is in northern minnesota. as of mid-1970 this population was not legally protected, and the species, which once ranged over almost all of north america, is now considered by the u.s. department of the interior to be in danger of extinction in the contiguous 48 states. until the present research, the only field studies of minnesota wolves were those of olson (1938 a, b) and stenlund (1955). those investigations provided much useful general information about minnesota wolves and gave the present authors an excellent background with which to begin more detailed investigations. this paper reports on the basic aspects of a series of studies that began in 1964, and concentrates primarily on wolf movements and activity, social behavior, hunting behavior, and population organization. most of the data were collected during january, february, and march 1967; february, november, and december 1968; and january through august 1969. a total of 192 days was spent in the field. according to a distribution map of wolf subspecies (goldman 1944), the race of wolves in our study area is _canis lupus lycaon_. however, evidence presented by mech and frenzel (see page 60) suggests that there may be strong influence by _c. l. nubilus_, a more western race of wolf formerly thought to be extinct (goldman 1944). between 1965 and the present, wolves in the study area were neither protected nor bountied, and the influence of trapping and hunting is thought to have been negligible. the study area this study was conducted in the superior national forest (fig. 1) in northern st. louis, lake, and cook counties of northeastern minnesota (92° west longitude, 48° north latitude), an area well described by stenlund (1955). most of the data were collected from within and immediately south of the boundary waters canoe area, a special wilderness region in which travel by motorized vehicles is restricted. the total study area encompasses approximately 1.5 million acres, and numerous lakes and rivers comprise about 15 percent of this area (fig. 2). the topography varies from large stretches of swamps to rocky ridges, with altitudes ranging from 1,000 to 2,300 feet above sea level (fig. 3). winter temperatures lower than -30° f. are not unusual, and snow depths generally range from 20 to 30 inches on the level. however, an important exception occurred in early 1969 when depths of 45 inches and more accumulated in much of the area. further details on snow conditions in the study area during the period of this investigation are given by mech _et al._ (see page 51). conifers predominate in the forest overstory, with the following species present: jack pine (_pinus banksiana_ lamb.), white pine (_p. strobus_ l.), red pine (_p. resinosa_ ait.), black spruce (_picea_ mariana (mill.) b.s.p.), white spruce (_p. glauca_ (moench) voss), balsam fir (_abies balsamea_ (l.) mill.), white cedar (_thuja occidentalis_ l.), and tamarack (_larix laricina_ (duroi) k. koch). however, as a result of extensive cutting and fires much of the conifer cover is interspersed with large stands of white birch (_betula papyrifera_ marsh.) and aspen (_populus tremuloides_ michx.). detailed descriptions of the forest vegetation were presented by ohmann and ream (1969). [illustration: _figure 1 (left half)--map of the study area._] [illustration: _figure 1 (right half)--map of the study area._ boundary waters canoe area superior national forest] [illustration: _figure 2.--lakes are common throughout most of the study area. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] [illustration: _figure 3.--ridges, islands, swamps, and bays are part of the variable topography in the superior national forest. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] methods the observations discussed in this paper were all made from aircraft, the method of flying being that reported by burkholder (1959) and mech (1966a). the following aircraft were used (in order of size): aeronca champ,[1] supercub, cessna 172, cessna 180, and cessna 206. the smaller aircraft were excellent for holding in tight circles during observations but had the disadvantage of being slow and cold; the larger planes could cover the study area much more quickly and were more comfortable, but were not as maneuverable during observations. for radiotracking, to be discussed below, the best compromise seemed to be a cessna 172. to make observations of wolves, we flew over frozen waterways until tracks were found, and then followed the tracks until we lost them or saw the wolves (fig. 4). several times we located wolves directly just by scanning the lakes. however, because there seemed to be a number of packs in the area, and because most wolves were the same color (with the exception of a few black or white individuals) (see mech and frenzel, page 60), it usually was not possible to follow packs from one day to the next and be certain of identification. moreover, it was impossible to locate any pack at will because most wolves also spent much time inland. [illustration: _figure 4.--an important technique used in the study involved aerial tracking and observing of wolf packs. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] therefore, to facilitate our observations and to obtain data on wolf movements and extent of range, we began a radiotracking program in 1968-69. a professional trapper, robert himes, was employed to capture the wolves. using newhouse no. 4 and 14 steel traps at scent-post sets, he caught two wolves, and captured another with a live-snare similar to that used by nellis (1968); the senior author trapped two additional wolves (fig. 5). [illustration: _figure 5.--a wolf caught in a trap. (photo courtesy of d. l. breneman.)_] the four wolves held in steel traps were restrained by a choker (fig. 6), and then anesthetized by intramuscular injections (fig. 7a, b) of a combination of 30 mg. of phencyclidine hydrochloride (sernylan, parke-davis co.) and 25 mg. promazine hydrochloride (sparine, wyeth laboratories) as prescribed by seal and erickson (1969); these drugs proved most satisfactory. [illustration: _figure 6.--a choker was used to restrain wolves caught in traps. (photo courtesy of d. l. breneman.)_] [illustration: _figure 7.--a. a small hypodermic syringe is loaded with drugs. b. the loaded syringe is used on the end of a pole. (photos courtesy of d. l. breneman.)_] the fifth wolf (a female), which was captured around the chest by the live-snare, was handled without drugs. a forked stick was used to hold down her head (kolenosky and johnston 1967), and she offered no resistance (fig. 8). evidently she went into shock or some other psychophysiological state of unconsciousness, for after her release she remained on her side and did not move for 1.5 hours, despite our prodding during the first few minutes (fig. 9). then suddenly she leaped up and ran off. [illustration: _figure 8.--once pinned by the forked stick, the wolf ceased struggling. (photo courtesy of richard bend.)_] [illustration: _figure 9.--after release, the wolf lay still for 1-1/2 hours before jumping up and running off. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] each wolf was examined, outfitted with a radio transmitter collar 15 inches inside circumference (fig. 10) and tagged with identification numbers in both ears (fig. 11). each transmitter was of a different frequency in the 150 mh_z range, emitted a pulsed signal ranging from 75 to 350 pulses per minute, and had a calculated life of at least 300 days (fig. 12). two types of 12-inch whip antennas were used on the transmitters: one type extended up the side of the collar and then stuck out above for 6 inches; the other was fully attached inside the collar and extended up one side, around the top, and partly down the other side. the transmitter, batteries, and antenna were molded into a collar of acrylic weighing 11 ounces (mech _et al._ 1965).[2] all radio equipment functioned flawlessly for at least 5 months, and one transmitter continued operating for at least 9 months. [illustration: _figure 10.--a radio transmitter collar was placed around the neck of each trapped wolf. (photo courtesy of d. l. breneman.)_] [illustration: _figure 11.--each ear of the wolf was tagged with identifying numbers. (photo courtesy of richard bend.)_] [illustration: _figure 12.--each radio collar had a different frequency tuned to special receivers, which allowed each wolf to be identified. (photo courtesy of d. l. breneman.)_] for tracking radio-equipped wolves, a directional yagi antenna (fig. 13) was attached to each of the wing struts of an aircraft and connected inside to a portable receiver. the usual tracking technique was to fly at 1,500 to 3,000 feet elevation to the last known location of the wolf being sought (fig. 14). if a signal was not obtained at that point, the aircraft spiraled upward until the signal was found or until 10,000 feet altitude had been reached. if the signal still was not heard, a search pattern was flown at 10,000 feet. the range of the signal from this altitude was 15 to 35 miles; at 3,000 feet it was 10 to 15 miles. collars with antennas molded fully inside gave only about two-thirds the range of those protruding partly, but could be expected to last longer because the antennas could not break off. it is unknown whether any protruding antennas did break during the study, but on january 5, 1970, one wolf was recaptured, and its antenna had broken. [illustration: _figure 13.--directional yagi antennas fastened to the wing struts of the aircraft were necessary to "home in" on the wolves. (photo courtesy of u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife.)_] [illustration: _figure 14.--the tracking aircraft was usually flown at altitudes of 1,500 to 3,000 feet. (photo courtesy of dick shank.)_] when a signal was received, the aircraft was headed in the approximate direction of the source until the signal strength reached a peak; a 90° turn was then made in the direction the signal seemed the strongest. a series of these maneuvers soon narrowed the area to the point where visual search was possible. after practice and experience with this technique, we could locate the approximate source of the signal within 10 to 30 minutes after first receiving it. even though the radiotagged wolves spent most of their time inland, often in stands of conifers, they were frequently observed from the aircraft. the technique was to circle at 300 to 800 feet altitude around a radius of a quarter mile from the point where the strongest signal emanated. from december through april, 65 percent of the wolves located by radio were sighted; the rate was much higher for more experienced personnel. a pack of five wolves that was tracked was seen 31 times out of 33 attempts during february and march. whenever wolves were located, radiotagged or not, observations were made from an altitude that did not disturb them. packs varied in the concern shown the aircraft, but only one or two ran from it. the radiotagged wolves, and a pack of 10 to 13 animals, were habituated to the aircraft and usually could be observed from altitudes of 500 feet and less without disturbance (fig. 15). almost all the radiotracking was done from aircraft, but when inclement weather prevented flying, some attempts from the ground succeeded when wolves were close enough to roads. the usual range on the ground was 0.75 to 1.50 miles. one wolf was approached to within 35 feet through radiotracking. [illustration: _figure 15.--the wolves studied soon became accustomed to the aircraft and could then be observed during their natural activity. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] footnotes: [1] _mention of trade names does not constitute endorsement by the usda forest service._ [2] _the acrylic collar was fashioned by the davidson co., minneapolis, minnesota, which also produced some of the transmitters. other transmitters and two radio receivers were manufactured by the avm instrument co., champaign, illinois._ results and observations aerial observations made during this study involved 490 hours distributed as follows: january, february, march 1967--124 hours; february 1968--10 hours; december 1968 through august 1969--356 hours. seventy-seven observations involving a total of 323 wolves were made (table 1), excluding animals located through radiotracking. one male and four female wolves were radiotagged, and they and their associates were followed intermittently for periods of 5 to 8 months (table 2). all except one initially suffered some injury to a foot. three of these animals were seen limping, but only in one case was the limp judged extreme enough to have significantly affected the movements or behavior of the animal. in that one case, the wolf (no. 1057) was caught in a steel trap on an extremely cold night, and her foot froze. after that she was often seen hopping on three legs. she was not able to keep up with her pack, which consisted of 10 to 13 members, and her movements were much restricted compared with those of other wolves. however, she was frequently observed feeding on fresh kills, and may even have made them herself. _table 1.--sizes of wolf population units observed in northeastern minnesota_ #: _number_ %: _percent_ +------------------+-------------------------------------------+ | | wolf observations | |population unit[3]+----------+----------+----------+----------+ |(number of wolves)| winter | winter | total |winters[4]| | | 1966-67 | 1968-69 | | 1948-53 | +------------------+----------+----------+----------+----------+ | # % # % # % # % | | 1 8 31 17 33 25 32 48 43 | | 2 3 12 6 12 9 12 24 22 | | 3 3 12 2 4 5 6 7 6 | | 4 - - 7 14 7 9 7 6 | | 5 2 7 4 8 6 8 8 7 | | 6 3 12 4 8 7 9 7 6 | | 7 2 7 1 2 3 4 4 4 | | 8 3 12 3 6 6 8 3 3 | | 9 - - 2 4 2 3 3 3 | | 10 2 7 2 4 4 5 - - | | 11 - - - - - - - - | | 12 - - 1 2 1 1 1 1 | | 13 - - 2 4 2 3 - - | | --------------------------------------------+ |total number | | of wolves 109 - 214 - 323 - 318 - | |total number | | of observations 26 - 51 - 77 - 112 - | |mean population | | unit size 4.2 - 4.2 - 4.2 - 2.8 - | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ footnotes: [3] because wolf packs sometimes split temporarily, these figures may not strictly represent actual pack sizes; nevertheless they should provide reasonably accurate approximations. [4] from stenlund (1955). _table 2.--background information on five radiotagged wolves studied in northeastern minnesota_ #: _number_ --------:---------:-------:--------:--------:-------:-------:---------- wolf :estimated: usual :location: date : last : days : general --------:weight[5]:associ-:captured:captured: date :located: condition # :sex:(pounds) :ations : : :located: : ----:---:---------:-------:--------:--------:-------:-------:---------- # 1051 m 75 none[6] t62n-r7w nov. apr. 84 good, but two -s18 27/68 24/69 toes frozen in trap; animal limped lightly for 5-6 wks. 1053 f 60 none t62n-r8w dec. aug. 72 thin; top of -s13 10/68 29/69 foot cut in trap but no broken bones or frozen toes; limped for at least 10 wks. 1055 f 60 another t61n-r10w jan. may 65 thin; two toes wolf -s26 5/69 30/69 lightly frozen; intermit no limp ever tently noticed. 1057 f 60 pack of t66n-r5w jan. apr. 47 thin; front 13[7] -s33 8/69 24/69 foot frozen in trap; lost use of foot and could not stay with pack. 1059 f 65 pack t62n-r11w jan. aug. 51 good but thin; of 5 -s26 22/69 29/69 captured in snare; no apparent injury. ----:---:---------:-------:--------:--------:-------:-------:------------footnotes: [5] wolf 1059, when killed by a trapper on january 10, 1970, appeared to be of the same size and condition as when radiotagged; she only weighed 53 pounds, however, indicating that probably all the weights are overestimated. [6] tracks of a pack of at least two other wolves came by trap where 1051 was caught; however, there was never any other indication that 1051 may have been a member of a pack. [7] a frozen foot prevented 1057 from staying with her pack; but she did associate with other wolves intermittently and with the whole pack when it came by her restricted area. the precise ages of the radiotagged wolves were unknown. all individuals, however, had sharp unworn teeth, indicating that they were all relatively young. no. 1051, the only male studied, had testes 2.0 cm. long and 1.5 cm. wide; their volume therefore would be less than 4.5 cc. the small size of these testes, compared with the 7 to 28 cc. reported by fuller and novakowski (1955) as the volume of the testes from wolves taken during fall, would indicate that 1051 had not yet matured. since the animal's testes and canine lengths were considerably greater than those of pups caught in a later study, we presume 1051 was 18 or 30 months old. two of the females, no. 1055 and no. 1059, both captured in january, had vulvas that seemed to be beginning to swell. no. 1059 was killed by a trapper about a year later, on january 10, 1970, and an examination revealed that she had bred in 1969 and carried five fetuses. sectioning her incisors and reading the apparent annulations indicated that she probably was 3+ or 4+ years old.[8] three of the wolves were basically lone individuals. one of these, no. 1051, was captured on a night when tracks of at least two other wolves came by the trap, and this could mean that he had been part of a pack. however, it is also possible that these were merely tracks of non-associated wolves that were also traveling through the area. in any case, 1051 was not seen associating with any other wolf until 4 months after he was caught, and even then the association seemed to be temporary and casual. it could be argued that capture, handling by humans, or wearing a collar prevented him from regaining old associations or making new ones. however, the wolves radiotagged by kolenosky and johnston (1967) were quickly accepted back into their packs, and so were two of ours. thus we conclude that 1051 probably was a lone wolf when captured. when 1053 was trapped, her tracks were the only ones in the area, and she was never seen closely associating with another wolf. no. 1055 probably was with another wolf when captured, as evidenced by tracks. about a month after she was radiotagged she associated with another wolf intermittently for about 2 weeks, after which she was only seen alone. no. 1057 and no. 1059 were both members of packs. no. 1057 was captured during the night after a pack of 13 wolves was seen heading toward the area; 5 days later she was seen with 10 other wolves, which no doubt represented this same pack. this wolf's association with the pack was interrupted, however, because of the foot injury sustained during capture. when 1059 was caught, tracks of two other wolves were seen in the immediate vicinity, and one of the animals was seen within a quarter mile of the trapped wolf. three days after 1059's release, and perhaps sooner, she was back with her pack, with which she remained at least through march. the detailed histories of the associations of the radiotagged wolves will be discussed in a later section. radiotagged wolves were tracked every day that weather permitted during december, january, and february; every week during march, april, and may; and once a month during june, july, and august (fig. 16). information was obtained for a total of 570 "wolf-days"--a wolf-day being a day in which one radiotagged wolf was located; a pack of five being located for 1 day would constitute 5 wolf-days. [illustration: _figure 16.--distribution of the days on which data were obtained for each of the radiotagged wolves. because tracking success was 99 percent, this also represents the distribution of effort. during june, july, and august, wolves 1053 and 1059 were located 1 day each month._] the last day that animals 1051 and 1057 were heard from was april 24, 1969. both had traveled long distances during the previous week and may have moved out of range. signals from wolf 1055 were last heard on may 30; this animal had also been ranging widely. circles with radii of at least 50 miles around the last known locations of each wolf were searched unsuccessfully for the signals. during all subsequent tracking nights for the remaining wolves, the missing animals were also sought, but to no avail. before the last dates that signals from these animals were heard, attempts to locate marked animals from the air had failed in only three instances. footnotes: [8] _david w. kuehn, personal correspondence to l. d. mech, 1970._ daytime activity patterns when radiotagged wolves were located, notes were kept on the type of activity they were engaged in; the results are summarized in figure 17. in a total of 171 observations made between 9:00 a.m. and 6:00 p.m., the wolves were resting 62 percent of the time, traveling 28 percent and feeding 10 percent. they tended to travel more before 11:00 a.m. and after 3:00 p.m., although resting still composed at least 45 percent of the activity during every hour (fig. 18). [illustration: _figure 17.--percentage of time spent by radiotagged wolves in various types of activity throughout the day, from december through april._] [illustration: _figure 18.--generally the wolves rested during most of the day. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] these results generally agree with the statement by mech (1966a) that wolves on nearby isle royale tend to rest about 11:00 a.m. and begin traveling again about 4:00 p.m. however, it does appear that the minnesota wolves spend much more of the day resting than do the isle royale animals. the difference may be caused by the difference in pack sizes studied. the isle royale pack of 15 to 16 may have had to travel more to find enough food to feed all its members than did the lone wolves and pack of five in the present study. movements and range wolf movement is greatly hindered by deep, soft snow, so during winter travel, wolves frequently use areas where they sink into the snow the least. in our study area, frozen waterways are used extensively where possible, just as reported by stenlund (1955). where few lakes or rivers exist, wolves follow railroad beds and logging roads, often soon after a plow or other vehicle has driven on them. in cutting cross country through deep snow, wolves travel single file and tend to stick to windblown ridges and to trails of deer and moose. wolves that have ranges small enough to cover in a few days form a network of their own trails, which they can maintain merely by traveling regularly over them. packs on isle royale depended a great deal on such a system of trails (mech 1966a), and so did pack no. 1059 in our study area. wolf packs can travel up to 45 miles in a day but it is usually larger packs that do so (stenlund 1955, burkholder 1959, mech 1966a, pimlott _et al._ 1969). in our study area we sometimes saw evidence of long moves by large packs along strings of lakes and waterways. however, most of our movement data pertain to lone wolves and a pack of five. the daily travel of these animals was usually much less than that reported for large packs. our radiotracking data provide an index to the extent of travel for each wolf rather than the actual amount of travel, for it is based on straight line distances between consecutive points at which an animal was found. this measure will be referred to as the "net daily distance." much variation was found in the net daily distances of wolves, with the longest ranging from 4.5 miles for 1057 to 12.8 for 1055 (table 3). the mean net daily distance for each animal, excluding days with no net movement, varied from 1.5 to 3.6 miles. the movements of these wolves may have been affected by the snow depth and penetrability, for mean and maximum net daily distances suddenly increased for all animals between february 23 and 28, when snow penetrability had decreased to a point where walking wolves would be expected to sink in only about 6 inches (table 4). other possible explanations for the wolves' sudden increase in movements will be discussed below. the straight line distances traveled between consecutive weekly locations (called the "net weekly distances") showed a similar variation (table 3). the maximum net weekly distance for each wolf varied from 4.6 miles for 1059 to 49.0 for 1055, with means ranging from 2.9 to 15.6 miles for the same wolves. no doubt 1059's net weekly distances were relatively short because her total range and that of her pack were much smaller than those of the other wolves. it is difficult to obtain comparable measures of the extent of the ranges covered by each of the radiotagged wolves because their patterns of travel varied so much. thus the figures given in table 5 should be regarded only as gross indicators of the minimum range of each animal. the area figures are especially deceiving in the case of 1055, for she had a horseshoe-shaped range, much of which apparently was not used. _table 3.--straight line distances (miles) between consecutive locations of radiotagged wolves_ #: _number_ %: _percent_ ---------------------------------------------------:--------------------------- : : net weekly : net daily distances : distances :----------------------------------------------:--------------------------- : : : : :mean net : : : : : : : : :distance : : : : : days :days no : days :mean net:per day : :weeks:mean net: wolf: data : net :movement:distance:excluding :range:data :distance: range # :obtained:movement: :per day :days of no: : :per week: : : : : :movement : : : : :--------:--------:--------:--------:----------:-----:-----:--------:------ : # : # % : # % : miles : miles :miles: # : miles : miles 1051 54 13 24 41 76 2.0 2.6 0.0-12.0 22 12.7 1.0-46.0 1053 37 20 54 17 46 1.0 2.1 0.0-5.0 23 6.3 0.0-23.6 1055 46 7 15 39 85 2.9 3.6 0.0-12.8 21 15.6 1.7-49.0 1057 29 11 38 18 62 1.0 1.5 0.0-4.5 15 4.6 0.0-31.0 1059 26 1 4 25 96 2.5 2.6 0.0-5.6 18 2.9 0.0-4.6 ----:--------:--------:--------:--------:----------:-----:-----:--------:------nevertheless, one major piece of information is obvious from the figures: 1059's pack of five wolves had a much smaller range than any of the other uninjured animals--approximately 43 square miles when figured by the minimum-area method (mohr 1947). the next smallest range was that of 1051 (excluding the area of his later dispersal--see below), which was some seven times the size of the pack's range. _table 4.--straight line distances (miles) traveled between consecutive days ("net daily distance") by radiotagged wolves in northeastern minnesota during february 1969_ +-------+-------------------------+-------------------------+ | | mean net | greatest net | | wolf | daily distance | daily distance | |number +------------+------------+------------+------------+ | | feb. 1-23 | feb. 23-28 | feb. 1-23 | feb. 23-28 | +-------+------------+------------+------------+------------+ | 1051 1.1 3.5 2.3 4.8 | | 1053 0.7 2.5 3.0 5.0 | | 1055 2.7 6.2 8.0 12.8 | | 1057 1.0 1.5 4.0 4.5 | | 1059 2.2 3.1 4.0 5.6 | +-------+------------+------------+------------+------------+ there is little published information on the movements and ranges of lone wolves with which to compare our data. mech (1970) summarized information regarding ranges of packs. reported ranges varied from 36 square miles for a pack of two wolves in minnesota (stenlund 1955) to 5,000 square miles for a pack of 10 in alaska (burkholder 1959). considering only data based on intensive study in the same general region (minnesota, isle royale, and ontario) as our study area, the largest range reported was 210 square miles for a pack of 15 to 21 wolves on isle royale (mech 1966, jordan _et al._ 1967). on a per-wolf basis, the ranges in this region varied from 6 to 28 square miles per wolf. our pack of five with its range of 43 square miles would have about 9 square miles per wolf. a more accurate assessment of the ranges of the radiotagged wolves requires an individual discussion for each. _no. 1051._--the range of 1051 was composed basically of three distinct areas (fig. 19). within 10 days after being released, the wolf left the general area of his capture (area a near isabella lake) and traveled to area b along highway 1, some 17 miles to the southwest. from december 9 to january 4 wolf 1051 remained in area b, which covers about 45 square miles. between january 4 and 6 he returned to area a and stayed in 13 square miles until february 3. between february 3 and 5 he shifted to area c east of snowbank lake, 11 miles northwest of area a. he remained in that 16-square-mile area until february 25, then suddenly left and headed 8 miles to the northeast. _table 5.--extent of ranges used by radiotagged wolves_ +--------+----------+----------+--------------+----------------------+ | wolf | greatest | greatest | total area[9]|area[9] of intense use| | number | length | width | | (before late feb.) | +--------+----------+----------+--------------+----------------------+ | _miles_ _miles_ _sq. miles_ _sq. miles_ | | | |1051[10] 28.5 13.6 318 13 (location a[11])| | 45 (location b) | | 16 (location c) | |1053 31.1 22.0 392 31 | |1055 55.4 24.9 997 40 | |1057 32.3 3.8 77 14 | |1059[12] 8.4 8.0 43 39 | +--------+----------+----------+--------------+----------------------+ footnotes: [9] minimum area method (mohr 1947). [10] before dispersal. [11] see text and figure 19. [12] pack of five. [illustration: _figure 19.--locations and range of wolf 1051. lines are not travel routes; rather they merely indicate sequence of locations. only selected lakes are shown._] from february 26 until april 24 the movements of 1051 were strongly indicative of dispersal (fig. 20). his average weekly straight line move during that period was 25 miles (compared with 6 miles per week before this period), and until march 14 he maintained an almost straight south-southwest heading to a location west of the town of castle danger. after that the animal traveled a series of northwest-southwest alternations that on april 3 took him east of big sandy lake to a point 129 miles southwest of where he had begun the dispersal. there he remained for about 2 weeks, but between april 17 and 24 he traveled 26 miles northwest. we last saw him at 3:30 p.m. on april 24 heading northwest through a swamp 15 miles southeast of grand rapids, approximately 122 miles from where he had started. the total of straight line distances between 16 consecutive pairs of locations taken at intervals of from 1 to 8 days was 226 miles, which is the minimum distance the wolf traveled during his dispersal. [illustration: _figure 20.--dispersal of wolf 1051. lines merely indicate sequence of locations. only selected lakes are shown._] we observed 1051 for distances of up to 5 miles during these travels; he maintained a steady trot that seemed faster than usual, and he appeared intent on heading in a straight line. he did chase deer during his travels, and twice was seen feeding on carcasses. in the area where he remained for about 2 weeks, he was twice seen closely associated with another wolf. this relationship will be discussed later. an extensive search was made for 1051's signals on may 2 in an area of at least 50 miles radius from his last known location, but it was unsuccessful. on each subsequent tracking flight, the wolf's frequency was also monitored with no success. possible explanations for the loss of the signal from this wolf include the following: (1) premature expiration of the transmitter, (2) capture of the wolf and breakage of the transmitter, (3) loss of the exposed antenna and consequent reduction of range, and (4) travel of the wolf out of range of the tracking aircraft. during 1051's travels a number of interesting events took place: nov. 27, 1968--captured and radiotagged dec. 4, 1968--crossed road in front of tracking truck dec. 8, 1968--moved to area b dec. 9, 1968--surprised on the ground at distance of 35 feet dec. 18, 1968--chased by loggers with axes dec. 25, 1968--almost shot by trapper who saw collar and withheld fire jan. 5, 1969--returned to area a jan. 13, 1969--"bumped" twice on logging road by loggers in auto but no apparent injury feb. 4, 1969--moved to area c feb. 26, 1969--began long-range southwest movement considered to be dispersal mar. 14, 1969--seen feeding on old carcass within 200 yards of houses, dogs, and a man walking mar. 27, 1969--chased two deer across 4-lane state highway 53 apr. 3, 1969--found with another wolf at point farthest south in his range apr. 24, 1969--last contact with this animal; was seen traveling nw _wolf 1053._--this wolf was basically a scavenger who subsisted for long periods on the remains of old carcasses. she was known to have visited the remains of at least four deer and three moose, and she stayed near one moose carcass from february 8 to 20, at least during the day. between her date of capture, december 10, and february 28, 1053 traveled about in an area of 31 square miles in the arrow lake-maniwaki lake region (fig. 21). [illustration: _figure 21.--locations and range of wolf 1053. only selected lakes are shown._] between february 28 and march 6 she suddenly moved 13 miles to the east-southeast near the sawbill trail, and during the next week she traveled a straight line distance of 24 miles southwest to a point southeast of the town of isabella. her subsequent travels eventually took her over a much larger area. before february 28, 1053's average weekly straight line distance was 2 miles, but after that date it increased to 11 miles. _wolf 1055._--the range of this animal from january 5, when she was captured, to february 23 covered about 40 square miles near stony lake, slate lake, and the jack pine lookout tower (fig. 22), and her mean weekly distance was 4 miles. between february 23 and 24, however, she traveled 13 miles northeastward, the beginning of a series of long moves. by march 5, 1055 had reached crescent lake, a point 39 miles east-northeast of her previous area of intensive use. she then gradually headed back toward the west and south during the next 10 days and within the next month repeated this pattern. when her signal was heard last on may 30, 1055 was near martin landing in the center of her range. her mean net weekly distance after february 23 had increased to 22 miles. [illustration: _figure 22.--locations and range of wolf 1055. only selected lakes are shown._] _wolf 1057._--the movements of 1057 cannot be considered normal because freezing of a front foot prevented her accompanying the pack of which she was a member. nevertheless, even data from an abnormal animal can provide some information. on january 13, 5 days after capture and release on red rock lake, 1057 was located 4 miles from the capture point with a pack of 10 other wolves. she was limping and fell behind when they moved. five days later she was again seen with the pack 12 miles away between knife lake and kekekabic lake. she then remained in about 14 square miles of that general area through april 17 (fig. 23). [illustration: _figure 23.--locations and range of wolf 1057. only selected lakes are shown._] suddenly on april 24, 1057 was found in ontario some 31 miles northeast of her location of the previous week. that was the last time we heard her signal even though on may 2 we scanned an area with a radius of 35 miles from her last known location and listened for her signal during every subsequent flight. _wolf 1059._--this animal was a member of a pack of three to five wolves (see next section). the movements of the group varied little and were concentrated in the august lake, omaday lake, and keeley creek area in about 43 square miles (fig. 24). contrary to animals 1051, 1053, and 1055, this pack did not suddenly begin a series of longer weekly movements in late february. both before and after february 28, the average weekly straight line movement of the pack was just less than 3 miles. [illustration: _figure 24.--location and range of wolf 1059 and pack. only selected lakes are shown._] probably these animals did begin traveling more in late february, for their net daily distances did increase at that time along with those of the other wolves (table 4). however, the increased travel took place within the restricted area of the pack's usual range rather than in new areas as occurred with the other wolves. because 1059 was later found to have bred and carried five fetuses, her movements during whelping season (late april and early may) are of interest. her locations on both april 24 and may 2 were within 250 yards of each other, which might indicate that she was denning. on may 9, however, she was 2.5 miles east of these locations, on the 17th and 21st was 2 miles west of them, and on the 30th was 3 miles north of them. in early january 1970, wolf 1059 was killed by a trapper in the southeast corner of her pack's 1969 range. _summer locations._--signals from only 1053 and 1059 were heard during summer, and then tracking attempts were made only on june 28, july 29, and august 29. locations for 1053 on those occasions were near kelly landing and isabella lake, within her previous range. wolf 1059 was found each time within 2 miles outside of the southwest corner of the pack's winter and spring range. wolf associations, social behavior, and reproduction in our study area, population units of wolves exist as both single animals (lone wolves) and packs. in a total of 77 observations, lone wolves constituted 32 percent of the sightings (fig. 25), with packs of from 2 to 13 members making up the remainder (table 1). on the basis of the number of wolves seen, rather than the number of observations, lone wolves accounted for only 25 (8 percent) out of 323. [illustration: _figure 25.--only 8 percent of the wolves observed were lone wolves. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] these figures compare favorably with reports in the literature as summarized by mech (1970). in five areas studied, lone wolves made up from 24 to 60 percent of the observations of population units, and from 8 to 28 percent of the wolves seen. in our study area during 1948 to 1953, lone wolves constituted 43 percent of the observations and 15 percent of the wolves (stenlund 1955). the average size of the population units observed during our study (total number of wolves seen divided by the number of observations) was 4.2, which is significantly larger (95 percent level) than the average seen in this area (2.8) from 1948 to 1953. this is also larger than that reported from any other area of comparable size (table 6). _table 6.--mean sizes of wolf population units reported from various areas_ ---------+------------+--------+------------+---------+-------------- | | |mean size of| largest | authority area |observations| wolves | population |pack size|calculated from | | | unit | | ---------+------------+--------+------------+---------+-------------- _number_ _number_ alaska 310 1,041 3.4 12 kelly 1954 alaska 1,268 4,823 3.8 21 r. a. rausch[13] lapland 118 311 2.5 12 pulliainen 1965 e. finland 460 984 2.1 12 pulliainen 1965 minnesota 112 318 2.8 12 stenlund 1955 minnesota 77 323 4.2 13 present study ---------------------------------------------------------------------footnotes: [13] r. a. rausch. personal correspondence to l. d. mech, 1967. the largest pack seen in our study area included 13 members, and there apparently were at least two such packs. although larger packs than this have been reported, any group containing more than 8 to 10 members is unusually large (mech 1970). wolf sociology is a complex subject and is still not well understood, so the following detailed observations of the associations between our radiotagged wolves and others are given. associations are defined as relationships in which two or more wolves relate in a close, positive manner. as mentioned earlier, 1051 may or may not have been associated with other wolves when he was captured. however, although this animal was observed 55 times throughout winter and spring, only twice was he seen associating with another wolf. probably the same individual was involved each time, because the location was about the same (the vicinity of the juncture of aitkin, carlton, and st. louis counties). the first occasion was on april 3. wolf 1051 in the previous week had moved 46 miles straight line distance from the northeast. he was then observed lying peacefully within 15 feet of another wolf near a freshly killed deer. the very proximity of the two animals implied a positive relationship. on april 7, 10 and 14, 1051 was seen 1 mile, 10 miles, and 8 miles from the kill and was alone each time. however, on april 17, 1051 was back in the general vicinity of the kill, and he and another wolf were resting on an open hillside about 100 feet from each other. as we descended for a closer look, the smaller animal arose and headed to the larger, presumably 1051 because he had not been disturbed by the aircraft. the larger wolf did not arise for several seconds, but eventually followed the other into the woods. no tail raising or other expressive posturing was seen in either wolf. one week later 1051 was 26 miles northwest of the kill traveling alone. wolf 1053 was never seen less than 80 yards from another wolf, and there was no evidence that she ever associated with a conspecific. even when she was seen 80 yards from the other wolf, both were resting, and when the strange wolf left, 1053 made no attempt to accompany or follow it. no. 1055 apparently had been traveling with another wolf when caught on january 5, and tracks showed that the individual had remained near her until we arrived to handle her. tracks found on january 7 and 10 suggested that 1055 was with another animal, but that animal was not seen during any of the six times 1055 was observed through february 1. however, from february 5 to 19, 1055 was with another wolf on eight of the 12 times she was seen. the two animals were observed resting, traveling, hunting, and feeding together. on february 20, and thereafter, 1055 was alone all 14 times she was seen. it is possible that 1055's associate was killed between february 19 and 20. about march 6, a 63-pound male wolf pup was found dead (by mr. charles wick, usda forest service) within about 50 feet of a highway and less than a mile from where 1055 and her associate were seen on february 19. because of the snow conditions, it was judged that the wolf had been killed (probably by an automobile) sometime in february. wolf 1057, whose foot froze during capture, was a member of a pack of 10 to 13 wolves, and was seen with the pack on january 13 and 18. after that she was usually found alone, although on at least five occasions she was with one or more wolves: _no. of_ _period_ _observations_ _associations_ jan. 13 1 10 other wolves jan. 14-17 1 none jan. 18 1 10 or 11 other wolves jan. 19-29 2 none jan. 30 1 1 other wolf jan. 31 to feb. 2 2 none feb. 3-4 2 2 other wolves feb. 5 1 1 other wolf feb. 6-13 6 none feb. 14 1 3 other wolves feb. 15-22 5 none feb. 23 1 10 to 13 other wolves feb. 24 to apr. 24 6 none february 23 she was with the pack at a kill in her usual area, and although the pack left that night, 1057 remained near the kill the next day. presumably this animal would have traveled with pack if she could have. no. 1059 was part of a pack that included three to five members (fig. 26). from january 25, the first time she was observed after release, through april 2, the animal was seen 19 times with two other wolves, eight times with at least three others, and eight times with four others. she was never seen alone until april 17; both times after this when she was seen, may 9 and 21, 1059 was also alone. some insight into the fluctuating size of this pack was obtained on february 27 when the five animals were followed for 2 hours. during that time two members (one of which was larger than the other) often lagged behind the other three by as much as a mile. these two romped and played considerably, with one carrying a stick or a bone part of the time. eventually they caught up again to the other three. the behavior of the two lagging wolves would be consistent with the hypothesis that they were either pups or a courting pair of adults. in either case, they seemed to be an actual part of the pack even though they temporarily traveled separately. [illustration: _figure 26.--one of the radiotagged wolves was a member of this pack of five. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] the fact that 1059 was observed traveling alone three times from april 17 to may 21 may be further evidence that the pack had a den in the area at that time. the presence of a den allows individual pack members to venture off singly and return each day to a known social center, as murie (1944) observed, so they do not need to travel with each other to maintain social bonds. wolves in our area breed during the latter half of february (see below), and the young should be born in the latter half of april. since dens are prepared a few weeks in advance (young 1944), pack members might be expected to begin traveling singly in mid-april. some information on social relations within our radiotagged pack of five was also obtained. one of the members could often be distinguished from the others by its reddish cast and this individual appeared to be the pack leader or alpha male (schenkel 1947). in urinating, this animal lifted his leg, a position seen almost exclusively in males. except for only two temporary occasions, this animal always headed the pack, which usually traveled single file. the second wolf in line generally was noticeably small, possible a female, and the third wolf was twice identified as 1059 on the basis of sightings of her collar. the leader often gained a lead on the other wolves, especially during a chase (see below), much as reported for a lead wolf on isle royale (mech 1966a). upon returning to the lagging members of the pack, this animal usually held his tail vertically, an expression of social dominance (schenkel 1947). on two occasions he led chases against strange wolves and demonstrated the highest motivation (see below). the leader was also the most active in his reactions when scent posts were encountered. because the function of scent-marking behavior is still unknown, it is important that detailed descriptions of the natural behavior of free-ranging wolves around scent posts be made available (fig. 27). thus the following excerpt from field notes by mech dated february 27, 1969, is presented: [illustration: _figure 27.--feces, urine, and scratching in a conspicuous spot indicate a wolf "scent post." (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] "when they [the three wolves] came to a small frozen pond, where the wolf trail [which they had been following] branched and there were some packed down areas, they became quite excited [fig. 28]. this was especially true of the reddish wolf. he nosed several spots, and scratched around them. usually his tail was vertical. he defecated at one spot, and right afterwards another wolf did. after about 2 minutes that pack went on. [illustration: _figure 28.--a pack of wolves investigating a scent post. the raised tails indicate their excitement. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] "about 15 minutes later the 2 'satellite' wolves arrived at this spot, hesitated, nosed around but continued on after less than a minute. "the three wolves meanwhile came to a junction of 2 logging roads. there they nosed around, scratched, and acted much as described above. again the reddish wolf was most active and had its tail up. "when the last 2 wolves came to this spot, they nosed around, ran back and forth, and 1 defecated. they then headed on a different branch of the trail than the first 3 had gone on just 10 minutes before. "the first 3 wolves meanwhile were running along a logging road but eventually they circled and one other than the reddish one headed across a swamp toward the last 2. then the reddish one and the other followed this one, and they met the last 2 on a ridge. there was the usual tail wagging, then all headed off together in a new direction. they passed the first scent post again and there was some nosing by the reddish wolf but little hesitation. "when they traveled, one wolf lagged behind by 150 yards. the wolf just ahead of it had its tail vertical part of the time, as did the reddish leader. "soon the pack came upon another area packed with wolf tracks on a pond. there they followed every little trail, nose to the ground, wagged tails, grouped together often, chased each other, rolled over, etc. for 6 minutes. the reddish animal had tail up most of the time. "the wolves continued on, and we left them about 1 mile s.w. of the s.w. arm of bald eagle lake [at 6:05 p.m.]." unfortunately it was not known whether the trails that the wolves were following were their own or those made by other wolves. significant aspects of the above observation are (1) the spirited initiative of the leader, (2) the amount of time spent in scratching, urinating, and defecating, (3) the decision of the last two wolves to take a different route from that of the first three even though their goal seemed to be to catch up to the first three, and (4) the fact that the scent posts were located at trail junctions. in the last regard, we often noted from the ground that wolves urinated at the junction of newly formed human trails heading perpendicularly from roads they were following. copulation in wolves was only observed once during our study, on february 19, 1969. two members of a group of four were seen coupled for 2 minutes on kekekabic lake. on isle royale, which is at the same latitude, copulations were witnessed on february 21, 24 and 27 (mech 1966a). on april 17, a den west of big moose lake known to have been used at least intermittently for 13 years was seen from the air to have fresh activity of some kind in the snow in front of it, and on april 24 we saw a wolf at the mound. a few days later, two local human residents unaware of our interests approached this den and looked in. an adult wolf, presumably the bitch, leaped over their heads and fled the area. the men then dug up the den and removed six pups whose eyes had not yet opened. intraspecific intolerance and indifference instances of chasing or attack by a pack of wolves on conspecifics not a part of their group have been described by murie (1944) and mech (1966a). observations of such behavior are important in trying to determine conclusively whether or not wolves are territorial. pimlott _et al._ (1969, p. 75) wrote "it still is not clear, however, whether or not their use of range should be defined as territorial." mech (1970) summarized the available evidence for territoriality in wolves and postulated that it may be spatiotemporal such that packs might avoid each other at any particular point in time but over a long period might cover the same area at different times. a number of our observations are pertinent to this question, for we have evidence of both, tolerance and intolerance between population units of wolves. two direct cases of intolerance were observed, both involving the radiotagged pack and other wolves within the usual range of the pack. following is a direct quote from the field notes of mech: "feb. 7, 1969--about 11:30 a.m.--aerial and visual--1059 and 2 other wolves traveling overland about halfway between heart l. and august l. (r10w-t61 n. sect. 17 center). they were traveling quickly and intently along a fresh wolf trail, with a lighter reddish individual in the lead. the other 2 animals were darker colored, and one of them was smaller than the other. one of them must have been 1059. "we soon found that about half a mile ahead of the pack was a dark wolf hurrying away from the three. this animal often looked back and ran whenever it encountered good running conditions. it soon became obvious that the pack of 3 was chasing this individual. because it [the lone wolf] often broke its own trail, the pack gradually gained on this animal. the single wolf flushed a deer which ran when the wolf was about 75 feet away and floundered in the snow, but the wolf continued hurrying on by. "although the deer ran only about 50 yards and stopped, the pack of 3 also hurried on by. the single wolf flushed another deer, ignored it, and continued by, as did the pack of 3. the chase continued for 2 miles as we watched, into the n.e. corner of sect. 18 and then into the n. central part of sect. 8, and the pack got to within 150 yards of the single wolf. "however, at this point, the 2 darker members of the pack had fallen about 100 yards behind the lead one. the lead animal stopped and waited for them, as it had done a few times before. it then turned around and headed back to these animals. when they met, the reddish animal's tail was held vertically and there was much tail wagging by all for about 1 minute. then all animals lay down for a minute and then went up on a knoll. there was much activity and 'playing' on the knoll. (12:10 p.m.) "the single wolf continued running and looking back for at least another mile. we left at 12:21 p.m. "at 4:07 p.m. we saw a single wolf running across a small lake and looking behind it about 8 miles n.w. of these animals. the creature behaved the same as the one being chased today, and we wondered whether it could be the same animal." on february 18, 1969, ream made a similar observation, as follows (quoted from his field notes): "got visual sighting on 1059 with 3 other wolves at 11:55 about a mile west of omaday lake and they were running along fairly fast on a trail. when we circled a second time we saw 2 wolves curled up sleeping on a knoll ahead (south) of the running pack. we then realized the running wolves were on the trail of the sleeping wolves and when the pack of 4 with 'red' in the lead was about 50 yards from the knoll the 2 sleeping wolves jumped up and charged away in the opposite direction full tilt, and split and went in 2 directions. when the pack reached the knoll they started off on the trail of the wolf that headed n.e. and then changed and went after the one that headed s.w. the reddish wolf was in the lead and really picked up the pace. although the reddish wolf seemed to gain on the chased one 3 or 4 times, the pack as a whole couldn't catch up, even though the single was breaking trail. the reddish wolf, after gaining, always stopped and waited for the others or went back to find them. they chased this wolf for 2-1/2 to 3 miles, all the way down to highway 1 at a point 3.0 miles from the lab [kawishiwi field station, u.s. forest service]. there was a dense patch, 10-15 acres, of woods just before highway 1 and we lost sight of the chased wolf for a while and also the 4 when they entered it, but shortly we found that the chased one had somehow doubled back and was heading n.e. again. the pack was apparently confused for at one point 3 of them were wandering back and forth on highway 1, apparently looking for the trail of the chased wolf. two of these paralleled the highway for a couple hundred yards and then stopped on top of a hill, apparently resting. during this chase both the single wolf and the pack chased up deer from their route of travel and didn't seem to pay much attention to them, even though some were really floundering in the deep snow. we finally stopped watching all of this at 1:30 p.m. and proceeded on our rounds." on february 21 we also saw a single wolf running and looking behind several times on ojibway lake. even when it saw a fisherman on the lake within 1/8 mile, it continued across to the opposite shore seeming most intent on avoiding whatever was on its trail. presumably it had also been chased by a pack. the cases of tolerance or indifference that we witnessed between wolves involved our lone animals. on january 27, 1051 was at a kill he had made the day before, and another wolf was sitting within 100 feet looking toward the carcass. eventually the unidentified wolf left without approaching any closer. a lone wolf was also seen near 1053 in the general vicinity of a moose carcass, which probably both were feeding on at different times. three such observations were made, on february 10, 15, and 18; and on february 21 another wolf was also seen near 1053 some 2.5 miles away from the moose carcass. in all cases, the two animals were 80 to 200 yards apart in open country and must have been aware of each other's presence. hunting, killing, and feeding behavior the primary prey of most wolves in our study area is the white-tailed deer (fig. 29), but some moose (fig. 30) are also killed. we have examined the remains of six moose that were eaten by wolves, two of which were killed by them (fig. 31). one was found on february 25, 1967, on gillis lake and the other on march 7, 1969, on twinkle lake. these locations are within 3 miles of each other, suggesting that a wolf pack in that area may be more accustomed to preying on moose than other packs. the other four moose carcasses were found in other parts of the study area, but circumstances were such that the causes of death of those animals could not be determined. a discussion of the details of wolf-moose relations in our study area must await the collection of additional data. [illustration: _figure 29.--the main prey of wolves in northern minnesota is the white-tailed deer. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] [illustration: _figure 30.--moose are also killed by wolves. (photo courtesy of allan taylor.)_] [illustration: _figure 31.--only a few wolf-killed moose were located during the study. (photo courtesy of laurence pringle.)_] the remains of 93 wolf-killed deer, and 49 probable wolf-kills, were examined for age, sex, and condition and were compared with a sample of 433 hunter-killed deer from the same general area. the wolf-killed deer were generally much older than the hunter-kills and had a significantly higher percentage of jaw and limb abnormalities (see mech and frenzel, page 35). until recently the only observations of wolves hunting deer were those reported by stenlund (1955) for northern minnesota. he described two reports of actual observations and two reports of interpretations of tracks in the snow, all successful hunts. since that time several descriptions of successful and unsuccessful hunts have also been published (mech 1966b, rutter and pimlott 1968, pimlott _et al._ 1969, mech 1970). nevertheless, many more observations must be made before generalizations can be formed. during the present study we were able to witness a number of hunts from the air and piece together others based on tracks. the following descriptions are quoted from the field notes of mech: "26 january 1967. about 3/4 mile n.e. of alice lake. "jack burgess [pilot] and i were following a pack of 8 wolves, when at 4:15 they veered from their former line of travel, about 30°. they were then about 200 yards from 2 deer. they began wagging their tails when about 175 yards from the deer. one deer, on the edge of a steep bank, was lying, but one was standing about 75 yards n. of it in open hardwoods. the wolves continued toward the latter deer. "this deer remained standing in the same place until the wolves approached to within about 100 feet of it. the lead wolf stopped, when that distance from the deer, and the others caught up but also stopped when within about 25 feet behind the lead wolf. by this time the deer, whose body was facing away from the wolves, had its head turned back over its shoulder toward the wolves. the wolves and the deer remained absolutely still while staring at each other, 100 feet apart, for 1-2 minutes, while we made several circles. "suddenly the deer bolted, and instantly the wolves pursued. i am fairly certain that it was the deer that bolted first, but could be mistaken. the action was almost simultaneous. the deer headed toward the other deer near the top of the high bank. this animal had been lying but had arisen when the wolves were about 150 yards away. "the lead wolf followed in the deer's trail, but the others cut toward the bank. this flushed the second deer (near the edge of the bank), which ran down the bank. meanwhile when the first deer reached the edge of the bank, it headed due w. along the top of it. only the lead wolf pursued this animal. the other deer had headed down the bank to the s.e., and at least a few of the wolves followed it. "we could not watch both deer, so we continued following the first. the deer had no trouble in snowdrifts, but the wolf was hindered by them. the wolf followed the deer for about 200 yards along the top of the bank, and then gave up after losing ground. the wolf had run a total distance of about 250-275 yards. he then lay down and rested. "we noticed at least 3 wolves stopped part way down the bank in the trail of the second deer. however, we did not see the remaining wolves or the second deer. "eventually (after about 5 minutes), these wolves joined the first, and all rested. at 4:25 p.m., one wolf started toward a third deer, which had been lying under a tree while the former chase took place. the deer was about 150 yards from where the wolves rested, and it had stood before the wolf started toward it. we could not see whether the deer or wolf bolted first, but suddenly both animals were bounding away. the wolf chased the deer about 125 yards and gave up after losing ground. the other wolves followed slowly in its trail, and all assembled and rested. the deer continued running for at least 1/4-mile." "27 february 1969. 2 miles n. of august lake. "1059's pack of 5 was heading n.e. at 4:10 p.m. when they got to within 100 yards of 2 standing deer. the deer had been standing alertly in a shallow draw, and when at least 2 wolves got to within 100 yards, they fled. the wolves began running after them. "the deer were in snow up to their bellies and had to hesitate slightly at each bound. but they ran fast. we could only see one wolf very much [of the time]. it was also having a difficult time in the snow, and after a total run of about 250 yards (100 to the deer's original location and 150 after the deer), the wolf lay on the snow and rested about 10 minutes. the deer ran only about 200 yards more and stood alertly for the next 20 minutes at least. the wolves then went on. "27 march 1969. about 2 miles s.e. of central lakes, minnesota. "at 3:00 p.m. while we were following wolf 1051 by aircraft in above location, we saw a deer running very quickly on top of the crusted snow and then stand and watch its backtrail. about 1-1/2 minutes later we saw 1051 running along the same route. we did not see when the deer fled again, but saw it running about 100 yards from the wolf and doubling back paralleling its original route. when the wolf got near the approximate doubling-back point, he lay down and rested for about 5 minutes. the deer continued fleeing for about 350 yards, stopped, and for several minutes faced its backtrail. the wolf finally continued on in his original direction, giving up the chase. "at 4:30 p.m.--1-1/2 miles s. of central lakes, minnesota--wolf 1051 had come to within 100 yards of [four-lane] highway 53 and was hesitant to approach it. several cars were going by in both directions. thus the wolf headed s. parallel with the highway about 150 yards e. of it. "suddenly two deer, which we had noticed s. of the wolf earlier, fled across the highway. the wolf soon got to the point where they crossed, hesitated about a minute and then ran across. no cars came at that time. "we could not always see the deer or the wolf when w. of the road because there were several patches of evergreens. the wolf did head straight w. after crossing the road. then about 250 yards w. of this point we saw a deer come out onto an old woods road which lay in a n.w.-s.e. axis. the deer ran n.w. on the road and then we saw the wolf where the deer had come out onto the road. while the deer ran n.w., the wolf cut into the woods to his right, n.e. we could not see it then but presumed it was running n.w. paralleling the road. "after the deer had run about 50 yards up the road, it also headed n.e. into the evergreens. within a few seconds it fled right back out and started s.e. down the road. the wolf was about 50 feet behind it and began gaining. "when the deer got back to where the wolf had headed into the woods from the road before, it also headed n.e. into the woods. the wolf was then about 20 feet away and the deer was headed n. around in a circle with the wolf closing in on the outside. the wolf did not emerge from the evergreens for at least 15 minutes, nor did we see the deer, so i presume the wolf killed the deer. [but see entry for april 1.] "1 april 1969. dan frenzel and i searched the area described on march 27 for 1 hour and found no sign of a kill. old wolf tracks were seen, but only a single wandering track. no concentration such as usually seen at kills. best conclusion is that 1051 did _not_ kill the deer where seen from the air march 27." we also saw 1055 and her associate actually kill a deer, on february 6, 1969, but we did not realize what was going on and it happened so fast that we only saw a wolf rushing and biting at the front end of the downed animal. the chase had to have lasted only a few seconds. in addition to the above direct observations, we also were able to piece together from tracks in the snow the chase and successful encounter between a single wolf and a deer in two instances. in the first case, on january 25, 1967 (11:50 a.m.), we arrived at the scene (near grub lake, just n. of snowbank lake) within an hour of the encounter, and the wolf was still feeding on the deer, which had been a 2-1/2-year-old female. mech examined the area from the ground and made the following observations: "the deer had come s.w. down the middle of the lake at a fast walk, turned around, backtracked a few yards and headed to the n.w. shore of the lake. meanwhile a wolf had come at a trot along the deer's track, but it had cut to the n.w. shore about 50 yards n.e. of where the deer had. when still on the ice about 15 feet from shore, the wolf began running as evidenced by his long bounds. he continued running inland about 50 feet from shore toward the deer. the deer had walked inland from the shore and may have stood there about 25 feet from shore. suddenly it had bounded away. the bounding wolf track was in the same trail as the deer's for about 25 yards but then it paralleled the deer's about 5 feet away on the inland side. after about 125 yards from where the deer flushed, the deer was pulled down. it was _not_ on its side but rather had sunk into the snow in more-or-less of an upright position. "apparently the deer had just about reached the shore when the wolf noticed it, and it detected the wolf. at this time the wolf must have been up the shore about 50 yards where his tracks first showed he began bounding. there was no sign that the wolf had spotted the deer on the lake and had tried to cut it off from shore by running inland along the shore and then waiting for the deer to come inland. once the wolf had begun bounding, he continued until he pulled the deer down.... sign showed that the deer dropped within about 20 feet of where she had begun bleeding." the second case involved a 5-1/2-year-old buck, no. m-28, which had arthritis of his right hind foot and probably had defective gait (see mech and frenzel p. 35). the attack took place on basswood lake on february 2, 1967, and excerpts from field notes by mech follow: "a single wolf had killed this deer after chasing, following, or tracking the deer about 3.75 miles. the deer's last 350 yards was a fast walk--the tracks were one in front of the other and about 2 feet apart, and there was no leaping or bounding. same with the wolf--a fast trot. "where the tracks came together, the deer apparently had fallen, but there was no blood. from there, the deer dragged its feet or the wolf for about 25 feet and then went down again. the wolf circled the deer, and for the next 150 feet, the 2 animals had fought or scuffled and then the deer had gone down where we found it. "the 4-mile persistence of this wolf--whether tracking, following, or chasing the deer--is remarkable [compared with most chases] and makes me believe the wolf had good reason to believe it could kill the deer." our observations of wounds on fresh kills confirm the following description by stenlund (1955, p. 31) of the location and manner of attack of wolves on deer: "no evidence of hamstringing of deer was found on freshly killed carcasses, although the possibility does exist. usually deer are run down from behind, the wolf or wolves biting at the hind flanks and abdomen, or at the hind flanks and head region simultaneously." on each kill, all the flesh and much of the skin and bones were eaten, at least during the winters of 1966-67 and 1967-68. this was also true during december 1968 and much of january 1969. however, during february and march 1969 when an unusual accumulation of snow had built up, most of the kills were only partly eaten (see mech _et al._, page 51). in previous years deer freshly killed by single wolves were sometimes found with only a few pounds of flesh or viscera missing. however, in each case the carcasses were almost completely cleaned up within a few days, often by packs to which the single wolves may have belonged (mech 1970). usually the first parts of a carcass to be eaten are the hams and part of the viscera from the coelomic cavity. in one case where a wolf was interrupted while feeding it was apparent that the animal had been stripping the omental fat from the carcass. this may be the wolf's favorite part of a deer, for the stomach of one wolf that we examined in january 1967 contained nothing but such fat. the average consumption and kill rate of deer by wolves has not yet been determined, but we have some information bearing on the subject. because our data were obtained during a winter of unusually deep snow, and it was obvious that wolves were killing more deer than they could eat at the moment (see mech _et al._, page 51), our figures should be considered much higher than average. however, they should be useful in that they probably represent the maximum kill rate not only throughout the year but also throughout a period of many years. by observing each of our radiotagged wolves whenever possible and noting whether or not it was feeding on a kill, we learned that our wolves generally remained close to their kills for periods of from 1 to 7 days, depending on how recently they had eaten (fig. 32). thus, when a wolf was found at a new location each day, the assumption could be made that the animal did not currently have a kill. [illustration: _figure 32.--periods spent by radiotagged wolves and their associates feeding on kills judged to be their own. this does not include periods when they were known to be feeding on carrion._] we assumed that wolves found at fresh kills (fig. 33) had made them unless there was evidence to the contrary as with 1053, the scavenger. when a wolf was found at one location for several consecutive days but could not be observed, we assumed it was feeding on a kill, since whenever wolves were observed remaining in the same location for several days they were seen feeding. thus a range of possible number of kills per wolf was determined, with the lower limit being the known minimum and the upper limit the possible maximum. when more than one wolf fed on a kill, as with the pack, the figures were calculated on a per-wolf basis. [illustration: _figure 33.--radiotagged wolf (upper left) found at kill (lower right). (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] in this way we obtained data on a total of 468 wolf-days and found a total kill of 35 to 48 deer (table 7). this averages out to a kill rate of one deer per 10 to 14 days per wolf. the figure varied considerably among individuals--1051 had the highest rate of one kill per 6.3 to 7.2 days, and each wolf in 1059's pack had the lowest rate (except for 1053, the scavenger) of one deer per 14.0 to 18.0 days. it is significant that the pack of five wolves had a lower kill rate per wolf than did single wolves and pairs. this is explainable because the ability of wolves to kill deer during early 1969 was much greater than usual (see mech _et al._, p. 51). thus single wolves probably could kill deer just as easily as could packs, but they did not need to share them. this differs markedly from the situation on isle royale, where lone wolves usually feed only on moose remains left by packs (mech 1966a, jordan _et al._ 1967). that lone wolves had more of a food surplus than those in the pack is confirmed by the figures on the average number of days that the various wolves fed on kills (table 7). wolf 1051 spent an average of only 2.2 to 2.4 days feeding at each of his kills, whereas 1059's pack of five spent an average of 5.8 to 7.5 wolf-days at each kill. further confirmation is found in the fact that even when most wolves were leaving their kills partly uneaten, a pack of 8 to 10 wolves (probably that to which 1057 belonged) was seen completely devouring a kill. _table 7.--kill rate of deer by radiotagged wolves and their associates_ #: _number_ ------------------------------------------------------------------------- wolf-days wolf wolf-days wolf-days wolf-days feeding # wolves dates of data kills per kill[14] feeding per kill ------------------------------------------------------------------------- # # # mean # # mean # 1051 1 nov. 26 to 101 14-16 6.3-7.2 33-40 2.2-2.4 apr. 3 1053[15] 1 dec. 14 to 75 2-3 25.0-37.5 9-18 4.5-6.0 mar. 27 1055 1-2 jan. 9 to 61 4-9 6.7-15.0 13-25 2.8-3.3 mar. 14 1057 1-13 jan. 24 to 51 5-7 7.3-10.2 25-33 4.7-5.0 feb. 28 1059 5 jan. 25 to 180 10-13 14.0-18.0 75 5.8-7.5 mar. 14 -------------------------------------------------------------------------summary 22 nov. 27 to 468 35-48 [16]9.8-13.4 145-181 [17]3.8-4.1 apr. 3 before 142 7-9 [18]15.7-20.3 39-56 5.1-5.6 feb. 1 after 326 28-39 8.4-11.6 106-125 3.2-3.8 jan. 31 -------------------------------------------------------------------------footnotes: [14] kill rate per wolf. [15] figures for this animal are so low because she was basically a scavenger. [16] average kill rate per wolf for all radiotagged wolves and their associates, derived by dividing total number of wolf-days by total number of kills. [17] average number of days that each wolf spent at each kill, derived by dividing total number of wolf-days spent feeding by the total number of kills. [18] this figure probably is the closest to the actual kill rate during most winters. therefore it is probable that the kill rate per wolf for members of the pack of five is much closer to the usual average winter kill rate. it can still be considered higher than the usual winter rate, however, because this pack also was leaving some of its kills partly uneaten. a reasonable approximation of the average kill rate during most winters would be the rate found for our radiotagged wolves before february 1, because the relations among the wolves, the deer, and the snow during that period were not unlike those of most winters. the average kill rate per wolf before february 1 was estimated at one deer per 15.7 to 20.3 days. after this period, the rate increased to about one deer per 8.4 to 11.6 days, and an estimated 50 percent of the available food was left uneaten (see mech _et al._, page 51). this implies that the kill rate during february and march was about twice as high as usual. on this basis, the usual kill rate would be estimated at one deer per 16.8 to 23.2 days, which checks well with the rate found before february (one deer per 15.7 to 20.3 days). thus we feel that an estimated kill rate of about one deer per 18 days per wolf is a close approximation of the average kill rate for most winters. this is about 50 percent less than the kill rate of one deer per 4 days estimated by stenlund (1955) for two packs of three wolves (one deer per 12 days per wolf). however, it compares favorably with the actual kill rate of one deer per wolf per 17.6 days found for a pack of eight wolves in ontario.[19] once the average rate of kill is known, the average food consumption per wolf can be calculated. the average deer (considering both fawns and adults) from the superior national forest during winter weighs about 113 pounds (calculated from erickson _et al._ 1961), and an arbitrary 13 pounds can be deducted from this for inedible portions. this leaves 100 pounds of deer per wolf per 18 days, or 5.6 pounds per wolf per day. this figure is much less than the 10 to 14 pounds estimated consumption rate for wolves feeding on moose on isle royale (mech 1966a). however, much variation can be expected in an animal whose physiology must be adapted to a feast-or-famine existence. wolves can be maintained in captivity on 2.5 pounds of meat per day, and large active dogs (_canis familiaris_) require 3.7 pounds per day, so it is likely that the minimum daily requirement for wolves in the wild is about 4.0 pounds per day (mech 1970). this figure agrees well with the estimated consumption rate for our study area. footnotes: [19] _kolenosky, g. b. wolf movements, activities and predation impact on a wintering deer population in east-central ontario. (manuscript in preparation for publication.)_ relative population density censusing wolves in a 1.5-million-acre study area is a difficult task, and we have no direct information on which to base a population estimate. however, some deductions can be made about the relative population densities in our study area between the period 1948 to 1953 and the period of the present study, 1967 to 1969. r. a. rausch (1967a) hypothesized that the frequency of large packs is higher when population density is high, and presented evidence supporting this idea. on this assumption, a comparison of pack-size distributions between various periods can indicate relative population densities between periods. the advantage of this method is that it eliminates the usual type of year-to-year biases in wolf censuses such as might result from differences in precise census route, type of aircraft, skill of observers, and other conditions. only a difference that would cause a bias in the _size_ of the packs seen would be of importance. therefore, we tested the difference in size distributions of population units between the 1948-53 study period and the present period (table 1), using a kolmogorov-smirnov two-sample test (siegel 1956). the average "pack" size in the earlier years was 2.8, compared with 4.2 at present; thus pack sizes are significantly larger at present (95 percent level). this indicates that the population density from 1967 to 1969 may have been higher than from 1948 to 1953. this apparent change may be attributable to a reduction in snaring, trapping, and aerial hunting that took place between the two periods as a result of changes in state game regulations. a similar comparison between our observations from 1967 and those from 1968-69 (table 1) shows no significant difference between these years, so it appears that the density of wolves in our area has remained about the same over the period of three winters. this agrees with the results of several other studies summarized by mech (1970) in which wolf populations unaffected by man have been found to remain relatively stable from year to year. discussion and conclusions the movements, behavior, and ecology of the wolves in our study area during winter are variable, and are influenced considerably by snow conditions. this may explain the fact that in late february 1969 wolves 1051, 1053, and 1055 suddenly extended their travels and range (fig. f-34 and table 4). however, increased travel may have resulted from other factors. for one thing, the wolves apparently did not need to spend so much time hunting as before. because of the deep snow, the ability of wolves to capture deer increased, and the animals had a surplus of food. perhaps under such conditions wolves may use more of their energy for traveling than for hunting. [illustration: _figure 34.--net weekly (straight-line) distances traveled by three radiotagged wolves._] in this respect it is interesting that 1051 moved right out of his area and traveled into country that presumably was unknown to him. wolves 1053 and 1055 each ventured into an area that was almost devoid of deer and that even had few moose in it. without sufficient fat reserves in all these animals, it would seem disadvantageous for them to have made these travels. evidently wolves can obtain enough food in much smaller areas than these three animals used after february. both 1059's pack of five and 1057 lived in relatively small areas throughout the winter and seemed to survive well. before late february, 1051, 1053, and 1055 did also. thus some factor other than food must have influenced the movements of these three animals from late february through april. the fact that the increased movement began during the breeding season makes one suspect a relationship between the two. one possibility is that the factors increasing the hormonal flow associated with breeding in adults stimulate a hormone output in immature or subordinate individuals that causes an increase in their movements. an alternative is that the breeding behavior of resident packs involves the beginning of, or an increase in, aggression toward neighboring nonmembers. this might force the lone animals to shift about over large areas in avoidance of such aggression. whatever the cause of the changes in movements of these animals, the fact that the pack used a much smaller area than any of the lone wolves may be of central importance in trying to understand the organization of the wolf population. the following pieces of information are also pertinent to such an understanding: (1) the pack, which can be presumed to include a breeding pair (mech 1970), chased other wolves in its area; (2) the lone wolves, which apparently did not breed, were tolerant of, or indifferent to, other lone wolves in their areas; (3) the ranges of the lone wolves overlapped considerably (fig. 35); (4) the lone wolves seemed to avoid certain large areas that one might logically think would have been visited by them (fig. 35); and (5) packs of wolves were sometimes observed in these large areas (fig. 35). [illustration: _figure 35.--locations of all radiotagged wolves and unmarked packs observed during winter 1968-69, except dispersal of 1051 out of the study area. only selected lakes shown._] from the above information it can be hypothesized that the wolf population consists basically of groups of breeding packs defending territories of limited size, with lone wolves and other nonbreeding population units that are tolerant of each other shifting about in much larger nonexclusive areas among these territories. the information from isle royale (mech 1966a, jordan _et al._ 1967) is consistent with this idea, but the area of that island (210 square miles) is too small to allow untested extrapolations to be made about spacing in much larger wolf populations. data from algonquin park, ontario (pimlott _et al._ 1969) also strongly suggest this hypothesis. however, the packs studied there could not be identified with certainty, and little information was obtained about nonbreeding population units. to test the proposed hypothesis with certainty, a larger number of identifiable breeding and nonbreeding population units from the same general area must be followed during at least one winter. this will be the main objective of our next study. summary during the winters of 1966-67, 1967-68, and 1968-69, aerial observations of timber wolves (_canis lupus_) were made in the superior national forest in northeastern minnesota, where the primary prey is white-tailed deer (_odocoileus virginianus_). in 480 hours of flying during the study, 77 sightings involving 323 wolves were made. in addition, during 1968-69, five radiotagged wolves and their associates were tracked via receivers in aircraft for a total of 570 "wolf-days." visual observations were made during 65 percent of the times the wolves were located from december through april. the average size of each population unit (including single wolves, pairs, and packs) observed was 4.2, although packs of as many as 13 wolves were sighted. radiotagged wolves spent most of their daylight hours resting during winter, and when traveling, hunting or feeding during the day, tended to do so before 11:00 a.m. and after 3:00 p.m. considerable variation was discovered in the movement patterns of individual wolves, with straight line distances between consecutive daily locations ranging from 0.0 to 12.8 miles, and between weekly locations, 0.0 to 49.0 miles. a pack of five wolves used a range about 43 square miles in extent, whereas lone wolves covered areas many times this size. one animal in an apparent dispersal was tracked a straight line distance of 129 miles between extreme points. a reddish male wolf was the leader of the pack of five and led two observed chases after alien wolves in the pack's territory. this animal was also most active during scent marking by the pack. lone wolves were apparently indifferent to other wolves, and thus exclusive areas, or territories, were not observed among lone wolves. hunts involving a total of seven deer were observed and described, and two successful attacks on deer were interpreted from tracks in the snow. wolves generally consumed all the flesh and much of the hair and bones from kills, except during february and march 1969 when extreme snow conditions increased the vulnerability of deer to an unusual degree. at that time kills were found that were partly or totally uneaten. the kill rate by radiotagged wolves and associates during the winter of 1968-69, based on 468 wolf-days of data, varied from one deer per 6.3 days to one per 37.5 days per wolf, with the average being one deer per 10 to 13 days. the rate was much lower per wolf for members of the pack of five than for lone wolves, and much lower before february 1, 1969, than after. the average rate of kill during more usual winters was estimated to be about one deer per 18 days. this is a consumption rate of about 5.6 pounds of deer per wolf per day. indirect evidence based on comparisons of pack-size distributions for different periods indicates that the wolf density in the study area may have increased since 1953, but that it has remained the same from 1967 to 1969. on the basis of data presented in this paper, the following hypothesis about the organization of the wolf population studied is proposed: the wolf population consists basically of groups of breeding packs defending territories of limited size, with lone wolves and other nonbreeding population units, tolerant of each other, shifting about in much larger nonexclusive areas among these territories. acknowledgments this study was supported by macalester college, the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife, the usda forest service, the minnesota department of conservation, and the new york zoological society. special thanks are due the following for their help and cooperation with this project: mr. j. o. wernham, former supervisor, mr. l. t. magnus, wildlife biologist, numerous district rangers, and other supporting personnel of the superior national forest, mr. j. t. morgan, north central forest experiment station; and mr. s. e. jorgensen and mr. c. e. faulkner, u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife. drs. c. t. cushwa, l. f. ohmann, catherine ream, and d. g. schneider aided in the field work. mr. w. w. cochran provided advice and suggestions on the radiotracking technique, dr. u. s. seal furnished the drugs and the advice on their use with wolves, and mr. r. himes contributed significantly in the wolf trapping. mr. l. ringham, ontario department of lands and forests, granted permission for research personnel to radiotrack wolves crossing into quetico park, canada. numerous students from macalester college also contributed to the field effort. thanks are also due pilots robert hodge, pat magie, ken bellos, don murray, jack burgess, and several others, who along with pilot-biologist john winship, expertly flew the aircraft used in the study. this report was reviewed by the following biologists: mr. g. b. kolenosky, dr. p. a. jordan, mr. m. h. stenlund, and dr. d. l. allen. mr. wallace c. dayton, miss elizabeth dayton, and the quetico-superior foundation, all of minneapolis, generously contributed funds to support mech during the preparation of the paper. literature cited burkholder, b. l. 1959. movements and behavior of a wolf pack in alaska. j. wildl. manage. 23: 1-11. erickson, a. b., gunvalson, v. e., stenlund, m. h., burcalow, d. w., and blankenship, l. h. 1961. the white-tailed deer of minnesota. minn. dep. conserv. tech. bull. 5, 64 p. fuller, w. a., and novakowski, n. s. 1955. wolf control operations, wood buffalo national park, 1951-1952. can. wildl. serv., wildl. manage. bull. ser. 1, no. 11, 23 p. goldman, e. a. 1944. the wolves of north america, part ii. classification of wolves, p. 389-636. washington, d. c.: the amer. wildl. inst. jordan, p. a., shelton, p. c., and allen, d. l. 1967. numbers, turnover, and social structure of the isle royale wolf population. amer. zool. 7: 233-252. kelly, m. w. 1954. observations afield on alaskan wolves. alaska sci. conf. proc. 5: 35 (and mimeo). kolenosky, g. b., and johnston, d. h. 1967. radio-tracking timber wolves in ontario. amer. zool. 7: 289-303. mech, l. d. 1966a. the wolves of isle royale. u. s. nat. park serv. fauna ser. 7. 210 p. mech, l. d. 1966b. hunting behavior of timber wolves in minnesota. j. mammal. 47: 347-348. mech, l. d. 1970. the wolf: the ecology and behavior of an endangered species. 389 p. new york: natural history press, doubleday. mech, l. d., kuechle, v. b., warner, d. w., and tester, j. r. 1965. a collar for attaching radio transmitters to rabbits, hares, and raccoons. j. wildl. manage. 29: 898-902. mohr, c. o. 1947. table of equivalent populations of north american small mammals. amer. midl. nat. 37: 223-249. murie, a. 1944. the wolves of mount mckinley, u. s. nat. park serv. fauna ser. 5, 238 p. nellis, c. h. 1968. some methods for capturing coyotes alive. j. wildl. manage. 32: 402-405. ohmann, l. f., and ream, r. r. 1969 vegetation studies in the bwca--a brief report on plant communities. naturalist 20(1): 20-29. olson, sigurd f. 1938a. organization and range of the pack. ecology 19: 168-170. olson, sigurd f. 1938b. a study in predatory relationship with particular reference to the wolf. sci. mon. 46: 323-336. pimlott, d. h., shannon, j. a., and kolenosky, g. b. 1969. the ecology of the timber wolf in algonquin provincial park. ont. dep. lands and forests res. rep. (wildlife) 87, 94 p. pulliainen, e. 1965. studies of the wolf (_canis lupus_ l.) in finland. ann. zool. fenn. 2: 215-259. rausch, r. a. 1967. some aspects of the population ecology of wolves, alaska. amer. zool. 7: 253-265. rutter, r. j., and pimlott, d. h. 1968. the world of the wolf. 202 p. philadelphia and n. y.: j. b. lippincott co. schenkel, r. 1947. expression studies of wolves. behaviour 1: 81-129. (translation from german by agnes klasson.) seal, u. s., and erickson, a. w. 1969. phencyclidine hydrochloride immobilization of the carnivora and other mammals. fed. (symp. lab. anim. anesthes.) proc. 28: 1410-1419. siegel, s. 1956. non-parametric statistics for the behavioral sciences. 312 p. new york: mcgraw-hill. stenlund, m. h. 1955. a field study of the timber wolf (_canis lupus_) on the superior national forest, minnesota. minn. dep. conserv. tech. bull. 4, 55 p. young, s. p. 1944. the wolves of north america, part i. 385 p. washington, d. c.: the amer. wildl. inst. an analysis of the age, sex, and condition of deer killed by wolves in northeastern minnesota l. david mech and l. d. frenzel, jr. the selective effect of predation on prey populations is of significance in studies of evolution and population dynamics. selective predation can be an important agent in the process of natural selection, and it influences the extent to which predators limit the numbers of their prey. one of the predators most commonly chosen for investigating the selective effect upon prey is the wolf (_canis lupus_). because animals preyed upon by wolves generally are large, their remains can be more easily located and examined. it already has been established that in most areas wolves kill primarily young, old, and other inferior members of such prey populations as dall sheep (_ovis dalli_), moose (_alces alces_), caribou (_rangifer tarandus_), bison (_bison bison_), and musk-oxen (_ovibos moschatus_); evidence for this generalization has been summarized by mech (1970). however, only recently has it been shown that this generalization may extend to predation on the smallest hoofed prey of the wolf in north america, the white-tailed deer (_odocoileus virginianus_). pimlott _et al._ (1969) demonstrated a difference between the age structure of 331 deer killed by wolves during winter in algonquin park, ontario, and 275 deer assumed to represent the actual population in the same area. whereas only 13 percent of the deer from the population at large were estimated to be more than 5 years old, 58 percent of the wolf-kills were in this age category. we employed a similar analysis for deer killed by wolves in northeastern minnesota, but used a more refined aging technique and included comparisons of the age and sex structures of various subsamples of wolf-kills. whereas the ontario research involved a prey population unlimited by man, our work was carried out on both a hunted population and on one relatively unhunted. further comparisons were made between deer killed during periods of normal snow conditions and those taken during unusually high snow accumulations. the incidence of various abnormalities in wolf-killed deer was also compared with that in hunter-killed animals. the study was carried out in the superior national forest in northern st. louis, lake, and cook counties of northeastern minnesota (fig. 1), in conjunction with other aspects of wolf research (see mech _et al._ p. 1). [illustration: _figure 1.--the study area showing locations where wolf-killed and hunter-killed deer were taken. line arbitrarily separates the hunted area from the wilderness area._] methods the investigation began in february 1966 and continued through march 1969; the basic objective was to examine as many wolf-killed deer as possible and compare their ages, sex, and condition with a large sample of deer from the population at large in the same area. wolf-kills were examined only during december through march when they could be found from the air. aircraft ranging in size from an aeronca champ to a cessna 206 were used to fly over frozen lakes at altitudes up to 2,000 feet to locate wolves (fig. 2), wolf tracks, or kills (fig. 3). we often discovered kills by tracking a wolf pack. [illustration: _figure 2.--wolves were located from the air, usually on frozen lakes. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] [illustration: _figure 3.--wolf-kills were easily spotted from aircraft. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] during the winter of 1968-69 this method of finding kills was supplemented by radiotracking five wolves and their associates via aircraft (see mech _et al._, p. 1). the latter technique resulted in increased discovery of inland kills. a deer carcass was judged killed by wolves if the death had been recent, if tracks or other sign indicated that wolves had fed upon it, and if no other possible cause of death was discovered. carcasses fed on by wolves but not clearly identifiable as kills were labeled "probable" wolf-kills. although the cause of death of the specimens in this latter category could not be determined with certainty, there was no reason to believe other agents were involved. in addition to the wolf-kills examined by project personnel, data and lower jaws from deer judged killed by wolves were contributed by other biologists, game wardens, forest rangers, and others whose competence was known. nevertheless, if certain identification of carcasses as wolf-kills was not possible, the data were relegated to the "probable" wolf-kill category. whenever possible, kills discovered from the air were examined on the ground (fig. 4). often only skeletal parts remained, but soft parts were also examined when available. femur marrow, heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, reproductive tracts, and omenta were usually inspected in the field for fat, parasites, and abnormalities, and the degree of subcutaneous back fat was also noted. hoofs and lower legs were checked, and those showing pathological conditions or abnormalities were collected and examined by the veterinary diagnostic laboratory of the university of minnesota. all lower jaws found were collected, aged, and examined for dental abnormalities and pathological conditions. [illustration: _figure 4.--as many wolf-killed deer as possible were examined from the ground. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] in november 1967 and 1968 hunter-check stations were operated on the study area (fig. 5), and deer bagged by hunters were field-checked for age (severinghaus 1949) and hoof abnormalities. as many lower jaws as possible were collected from field-checked deer and other deer killed in the area for age determination and examination for abnormal dentition. [illustration: _figure 5.--information about hunter-killed deer in the study area was obtained through hunter-check stations. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] an assumption was made that the age structure and incidence of abnormalities in the sample of hunter-killed deer would be _reasonably representative_ of those in the population at large, an assumption also implicit in a similar comparison made by pimlott _et al._ (1969). in this respect, the following statements by maguire and severinghaus (1954, p. 109) about deer in new york state are pertinent: "it may be concluded that, considering the open season as a whole, wariness does not significantly distort the age composition of the [deer] kill in relation to that of the corresponding wild population, except possibly for buck seasons of only 1 or 2 days duration.... a reliable appraisal of the age composition of the kill by hunting may be obtained through the operation of roadside checking stations." however, in critically reviewing the present paper severinghaus stated that in states such as minnesota, with fewer hunters and higher hunter success rates, age compositions of deer from checking stations may not be the same as those of wild populations. reviewers peek and downing also made similar comments. nevertheless, for our comparison with wolf-killed deer it is not necessary that the hunter-kill age structure be exactly representative of the age structure of the actual deer population. all that is required is that there be reasonable agreement between the two. the hunting regulations in our study area allow a 9-day period of taking deer of any age or sex, and a single hunter may legally shoot as many deer as he and his party or associates have permits for. thus there is no reason for selective hunting, and we feel confident that the age structure of the hunter-kill in our study area does basically represent that of the deer herd at large. two laboratory techniques were used for determining the ages of deer from the lower jaws or mandibles--a tooth replacement and wear technique (severinghaus 1949) and an incisor-sectioning method (gilbert 1966). the tooth-wear technique requires only the molariform teeth but it is more subjective and inaccurate, particularly in older deer (ryel _et al._ 1961). incisor sectioning requires only incisors and appears to be much more accurate. however, because the incisors had been lost from many of the wolf-kills, and because the tooth-wear technique was used at checking stations, both methods were applied in the laboratory. mr. david w. kuehn (1970) sectioned and aged the incisors. fortunately there was a sufficiently large sample of mandibles with molariform teeth and incisors from both wolf-killed and hunter-killed deer to enable us to devise a table showing the actual ages (based on incisor-sectioning) of each of the jaws assigned to various tooth-wear classes. this table was then used to distribute the ages of specimens that contained only molariform teeth. for example, because it was found that 37 percent of the jaws aged 4-1/2 years old by tooth wear were actually 5-1/2 years old, we assigned 37 percent of the incisorless jaws aged 4-1/2 by tooth wear to the 5-1/2-year category. similarly, another conversion chart comparing field age determinations of hunter-killed deer with ages based on incisor sectioning of the same jaws was employed to distribute the ages of field-aged, hunter-killed deer for which jaws or incisors could not be collected. results we flew a total of 480 hours during this and related research, mainly during january through march 1967 and december 1968 through march 1969; about one-third of this time was devoted primarily to searching for kills. jaws were examined from 93 wolf-kills and 49 probable wolf-kills. [illustration: _figure 6.--all hunter-killed deer examined were checked for age. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] hunter-check stations yielded information from 335 deer (fig. 6), and data on 98 additional hunter-killed deer were contributed by other hunters. incisors were collected from 82 of 214 hunter-killed deer checked that were older than yearlings; comparisons were then made between ages of the deer based on incisor sectioning and those based on field checks using the wear method. similarly, incisors were sectioned from 195 wolf-killed and hunter-killed deer older than yearlings that had been aged by the tooth-wear method in the laboratory, so that these two methods could be compared (kuehn 1970). (note: incisor-sectioning is unnecessary for fawns and yearlings because animals of these ages can be aged objectively by the progress of tooth replacement.) because age or sex distributions might differ in the various subsamples of deer examined during this study, these parameters were compared in subsamples of both wolf-kills and hunter-kills (table 1). no significant differences were found in the age or sex structures between the known wolf-kills and "probable" wolf-kills, so these subsamples were pooled and considered wolf-kills for all subsequent comparisons. three significant differences in sex ratio were found among the subsamples of wolf-kills: (1) wolves killed more female fawns than male fawns, but more male adults than female adults (table 2); (2) more of the adults killed in the hunted area were females, while in the wilderness more males were taken (table 3); and (3) after january 1969, when snow was unusually deep, 57 percent of the deer killed were females, compared with only 38 percent before this date. _table 1.--results of statistical comparisons between various samples of deer kills from northeastern minnesota_ %: _percent_ ------:-----------:--:------:------------:--------------------:----------- : : : : : results of : : : : : : comparisons: : sample: : :sample: :--------------------: direction size :sample :vs: size :sample : [20]age :[21]sex : of :description: : :description :structures: ratios : difference ------:-----------:--:------:------------:----------:---------:----------- wolf-kills:[22] wolf-kills:[22] 93 known 49 probable nonsig.[23] nonsig. - 42 jan.-mar. 83 dec. 1968 nonsig. nonsig. - 1967 mar. 1969 66 male 61 female nonsig. - - 50 wilderness 92 hunted area nonsig. nonsig. - area 41 adult, 64 adult, - sig., more wilderness hunted area 99% females in hunted area 96 lakes[24] 32 inland nonsig.[25] nonsig. - 66 before 77 after nonsig.[26] sig., more females feb. 1969 jan. 1969 95% after jan. 105 adults 22 fawns - sig., more female 95% fawns hunter-kills: hunter-kills: 110 field aged, 225 field aged, nonsig. nonsig. - 1967 1968 335 field aged 98 lab. aged nonsig. nonsig. -132 lab. aged, 79 lab. aged, nonsig. - - males females 89 field aged, 246 field aged, - sig., more male fawns adults 95% adults --------------------------------------------------------------------------433 hunter-kills 142 wolf-kills sig., - older deer 99% in wolf-kill 321 hunter-kills 118 wolf-kills sig., - older deer excluding excluding 99% in wolf-kill fawns fawns --------------------------------------------------------------------------footnotes: [20] kolmogorov-smirnov two-sample test (siegel 1956). [21] z test (downie and heath 1959). [22] because test showed no significant differences in age or sex structure between sample of known wolf-kills and probable wolf-kills, these were combined for all subsequent tests and the pooled sample considered "wolf-kills." [23] at 95 percent level or greater. (note: lack of a significant difference does _not_ prove that no difference exists. rather, it means only that the available evidence does not allow the positive conclusion that a difference does exist.) [24] wolf-kills found on lakes were compared with those located inland because of the possibility that kills on lakes may not be representative of kills in general. [25] sample too small for test, but no apparent difference. [26] no significant difference in entire age structures. however, when the percentage of yearlings is compared between the two groups, the difference is almost significant at the 95 percent level. _table 2.--sex ratios of hunter-killed deer and wolf-killed deer from northeastern minnesota_ -------:--------------------------:------------------------ age : hunter-killed deer : wolf-killed deer -------:--------------------------:------------------------ number percent percent number percent percent male female male female fawns 108 50 50 22 41 59 adults 315 68 32 105 54 46 -----------------------------------------------------------in the comparisons of the subsamples of hunter-kills, the only statistically significant difference found was that the adult subsample had a higher proportion of males than the fawn subsample. no significant difference was found in the age structures of the subsamples, so these were all pooled into a sample of 433 hunter-kills for comparison with the wolf-kills. for the same reason, the entire sample of 142 wolf-killed deer was used for a comparison with the hunter-killed sample. _table 3.--sex ratios of wolf-killed deer from wilderness areas and from hunted areas_ #: _number_ %: _percent_ -------:-------------------:------------------:---------------- age : wilderness area : hunted area : total -------:-------------------:------------------:---------------- # % % # % % # % % male female male female male female fawns 4 0 100 18 50 50 22 41 59 adults 41 71 29 64 44 56 105 56 44 ---------------------------------------------------------------wolf-killed deer in our sample, with an average age of 4.7 years, were significantly older (99 percent level) than hunter-killed deer, with an average age of 2.6 years. for example, deer 5 years of age and older made up 48 percent of the wolf-kills but only 10 percent of the hunter-kills (table 4). the oldest hunter-killed deer in our sample was 9-1/2 years old, but the oldest wolf-killed deer was 14-1/2 (fig. 7). [illustration: _figure 7.--comparison between the age structures of deer killed by wolves, deer killed by hunters, and a theoretical population from the same general area of northeastern minnesota_.] because of a possible bias against fawns in the method of collecting data from wolf-kills (to be discussed later), the age structure of the sample of wolf-kills excluding fawns was tested against that of the sample of hunter-kills excluding fawns. the result once again was a highly significant difference between these two age structures (table 1). as an additional test of the degree to which the age structure of the wolf-killed deer might differ from that of the actual population, we compared our wolf-kill age structure with the age structure of a hypothetical deer population. this was considered advisable just in case the hunter-kill data were poorly representative of the age structure of the actual deer herd. several hypothetical age structures were constructed and compared according to advice from downing.[27] in all cases, the comparisons produced the same basic results as the tests with the hunter-killed sample. an example of one comparison is given in figure 7. a further result obtained by aging the wolf-killed deer pertained to the young individuals killed. the deciduous first incisors of fawns and the deciduous premolars of yearlings are usually replaced with permanent teeth by december (severinghaus 1949). of 24 wolf-killed fawns examined, however, three (13 percent) taken during january, february, and march had not yet replaced their deciduous first incisors. of the 13 yearlings found during this same period, nine (70 percent) had failed to replace their deciduous premolars, and two (15 percent) had just replaced them (one deer killed in february and one killed in march). footnotes: [27] _r. l. downing. personal correspondence to l. d. mech, october 2, 1969_. _table 4.--age and sex distribution of deer killed by wolves and hunters in northeastern minnesota_ -------:-------------------------------:------------------------------ : wolf-killed deer : hunter-killed deer age :---------------------------:---:---------------------------:--(years): number of: : : number of: : :males females unknown total: % :males females unknown total: % -------:---------------------------:---:---------------------------:--fawns 9 13 2 24 17 54 54 4 112 26 1+ 5 7 1 13 9 63 26 1 90 21 2+ 3 8 5 16 11 42 19 2 63 15 3+ 2 4 2 8 6 47 16 1 64 15 4+ 6 3 4 13 9 32 22 1 55 13 5+ 12 9 - 21 15 15 12 1 28 6 6+ 9 2 1 12 8 3 - - 3 - 7+ 12 4 - 16 11 7 4 - 11 3 8+ 4 2 - 6 4 5 1 - 6 1 9+ 4 2 - 6 4 1 - - 1 - 10+ - 3 - 3 2 - - - - - 11+ - 1 - 1 } - - - - - 12+ - - - -} 4 - - - - - 13+ - 1 - 1 } - - - - - 14+ - 2 - 2 } - - - - -total 66 61 15 142 100 269 154 10 433 100 ----------------------------------------------------------------------mandibles from the 142 wolf-killed deer and 259 hunter-killed deer were examined closely for abnormal dentition (table 5, figs. 8-10) (mech _et al._ 1970) and pathological conditions (table 6), and the lower limbs of 75 wolf-kills and 126 hunter-kills were also checked for abnormalities and pathology (table 7, fig. 11). statistical comparison showed that the incidence of each condition was significantly higher in the sample from wolf-killed deer (table 8). jaw necrosis found in our specimens was similar to that described by murie (1944) for dall sheep and mech (1966a) for moose. generally animals with this condition are old, and ours were no exception. [illustration: _figure 8.--deciduous first premolar (arrow), usually not present in deer, was found in specimen m-31._] [illustration: _figure 9.--a permanent first premolar (arrow) was discovered in m-8._] [illustration: _figure 10.--an extra set of fourth premolars (arrows) occurred in specimens m-96._] [illustration: _figure 11.--the jaws and legs of kills were inspected closely for abnormalities. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] _table 5.--abnormalities in the mandibular dentition of deer from the superior national forest, minnesota_ --------:---:-------:--------:-------:-------------------------------specimen: : :cause of:side of: number :sex:age[28]: death :jaw[29]: abnormality --------:---:-------:--------:-------:------------------------------- _years_ m-8 f 3+ wolves right p_1 present (fig. 9) left normal; no p_1 present outside or inside jaw m-31 f _17 mon._ wolves both deciduous p_1 present (fig. 8) and permanent p_1 present inside left ramus; right side not examined internally m-45 m _4+_ wolves right p_2 rotated 90° left p_2 absent m-52 m 4+ wolves right p_2 absent left normal m-96 f _2+_ hunters right 2 permanent p_4s present; both crooked in orientation (fig. 10) left p_2 diagonal; p_3 normal; p_4 below gumline, pointed posteriorly and wedged against m_1; appears to have pushed out original p_4 (fig. 10) m-117 m 5+ hunters right third column of m_3 reduced m-191 m 4+ wolves right third column of m_3 absent although rudimentary root present left third column of m_3 much reduced, peg-like, and almost separate m-225 - 4+ wolves right p_2 absent left p_2 situated diagonally m-234 f 5+ wolves right third column of m_3 reduced m-254 m 2+ hunters right p_2 slightly crooked in orientation left p_2 slanting posteriorly and crowding p_3 m-272 m 5+ hunters right third column of m_3 reduced, peg-like, and almost separate left third column of m_3 peg-like and separated from second column by 4 mm. m-296 f 5+ wolves right normal left extra permanent p_4 crowding original p_4; much like m-96 m-369 m 3+ hunters right permanent p_2 still not emerged but appears to be wedged against root of p_3 --------:---:-------:--------:-------:-------------------------------footnotes: [28] based on incisor sectioning method of gilbert (1966) except that _underlined_ figures are based on tooth replacement or wear (severinghaus 1949). [29] where only one side is listed, the other was not available. _table 6.--pathological conditions in the lower jaws of deer killed by wolves or hunters[30]_ --------:---:------:--------:-----------:----------------------------specimen: : :cause of:approximate: number :sex: age : death : date of : condition : : : : death : --------:---:------:--------:-----------:---------------------------- _years_ m-70 m 6-1/2 wolves feb. 1968 lump in left side of mandible near m_1 and m_2 m-192 m 7-1/2 wolves jan. 1969 large lump in left diastema apparently from healed fracture m-206 m 8-1/2 wolves jan. 1969 light necrosis around base of teeth m-218 m 3-1/2 wolves feb. 1969 large lump in left diastema apparently from healed fracture m-228 f 11-1/2 wolves mar. 1969 heavy necrosis around molars and extending into bone; half of each m_3 destroyed, both roots and crown m-236 f 14-1/2 wolves feb. 1969 light necrosis around base of teeth m-402 f 10-1/2 hunters nov. 1968 heavy necrosis and lumps on both sides of mandible --------:---:------:--------:-----------:----------------------------footnotes: [30] not including dental abnormalities, which are described in table 5. the following organs were excised from wolf-killed deer and examined grossly in the field for parasites and abnormalities (fig. 12): lungs (six animals, normal); heart (seven animals, normal); liver (four animals, one small unidentified tapeworm cyst). twin fetuses were found in each of two adult does examined. twelve deer were checked for body fat in one or all of the following areas: back (subcutaneous), kidneys, heart, omenta. of these animals, seven had large amounts of fat, but five were almost depleted of fat from these stores. these five were all killed in february or march 1969; three were fawns, and two were yearlings that had not yet shed their deciduous premolars. of 69 animals examined for femur marrow condition, two had fat-depleted marrow. one was a fawn killed in march 1969 that had not shed its deciduous first incisors, and the other was a 5-1/2-year-old buck killed in february 1966. a fawn and a yearling that had died in february 1969 from unknown causes also had fat-depleted, marrow. these animals might have been killed by wolves, for wolves had fed on them. however, they could have died from malnutrition and been eaten as carrion. _table 7.--pathological conditions in the lower limbs of deer killed by wolves or hunters_ --------:---:-----:------:------------------------------------------- : : :cause : specimen:sex: age : of : condition number : : :death : --------:---:-----:------:------------------------------------------- _years_ m-28 m 5-1/2 wolves right hind foot: "old healed ankylosis of the pastern joint ... a spontaneously healed bacterial arthritis with the destroyed joint cavity filled in by solid bone. this deer probably had defective gait"[31] (fig. 14). m-29 f 5-1/2 wolves front foot: "a 3×4×5 cm. fibrous mass in the subcutis about the digital flexor tendon on the volar surface of the metacarpus. the surface was denuded, ulcerated, and superficially infected by surface bacteria.... probably did detract from the animal's speed of flight"[31] (fig. 15). m-37 f 7-1/2 wolves hind foot: "probable that the lesion was at one time an active bacterial bone marrow infection that had eventually fistulated to the skin.... regional tendons and their sheaths were also present among this inflammation and scarring, and it would be fair to assume that the animal's agility was impaired to some extent."[31] m-115 m 4-1/2 hunter right front hoof: broken at tip. m-196 f 4-1/2 wolves left front foot: "two severe transverse lacerations on the volar surface. each was approximately 4 cm. in length. one was located at the margin of the heel, and the other was located several cm. proximad. the more proximal wound had severed the flexon tendons, and the consequent uselessness of the limb was suggested by the splayed toes, the unmarred hoof wall and unworn soles"[32] (fig. 16). m-227 m 9-1/2 wolves left hind leg: "a diffuse swelling of the distal metatarsal bone, the surface of which was studded with small osteophytic spicules. the major flexor and extensor tendons were forced to assume a convex course over the summits of the dorsal and plantar surfaces of the defect, but the tendon sheaths were clean and the normal wear on soles of the involved toes suggested that functional deficit and pain were probably minimal ... quite certainly a callus from previous fracture"[32] (fig. 17). --------:---:-----:------:-------------------------------------------1 footnotes: [31] d. m. barnes. personal correspondence to l. d. mech, april 11, 1967. [32] d. m. barnes. undated laboratory report transmitted to l. d. mech in 1969. discussion and conclusions it has been established that wolves hunting dall sheep (murie 1944), caribou (crisler 1956), moose (mech 1966a), and other species usually have a low percentage of success. in the case of a pack of 15 wolves hunting moose on isle royale during winter, only 4.6 percent of all the moose detected by the pack were killed; considering only the moose that the wolves caught up to or held at bay, the kill rate was 7.6 percent (mech 1966a). what little evidence there is about wolves hunting deer indicates that the success rate is also low with this prey species, at least in winter. the senior author has now observed a total of 14 deer being chased by wolves in northeastern minnesota, mostly by packs of five, seven or eight wolves (mech 1966b, and see mech _et al._, p. 1). in only one case (6.7 percent) did the wolves (a pair) succeed in catching their prey. low hunting success rates imply that the circumstances influencing hunts are seldom favorable enough, or the prey animals encountered are seldom vulnerable enough for the wolves to succeed. when the evidence cited earlier that most wolf-killed animals are inferior members of their populations is considered, the most cogent explanation for the low hunting success of wolves is that relatively few prey animals are vulnerable. _table 8.--incidence of various abnormalities and pathological conditions in wolf-killed deer compared with that in hunter-killed deer_ #: _number_ %: _percent_ ---------------------:----------------:----------------:------------ : wolf-kills : hunter-kills : :------:---------:------:---------: level of condition : deer : deer : deer : deer : significance : in : with : in : with : :sample:condition:sample:condition: ---------------------:------:---------:------:---------:------------ # # % # # % % dental abnormalities 142 8 5.6 259 5 1.9 [34]90 jaw necrosis, lumps, 142 6 4.2 259 1 0.4 [34]95 or fractures[33] pathology of lower 75 5 6.7 126 1 0.8 95 limbs ---------------------:------:---------:------:---------:------------footnotes: [33] two mandibles from wolf-killed deer had large lumps from healed fractures in the region of the diastemas. [34] if all dental and jaw abnormalities are pooled, the difference between the incidence in the wolf-kill sample (9.8 percent) and that in the hunter-kill (2.3 percent) is significant at the 99 percent level. [illustration: _figure 12.--when internal organs were present in kills, they were examined in the field. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] age structure our data strongly indicate that in northeastern minnesota wolves prey much more heavily on the older members of the deer population, at least during winter (fig. 7). substantial vulnerability to wolves seems to begin at about the age of 5 years (fig. 13), because the percentage of wolf-killed deer in each year class increases from 9 percent for 4-1/2-year-old animals to 15 percent for 5-1/2-year-olds (table 4). indeed, 48 percent of the wolf-kills were aged 5-1/2 and over, which compares favorably with the ontario figure of 58 percent for these age classes (pimlott _et al._ 1969). [illustration: _figure 13.--relative rates of predation on deer of various ages, based on comparisons of the ages of wolf-killed deer with those of a theoretical population (dashed line) and those of the hunter-killed population. see figure 7._] these figures assume added significance when compared with a sample of deer killed by hunters in the same general area (fig. 1). only 10 percent of the hunter-killed deer were 5-1/2 years old or older, and the percent killed in each year class dropped off suddenly from 13 percent aged 4-1/2 to 6 percent aged 5-1/2. if the age structure of the hunter-kill sample is reasonably representative of the age structure of the population at large, the wolf-kill data show that wolf predation in our study area during winter has a definite selective effect on the deer population. there is no direct way of knowing that the age structure of the hunter-killed deer represents the age structure of the deer population at large. however, sampling hunter-kills is the most practical means available for gaining an index to the age structure of the existing herd. further, there are three indirect pieces of evidence indicating that the hunter-kill sample represents the actual age structure of the population, just as maguire and severinghaus (1954) found in new york. first, our sample has the basic theoretical form expected of a stable deer herd; i.e., the youngest year class contained the most members, and each older cohort included fewer (fig. 7). second, the age structure of our sample has the same form as most other deer age structures from widely diverse areas, (ontario, pimlott _et al._ 1969; southern minnesota, erickson _et al._ 1961; massachusetts, shaw 1951). third, there is no reason to believe that in our area rifle hunting is especially selective for any particular age classes. in talking with large numbers of hunters, we have learned that most shoot at any and all deer they happen to see. even if the age structure of the hunter-kill sample did not approximate that of the actual herd, the comparison of the wolf-kill with the theoretical population dictates the same conclusion: the rate of kill of older deer by wolves was several times greater than that of younger deer, excluding fawns (fig. 13). in any case, if the actual deer population in our study area had an age structure similar to that of our sample of wolf-kills (which would be the only age structure that would contradict our conclusion), its numbers would be declining by orders of magnitude each year, and there would now be only a remnant population. such obviously is not the case. the only other question that might arise from a comparison of the age structure of our wolf-killed deer with that of the hunter-killed deer concerns the area from which each sample was taken. fifty of our wolf-kills came from a region almost inaccessible to hunters (fig. 1). however, the other 92 came from the same general area as the hunter-kills. nevertheless, there was no statistically significant difference in age structure between the wolf-kills from the wilderness versus those from the hunted area (table 1). this fact also suggests that the human hunting in the area is relatively light and has little effect on the age structure of the deer population in the area. wolves may also be taking a disproportionately high number of fawns, although our data do not show this. nevertheless, there may be a bias against fawns in our method. it is not unusual to discover the remains of a wolf-killed deer so completely eaten that there is no indication left of the animal's age. because fawns often are only about half the size of adult deer, and their skeletons have not yet completely ossified, the chances are better that fawns will be more completely eaten. pimlott _et al._ (1969) also recognized this possible bias, although their data did indicate that wolves were killing a higher percentage of fawns than occurred in the population. our study does support the other conclusion of pimlott _et al._ (1969), based on a study of 331 kills, that wolf predation on deer during winter shows a definite selection for older animals. it does not agree with the tentative conclusion of stenlund (1955) that wolves in the superior national forest do not prey disproportionately on old deer. however, stenlund's conclusion was based on 36 kills and on the assumption that only deer at least 7 years old were "old." deer 5 years old and older composed 33 percent of stenlund's sample, a figure considerably higher than the 10 percent in these age classes in our hunter-kill sample (table 4). thus stenlund's data do not contradict our conclusion. the age of 5 years seems to be the beginning of the period of vulnerability for adult deer. although 5 years might not seem especially old, there are two aspects of significance concerning deer of this age and older. first, they are in the second half of the life span for most members of the species, and their alertness and ability to bolt quickly away might be expected to decline. it is of interest in this regard that klein and olson (1960, p. 87) believed 5 years of age to be "the upper limit of physiological efficiency" of black-tailed deer (_odocoileus hemionus_) in alaska. second, up to the age of at least 4-1/2 years, and perhaps beyond, the apparent weight-load-on-track of deer increases with age (kelsall 1969). thus older deer would sink farther into the snow than younger ones, and their escape might be slowed and hindered more. for further discussion of the effect of snow on the vulnerability of deer, see mech _et al._ (p. 51). sex ratio statistical tests comparing a number of subsamples of both wolf-killed deer and hunter-killed deer showed a series of significantly different sex ratios (tables 1-3). the ratio of males to females in the fawn cohort of the hunter-kill, which is probably the most representative of the actual fawn sex ratio, was even (table 2). with wolf-kills, however, a significantly higher percentage of females was taken in the fawn subsample (59 percent) than in the adult subsample (46 percent). these results compare favorably with those of stenlund (1955), who found that from 1948 to 1953 in the same area as the present study 68 percent of 19 sexable fawn wolf-kills were females and 44 percent of 63 sexable adult wolf-kills were females. if the sex ratio of fawns began even, and more females than males were killed by wolves, then a higher proportion of males would be left in the adult population, unless some other mortality factor kills more male fawns. thus it is not surprising that in the wilderness area, where little or no hunting is done, the sex ratio of wolf-kills in the adult cohort is significantly heavy toward males (71 percent: 29 percent). this was also true of the wolf-kills in algonquin provincial park, where males made up 57 percent of the total sexable wolf-kill (pimlott _et al._ 1969). the latter figure may even have been higher if calculated for adults alone, for a preponderance of female fawns in the algonquin park data (such as occurred in our and stenlund's samples) would tend to obscure the preponderance of males in the adult sample. the adult subsample of hunter-kills also contained a higher percentage of males (66 percent : 34 percent). although this might also reflect the influence of wolf predation on female fawns, it probably is more a result of the greater movement of bucks during the hunting season, which overlaps with the rutting season. even the sex ratio of adult deer killed in wolf-free areas shows a preponderance of males (erickson _et al._ 1961). however, it appears that the higher harvest of bucks by human hunters does markedly affect the sex ratio of the deer population in the hunted area, for the wolf-kill of adults in that area contained a significantly higher percentage of does (56 percent) than did the wolf-kill of adults in the wilderness area (29 percent). evidently the hunter harvest is not heavy enough to affect the age structure of the deer population to any marked degree, for no significant difference in age structure was found between the wolf-kill in the hunted area and that in the wilderness area (table 1). this does not conflict with the conclusion that hunting affects the sex ratio of the deer herd, because it would take much less to influence a population characteristic having two classes (sex) than one having 14 (age). one additional difference in the sex ratio was found between two other subsamples of the wolf-kill--that is, the wolf-kill before and after an unusually high snow accumulation, which reached its peak about february 1, 1969 (table 1). of a total of 77 animals killed before this snow condition occurred (including those from previous years), 38 percent were females. of 44 animals killed after the heavy accumulation, 57 percent were females. one possible explanation for this is that females may normally be less vulnerable to wolf predation, for kelsall (1969) has shown that they probably have a lighter weight-load-on-track than males. thus when snow conditions changed greatly, making deer generally much more vulnerable to wolves (see mech _et al._, p. 35), a preponderance of does suddenly might have become available. there is some evidence that does may be generally less vulnerable under most conditions, for all seven of our wolf-killed deer over 10 years old were females, and the oldest was over 14. condition of wolf-killed deer because the data show that wolves in our study area tend to kill a disproportionate number of older deer, it is not surprising to discover that wolves also tend to capture a disproportionate number of individuals with abnormalities and pathological conditions (table 8). the explanation for such selection is obvious in regard to the abnormalities of the lower limbs (figs. 14-17): deer with injured or abnormal limbs simply cannot run as fast or as agilely as normal animals (table 7). our observations show that deer usually depend on their alertness and speed to escape approaching wolves (mech 1966b, mech _et al._, p. 1). any trait or condition that tended to interfere with either alertness or speed would decrease an individual's chance of escape. it is more difficult to explain how dental abnormalities or pathological conditions of the mandible (figs. 8-10) would predispose an individual to wolf predation. however, in the case of dental abnormalities the genetic or environmental conditions that caused the abnormality might also have caused some other trait that increased the animal's vulnerability. or the abnormal condition itself may have caused a further, more critical, disruption of the animal's physiology or behavior, which in turn predisposed it to wolf predation. the finding of several wolf-kills with poor fat stores could indicate that primary or secondary malnutrition was a factor in the animals' deaths. however, it would take a statistical comparison between the fat stores of the deer at large and those of the wolf-kills to establish this. the discovery that 13 percent of the fawns and 84 percent of the yearlings killed during january, february, and march had not yet shed their deciduous incisors and premolars, respectively, also fits well with the rest of our information. evidently some unusual factor had caused the delay in tooth development and replacement. one possibility is that the animals were born in august or september, much later than normal. although most deer in minnesota are born in may and june, there are records of births in july and august. in addition, a fetus 181 to 200 days old was found in a doe killed on september 26 (erickson _et al._ 1961). an alternate explanation for the delay in tooth replacement is that the animals were suffering from malnutrition or nutrient deficiency. severinghaus[35] has evidence that yearling bucks that have not replaced their deciduous premolars during november, and thus are aged at 17 months (severinghaus 1949), generally have shorter, narrower antlers and fewer points than 18-and 19-month-old individuals. degree of antler development in turn is considered related to nutritional state (latham 1950). thus it is reasonable to conclude that animals behind in tooth development and replacement, whether this is caused by age or diet, are physiologically inferior. most of the abnormal conditions discussed above pertain to the skeletal parts of wolf-kills. if the soft parts of a large number of kills could be examined thoroughly, one might discover a much higher incidence of diseases and other pathological conditions. in conclusion, our data on both age and condition of wolf-killed deer show that at least during winter, wolves in our study area usually do not kill just any deer they discover, although they do try to. evidently, most deer can usually escape wolf predation. the most frequent exceptions are those 5-1/2 years old and older, those born late, those suffering from poor nutrition, those with abnormalities or pathological conditions, and possibly fawns. the above conclusions parallel those of murie (1944), crisler (1956), mech (1966a), and pimlott _et al._ (1969) for wolves preying on dall sheep, caribou, moose, and deer respectively, and further substantiate the claim by mech (1970) that they can be extended to wolves preying on most, if not all, species of large mammals under most conditions. it is also apparent from the data presented above that deer over 5 years of age and those with abnormalities of the jaw or lower limbs represent such a small percentage of the total population that they are seldom taken by human hunters. in this respect, competition between timber wolves and human hunters appears to be minimal in the study area. footnotes: [35] _c. w. severinghaus. unpublished data_. [illustration: _figure 14.--arthritis in right hind foot of specimen m-28. (photo courtesy of university of minnesota veterinary diagnostic laboratory.)_] [illustration: _figure 15.--infection and fibrous mass in a front foot of specimen m-29. (photo courtesy of university of minnesota veterinary diagnostic laboratory.)_] [illustration: _figure 16.--injury to left front foot of specimen m-196. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech)._] [illustration: _figure 17.--healed fracture of left hind leg of specimen m-227. (photo courtesy of university of minnesota veterinary diagnostic laboratory.)_] summary white-tailed deer (_odocoileus virginianus_) killed by wolves (_canis lupus_) during winter in a relatively unhunted wilderness area and in an immediately adjacent hunted area of minnesota were compared with deer killed by hunters in the same general area, and with a hypothetical population. deer killed by wolves were significantly older. statistical comparisons also showed the following: (1) hunters generally killed an even sex ratio of fawns, and a disproportionate number of adult bucks, (2) wolves took a higher percentage of female fawns than female adults, a disproportionate number of bucks in the wilderness area, and a higher percentage of does in the hunted area. the latter fact evidently reflects the higher hunter success on males in the hunted area. significantly higher incidences of abnormalities and pathological conditions of both mandibles and lower limbs were found in wolf-killed deer than in hunter-killed deer, and these conditions are described. it is concluded that wolf predation on white-tailed deer in the study area during winter generally is selective in that it tends to remove members of the prey population that are old, debilitated, or abnormal. apparently these classes of deer represent such a small percentage of the population that they are seldom taken by human hunters. acknowledgments this study was supported by macalester college, the new york zoological society, the minnesota department of conservation, the usda forest service, and the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife. pilots robert hodge, pat magie, john winship, jack burgess, don murray, and walt neumann aided substantially in obtaining jaws from wolf-killed deer. students from the macalester college biology department and personnel of the usda forest service and the minnesota department of conservation helped secure mandibles from both wolf-killed and hunter-killed deer. the interest of mr. john e. peninger and of many deer hunters in contributing the jaws is also greatly acknowledged. mr. david w. kuehn sectioned the incisors of the deer jaws and determined their ages. dr. donald m. barnes of the university of minnesota veterinary diagnostic laboratory examined the abnormal lower limbs, described their pathology, and provided photos of specimens used herein. mr. wallace c. dayton and miss elizabeth dayton and the quetico-superior foundation, all of minneapolis, financed mech during the preparation of this paper. the following individuals read the manuscript and offered many helpful suggestions: mr. r. l. downing, mr. c. w. severinghaus, mr. j. m. peek, dr. c. t. cushwa, mr. m. h. stenlund, and dr. r. r. ream. literature cited crisler, lois. 1956. observations of wolves hunting caribou. j. mammal. 37: 337-346. downie, n. m., and heath, r. w. 1959. basic statistical methods. 289 p. new york: harper and bros. erickson, a. b., gunvalson, v. e., stenlund, m. h., burcalow, d. w., and blankenship, l. h. 1961. the white-tailed deer of minnesota. minn. dep. conserv. tech. bull. 5, 64 p. gilbert, f. f. 1966. aging white-tailed deer by annuli in the cementum of the first incisor. j. wildl. manage. 30: 200-202. kelsall, j. p. 1969. structural adaptations of moose and deer for snow. j. mammal. 50: 302-310. klein, d. r., and olson, s. t. 1960. natural mortality patterns of deer in southeast alaska. j. wildl. manage. 24: 80-88. kuehn, d. w. 1970. an evaluation of the wear method as a criterion for aging white-tailed deer. m.s. thesis., univ. minn. latham, r. m. 1950. pennsylvania's deer problem. penn. game news, spec. issue 1. (cited from: allen, d. l. 1962. our wildlife legacy.) maguire, h. f., and severinghaus, c. w. 1954. wariness as an influence on age composition of white-tailed deer killed by hunters. n. y. fish and game j. 1: 98-109. mech, l. d. 1966a. the wolves of isle royale. u.s. nat. park serv. fauna ser. 7, 210 p. mech, l. d. 1966b. hunting behavior of timber wolves in minnesota. j. mammal. 47: 347-348. mech, l. d. 1970. the wolf: the ecology and behavior of an endangered species. 389 p. new york: natural history press, doubleday. mech, l. d., frenzel, l. d., jr., karns, p. d., and kuehn, d. w. 1970. mandibular dental anomalies in white-tailed deer from minnesota. j. mammal. 51: 804-806. murie, a. 1944. the wolves of mount mckinley. u.s. nat. park serv. fauna ser. 5, 238 p. pimlott, d. h., shannon, j. a., and kolenosky, g. b. 1969. the ecology of the timber wolf in algonquin provincial park. ont. dep. lands and forests res. rep. (wildl.) 87, 92 p. ryel, l. a., fay, l. d., and van etten, r. c. 1961. validity of age determination in michigan deer. mich. acad. sci., art, and letters 46: 289-316. severinghaus, c. w. 1949. tooth development and wear as criteria of age in white-tailed deer. j. wildl. manage. 13: 195-216. severinghaus, c. w. 1955. p. r. rep. w-28-r-9: job 1a, april 13, 1955. shaw, s. p. 1951. the effect of insufficient harvests on an island deer herd. n.e. wildl. conf. (mimeo). siegel, s. 1956. non-parametric statistics for the behavioral sciences. 312 p. new york: mcgraw-hill. stenlund, m. h. 1955. a field study of the timber wolf (_canis lupus_) on the superior national forest, minnesota. minn. dep. conserv. tech. bull. 4, 55 p. the effect of snow conditions on the vulnerability of white-tailed deer to wolf predation l. david mech, l. d. frenzel, jr., and p. d. karns wolves (_canis lupus_) and deer (_odocoileus virginianus_) having evolved together, no doubt have become adapted to contending with each other's physical abilities. thus it is not surprising to learn that deer which succumb to wolf predation are generally weaker, older, or abnormal compared with the total deer population (pimlott _et al._ 1969, also see mech and frenzel, p. 35). however, the structural and behavioral adaptations of both species must have evolved under environmental conditions that are average or usual; otherwise, an adjustment of wolf to deer populations, and vice versa, could not have been maintained over long periods. this implies that extreme or unusual conditions might sometimes occur, to which either the wolf or the deer is poorly adapted. one of the most important environmental factors that can influence the interactions of wolves and deer is snow. the total fall, depth on the ground, and the density are all aspects of snow that may vary considerably and affect the ability of wolves to capture deer. recent studies of wolves and deer in northeastern minnesota (see mech _et al._, p. 1, also mech and frenzel, p. 35) afforded us opportunities to investigate the relationships between snow and the interactions of wolves and deer. methods two principal methods of study were used in this investigation. the first involved recording the snow depth and support quality ("penetrability") in feet and tenths of feet (verme 1968). snow measurements were taken during the winters of 1966-67, 1967-68, and 1968-69, in which large differences in snow conditions existed. ten such measurements were made weekly near isabella, minnesota, in an open aspen (_populus tremuloides_) stand away from influences that might have caused drifting or other unusual snow conditions; the measurements were averaged. penetrability was determined with verme's snow-compaction gauge--a 3-foot piece of 1-1/8-inch (outside diameter) copper tube filled with lead to total 3 pounds, which gives a weight per area of 211 gm./cm.^2. to obtain a measurement, the pipe is held vertically with its lower end just flush with the snow, and then is released. the depth to which it sinks is considered the penetrability of the snowpack by a walking deer. although the snow conditions measured at isabella are not representative of the entire study area, year-to-year comparison in the isabella area should also apply generally throughout the region. the second technique used in this study was observing the movements of wolves and deer. this was usually done from low-flying aircraft, and was facilitated by the use of radiotracking, as described by mech _et al._ (p. 1). close inspection of wolf-killed deer was made from the ground (mech and frenzel, p. 35). results and observations snow measurements for each winter are shown in figures 1 through 3. the winter of 1968-69 was the most extreme of the three in terms of accumulated snow, and was generally regarded as having one of the heaviest snowfalls and accumulations on record for the study area. snow depth on the level near isabella reached 3.9 feet at one time, and from january 3 to april 4 it exceeded 2.4 feet. the highest snow level reached during 1966-67 was 2.4 feet, and the highest level reached during 1967-68 was 1.4 feet. in the vicinity of ely, some 30 miles from isabella, the 1968-69 peak accumulation was 39 inches, the highest accumulation since 1948-49 when records were first kept.[36] thus we consider the winters of 1966-67 and 1967-68 to be within the normal range for the study area, and the 1968-69 winter as being most unusual (fig. 4). [illustration: _figure 1.--snow depth and penetrability by deer and wolves near isabella, minnesota, 1966-67._] [illustration: _figure 2.--snow depth and penetrability by deer and wolves near isabella, minnesota, 1967-68._] [illustration: _figure 3.--snow depth and penetrability by deer and wolves near isabella, minnesota, 1968-69._] the snow penetrability in 1966-67 remained high throughout january, february, and march. during the following winter, penetrability fluctuated more, but even at its greatest, it was relatively unimportant to deer because the total snow depth was so low. during 1968-69, however, penetrability was a very important aspect of snow condition. it was so high during late january and early february, when snow accumulation was also at its peak, that a walking deer would be expected to sink in 2.5 to 3.5 feet. snow penetrability then decreased through february and march to a point where a walking deer would sink in approximately 0.6 foot on march 21. however, because snow accumulation remained so high through february and march, the lower penetrability during late february and march still afforded no relief to running deer, because they must exert forces several times as great as when walking. on the contrary, the low penetrability (which is an indirect measure of density) could be expected to hinder a running deer in deep snow, for it would cause much more resistance. [illustration: _figure 4.--during the winter of 1968-69, the snow was unusually deep in the study area. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.)_] deer movements, like snow conditions, varied greatly during the three winters of the study. during the first two winters, deer were generally found singly and in groups of two to six, often around the shores of lakes but also scattered about inland. in late january and february 1967, running deer were observed sinking deeply into snow, but their movements still did not seem to be hindered, no doubt because of the high penetrability (low density) of the snow that year (fig. 1). however, during late january, february, and march of 1969 the deer were much more concentrated, mostly in conifer swamps, along southwest-facing slopes, or on lakes. although groups of two or three animals could be found in scattered inland "pockets" throughout the winter, groups of five or six were not uncommon on lakes during january. the tendency to concentrate continued to increase, and on february 6, as many as 11 deer were observed on one lake; by march 13, group size had increased to as high as 22 deer in the same area. throughout february and march, heavy concentrations of deer tracks covered most wilderness lakes, further evidencing much greater use of shorelines than had occurred in the two previous winters (fig. 5). no doubt deer tended to concentrate on lakes because travel inland became so difficult. on january 28, two deer were seen plowing through snow up to their necks. although the snow began settling in february, and the penetrability decreased, by late february running deer still plunged chest-deep and had to hesitate at every bound. these conditions persisted until about march 26, by which time a surface crust strong enough to hold a running deer had formed. [illustration: _figure 5.--under unusually deep snow conditions, deer used lake shores heavily. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] in considering wolf mobility in snow, two types of movement must be recognized: the trot used during general travel, and the bounding used while chasing prey. the trot is an easy gait of about 5 m.p.h. on firm footing (mech 1970), and can be continued for hours at a time. during periods of deep snow and high penetrability, most wolf travel is on frozen waterways, roads, snowmobile trails, and animal trails, including the wolves' own pathways, which become well packed with frequent use (fig. 6, 7a, b). such travel was observed during each of the three winters of this study. [illustration: _figure 6.--wolves travel single file in deep snow. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] [illustration: _figure 7.--(a) a single wolf must break his own trail through the snow. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel.) (b) regular use by a pack keeps trails open. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] the second type of wolf movement affected by snow is the leaping and bounding associated with chasing prey. the shallower angle of the wolf's bound (fig. 8) (compared with that of the deer) often causes the wolf to flounder in snow that presents little hinderance to deer (mech 1970). such was the case in january and february 1967 in our study area. during 1967-68 no observations of wolves chasing deer were made by the authors, but reports by other field workers indicated that running conditions were similar to those of 1967. [illustration: _figure 8.--wolves run at a shallow angle, thus hindering them in deep snow. (photo courtesy of d. h. pimlott.)_] during the winter of 1968-69, wolves also bogged down a great deal in snow when chasing deer. however, after january 1969 the snow was so deep that deer were floundering even more than wolves in many cases. the fact that wolves could run in the trail broken by deer probably also gave the wolves an advantage under the conditions that severely restricted deer movements. the above observations of snow conditions, deer movements, and wolf movements during the three winters of the study are in accord with observations made on the differences in the ability of the wolves to capture deer during the same period. two indices support the conclusion that wolves had a much easier time catching deer during february and march 1969 than earlier in the winter and in the two previous winters: (1) the degree of utilization of wolf-killed deer, and (2) the kill rate of radiotagged wolves. during the winters of 1966-67 and 1967-68, and in december and early january 1968-69, most wolf-killed deer found had been thoroughly eaten, and the bones--if present at all--were well chewed and scattered at each kill (fig. 9). all skin and flesh from the skull were eaten, and the mandible was usually separated from the skull. during late february and early march 1967, few fresh kills were even found, and wolves were returning several times to old kills that had been cleaned up many days before. [illustration: _figure 9.--usually the remains of a wolf kill are well chewed and scattered before the wolves abandon them. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] [illustration: _figure 10.--during a period of especially deep snow, wolves abandoned many kills before pulling apart the skeletons. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] however, in late january 1969 a substantial change began taking place. the skeletons of most kills found were almost intact, the flesh having been eaten from around the bones (fig. 10). appreciably more skin was usually left on the carcass, especially on the side lying on the snow, and the neck and head were generally intact. this was true even of fawns, which in the past often were almost completely consumed. in several cases, only about half of the flesh had been eaten from the carcasses. on february 2, 1969, four deer recently killed by wolves were found along a 1-1/2-mile stretch of birch lake and nearby polaris lake (minnesota-ontario border). one large doe was completely uneaten and remained so for at least 24 hours after discovery from the air. further, one fawn had only a few pounds of flesh eaten, a yearling doe was half eaten, and another fawn was about 75 percent eaten. hazardous landing conditions during this period severely limited the number of carcasses that could be examined from the ground, but on february 6 a yearling doe was discovered that had only about 5 to 10 pounds of flesh eaten, and on february 8 an adult doe was found that was completely intact except for wounds. in past winters some kills had been located that had been only partly eaten, but in each case the carcasses were soon revisited and cleaned up (mech 1970). this was often not the case in 1969. for the rest of the winter most of the deer killed by wolves in our study area were not as completely consumed as in previous winters. pimlott _et al._ (1969) found a similar relationship between the severity of the winter and the degree to which wolf-killed deer were utilized. correlated with the above information was the kill history of our radiotagged wolves (mech _et al._, p. 1). from december 1968 through january 1969 no. 1051 had killed three or possibly four deer, and generally had spent 6 or 7 days feeding on each. however, throughout most of february this animal visited a new deer carcass (which presumably he killed) every 3 days, and he spent only 1 or 2 days at each. in two cases two new carcasses were found in the immediate vicinity of this animal during the same day, and in each case the wolf spent only 1 day in the area. a second wolf (1053) which had spent most of december and january scavenging on the remains of both deer and moose (_alces alces_) that had died long before, made her first known kill of a deer on january 31, 1969. the kill rate of the other three radiotagged wolves also increased, although the data for them are less complete. the average kill rate for all radiotagged wolves and their associates was one deer per wolf per 16 to 20 days before february 1, and one per 8 to 12 days after february 1 (see mech _et al._, p. 1). footnotes: [36] _m. h. stenlund. personal correspondence to l. d. mech, oct. 10, 1969._ discussion and conclusions under usual snow conditions throughout most of the range of the white-tailed deer, healthy vigorous individuals can probably escape most attacks by wolves. observations by mech (1966), rutter and pimlott (1968), and mech _et al._ (p. 1) indicate that a high percentage of attempts by wolves to kill deer during winter are unsuccessful. this is further implied by the figures of pimlott _et al._ (1969) and mech and frenzel (p. 35) showing that at least during winter wolves tend to kill a disproportionate number of old deer as well as those with various abnormalities and pathological conditions. however, during a winter with extremely deep snow, the usual relationships seem to change somewhat. fewer deer are able to escape wolves, and a surplus is killed. this means that some individuals not vulnerable under the usual snow conditions become vulnerable during extreme conditions. there are two main possible reasons for this, the effect of the extreme weather conditions on the health and vigor of the deer, and the physical effect of the snow on the escapability of the deer. in regard to the first possibility, there was limited evidence that during february and march 1969 some fawns and yearlings in our study area were losing their fat stores. two of three yearlings, and both fawns intact enough for examination during this period lacked back fat, and the marrow in one of six fawn femurs was partly fat depleted. nevertheless, the third yearling inspected still had back fat, and a 3-1/2-year-old doe had heavy omental, renal, heart, and back fat during the same period. thus, although an abnormal decline in the physical condition of some deer in the late winter might partly account for the increased kill by wolves during february and march 1969, the effect of snow on the escapability of the deer probably was also involved. the key difference in snow conditions between the two periods--(1) the winters of 1966-67, 1967-68, and december-january 1968-69, and (2) february and march 1969--was the heavy, persisting accumulation of snow during the latter period, combined with the increasing density of the snow. as our observations show, this greatly hindered the movements of deer fleeing from wolves. under more usual conditions, a running deer might sink through the snow to the ground and thus obtain a firm footing from which to spring again. in discussing wolf-caribou relations in snow, kelsall (1968, p. 249) stated the following: "while caribou (_rangifer tarandus_) will sink into snow even deeper than wolves, their longer legs permit them to run efficiently where a wolf will bog down. nasimovich (1955) considered that roe deer and sika deer could be taken by wolves when snow was not more than 30 cm. (11.8 inches) in depth. at depths above that their pursuit becomes difficult or fruitless." however, it appears that when snow becomes extremely deep, wolves then gain the advantage. with 22 to 48 inches or more of snow to plow through, a deer would have trouble even touching a firm foundation. according to kelsall (1969), deer measure only 20 to 24 inches from hoof tip to chest, with legs extended. it is true that wolves stand even shorter than deer and so might be expected to flounder even more. however, this is where another factor becomes important, the "weight-load-on-track" or total weight per area of track. as kelsall (1969) has pointed out, the mean weight-load-on-track for deer is extremely difficult to measure directly, because the actual under-surface of the deer's foot slants vertically, and a much greater area may be used to support an animal in snow than on a hard surface. this probably explains the discrepancy between kelsall's measurements and work done by verme (1968) in michigan. according to kelsall, deer weight-load-on-track (hoof only) varies between 431 and 1,124 gm./cm.^2. however, verme stated that his compaction gauge (with a weight load of about 211 gm./cm.^2, described earlier in this paper) sank in virtually the same amount in snow as did deer. under the snow conditions in our study area, we found that the same type of compaction gauge generally penetrated to a depth within a half inch of that to which deer were sinking. on this basis, it seems reasonable to suggest that a deer in snow is supported by more of its foot than just the hoof, and that the actual weight-load-on-track of deer in snow is about 211 gm./cm.^2. for wolves, this measure varies from 89 to 103 gm./cm.^2 (foromozov 1946). this means that for the same amount of force applied during running, a wolf would have twice as much support as a deer. it also means that in deep snow a walking wolf generally is much less restricted than a walking deer. late in february 1969, for example, when deer were seriously limited in their ability to travel, wolves were able to travel widely (mech _et al._, p. 1). even though wolves have much greater support than deer, when running they still sink into the snow almost as much as deer under most conditions, probably because both run with such force that snow usually offers little support. nevertheless, with extremely deep snow, the difference in support factor between wolves and deer could become critical, and this is probably what happened during february and march 1969. with deer seriously restrained by the deep snow, even a slight advantage in favor of the wolf could increase hunting success. a high snow density during that period would accentuate this advantage. this is because until the snow becomes dense enough to hold a running deer, each increase in density would further the advantage of the wolf, which would require only half the density to support it, while it would hinder the deer. one result of the extreme snow conditions of early 1969 was that deer tended to gravitate to lakes, where snow was shallow and footing was firm. initially upon disturbance by human beings, and probably by wolves, these deer usually headed inland, but it is apparent from a number of kills examined that when pressed hard by wolves inland, deer headed out onto lakes where possible. apparently they could run there with better footing. however, frozen lakes also provide wolves with good running conditions, and even seem to give them an advantage (rutter and pimlott 1968, mech 1970), so many of these deer were killed (fig. 11). stenlund (1955, p. 44) reported as follows on years of low snowfall, the opposite condition, which demonstrated the same relationship between snow depth and kills on lakes: "the winters of 1951-52 and 1952-53 were abnormally mild with little early snow. as a result, few wolf-killed deer appeared on the lakes and most deer attempted to outrun wolves in the woods." [illustration: _figure 11.--on frozen lakes, wolves often seem to have the advantage over deer, such as in this case where the wolf (center) has just killed a deer and is trying to discourage a raven from joining him in the feed. (photo courtesy of l. d. frenzel_.)] thus it appears that extreme snow conditions in our study area increase the vulnerability of deer to wolf predation in three ways: (1) by causing a decline in the health and nutritional state of some members of the deer population; (2) by hindering the escapability of the deer; and (3) by causing deer to congregate on frozen lakes where wolves have the advantage in running. summary during the winters of 1966-67, 1967-68, and 1968-69, the interactions of wolves (_canis lupus_) and white-tailed deer (_odocoileus virginianus_) were observed in northeastern minnesota from aircraft. snow depth and supporting ability were also measured during these winters, and the ability of wolves to capture deer was compared for a period of usual snow conditions versus a period of extreme snow conditions. it was found that during february and march 1969, when snow remained from 2.5 to 3.9 feet deep and failed to support running deer, wolves were able to capture deer more easily. this was evidenced by kills that were left partly or completely uneaten, and by a higher rate of predation by radiotagged wolves and their associates. although both wolves and deer floundered in the extremely deep snow, the relatively lighter weight-load-on-track of wolves evidently gave them a greater advantage than under the usual snow conditions, when wolves were observed floundering more than deer. this factor, plus a decline in the health and vigor of some segments of the deer population and a tendency for deer to congregate on frozen lakes, where wolves have an advantage, help explain the increased vulnerability of deer to wolf predation during the winters of deep snow. acknowledgments this study was supported by macalester college, the minnesota department of conservation, the usda forest service, the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife, and the new york zoological society. pilots john winship, pat magie, jack burgess, and don murray flew the observation planes during radiotracking. miss elizabeth dayton, mr. wallace c. dayton, and the quetico-superior foundation, all of minneapolis, financed mech during the writing of this report. thanks are also due l. j. verme, j. p. kelsall, and j. m. peek for their helpful reviews. literature cited foromozov, a. n. 1946. the snow cover as an environment factor and its importance in the life of mammals and birds. (moskovskoe obshchestvo ispytatelei priroda) materialy k poznaniyu fauny i flory sssr, otdel. zool. n. 5 (xx). (translation from russian published by boreal institute, univ. alberta, edmonton, alberta.) kelsall, j. p. 1968. the caribou. can. wildl. serv. monog. 3, 340 p. kelsall, j. p. 1969. structural adaptations of moose and deer for snow. j. mammal. 50: 302-310. mech, l. d. 1966. hunting behavior of wolves in minnesota. j. mammal. 47: 347-348. mech, l. d. 1970. the wolf: the ecology and behavior of an endangered species. 389 p. new york: natural history press, doubleday. nasimovich, a. a. 1955. the role of the regime of snow cover in the life of ungulates in the u.s.s.r. moskva, akademiya nauk sssr. 403 p. pimlott, d. h., shannon, j. a., and kolenosky, g. b. 1969. the ecology of the timber wolf in algonquin provincial park. out. dep. lands and forests res. rep. (wildl.) 87, 92 p. rutter, r. j., and pimlott, d. h. 1968. the world of the wolf. 202 p. philadelphia and new york: j. b. lippincott co. stenlund, m. h. 1955. a field study of the timber wolf (_canis lupus_) on the superior national forest, minnesota. minn. conserv. dep. tech. bull. 4, 55 p. verme, l. j. 1968. an index of winter severity for northern deer. j. wildl. manage. 32: 566-574. the possible occurrence of the great plains wolf in northeastern minnesota l. david mech and l. d. frenzel, jr. the timber wolf (_canis lupus_) of northeastern minnesota occupies an area within the range given by goldman (1944) for the eastern timber wolf (_c. l. lycaon_ schreber). however, this area is within 150 miles of the eastern edge of the former range of the great plains wolf (_c. l. nubilus_ say), and there is some question as to whether the minnesota wolf is really an intergrade between these two subspecies. writing of _nubilus_, goldman (1944, p. 444) stated: "specimens from eastern minnesota and michigan seem more properly referable to _lycaon_, but relationship to _nubilus_ is shown in somewhat intermediate characters." in describing _lycaon_ as basically a gray wolf, goldman made no mention of the occurrence of black or white color phases in that subspecies. however, in discussing _nubilus_, goldman (1944, p. 442) wrote the following: "many color variations are presented. individuals may be nearly white at any season, except for a sprinkling of black hairs over the back, a small, narrow, but conspicuous, black patch over the tail gland, and a more or less distinctly black tip. black individuals may occur in the same litter with those normally colored." goldman also referred to _nubilus_ as "now probably extinct." [illustration: _figure 1.--a few wolves observed in the study area were jet black. (photo courtesy of l. d. mech.)_] in the eastern part of the range of _lycaon_, color phases other than gray appear to be rare as rutter and pimlott (1969, p. 188) attest: "the uniformity of the color of timber wolves in many areas is evidenced by the work in algonquin park, in ontario. there, over the past eight years, dozens of packs have been observed from the air. however, we have never been able to discriminate between any of them on the basis of the color variation of individual animals." thus it seems significant to report on incidences of black and white color phases in wolves that we have observed in northeastern minnesota during some 480 hours of flying associated with wolf research (mech _et al._, p. 1). the observations took place in the superior national forest, in northern cook, lake, and st. louis counties during the winters of 1966-67, 1967-68, and 1968-69. a total of 309 sightings were made of wolves that could be classified by color; of these, 11 (3.6 percent) were jet black (fig. 1) and two (0.6 percent) were creamish white, with the cream color the most intense on the back. no doubt some of the grays, and perhaps the blacks and whites, were repeated observations, but the figures should provide a reasonable approximation of the incidence of these color phases in this area. all black or white animals except one were observed with gray wolves (table 1 and fig. 2). a number of black wolves, and a few white wolves, have been seen by other observers, all in the three counties listed earlier. to gain some idea of the past incidence of these color phases in the same general area, we asked conservation officers robert hodge, robert jacobsen, and frank baltich of the ely, minnesota, area about the numbers of each phase that they took before 1960. they reported killing an approximate total of 580 wolves, of which four were black and three were white or creamish white. _table 1.--observations of wolves of black and white color phases_ +--------------+-------------------------+--------------------------+ | date | location | color combinations | | | | within each pack | +--------------+-------------------------+--------------------------+ |feb. 24, 1967 t64n-r8w-s1 vera lake 3 grays; 1 black; 1 white| |mar. 4, 1967 t63n-r9w-s27 lake two 3 grays; 2 blacks | |dec. 18, 1968 t63n-r8w-s35 lake insula 2 grays; 2 blacks[37] | |jan. 17, 1969 t65n-r8w-s27 carp lake 1 gray; 1 white | |feb. 1, 1969 t63n-r8w-s13 lake insula 4 blacks; 2 grays[38] | |feb. 5, 1969 t63n-r8w-s8 benezie lake 1 black | |feb. 6, 1969 t63n-r10w-s33 clear lake 3 grays; 1 black | +--------------+-------------------------+--------------------------+ footnotes: [37] these animals were near the shore of the lake, so others may have been inland where they could not be seen. [38] this group might well have been the same as that seen on dec. 18, 1968. [illustration: _figure 2.--a pack of four blacks with two grays (first and third). (photo courtesy of john winship.)_] because black and white color phases have rarely if ever been reported for _lycaon_, yet were well known for _nubilus_, it is not unreasonable to conclude that the race of wolves now occupying northeastern minnesota does show strong _nubilus_ influence. goldman examined the skulls only of 10 minnesota specimens assignable to _lycaon_ and only one referable to _nubilus_. because wolves in the known range of _nubilus_ are thought to be extinct, and because the animals in northeastern minnesota are legally unprotected and subject to a control program, it seems highly desirable that the question of their taxonomy be studied intensively while specimens are still available. acknowledgments this study was supported by macalester college, the new york zoological society, the minnesota department of conservation, the u.s. bureau of sport fisheries and wildlife, and the usda forest service. mr. wallace c. dayton and miss elizabeth dayton, and the quetico-superior foundation, all of minneapolis, financed mech during the preparation of this paper. we would also like to thank dr. j. l. paradiso, dr. h. l. gunderson, and mr. m. h. stenlund for reviewing this manuscript. literature cited goldman, e. a. 1944. the wolves of north america, part ii. classification of wolves. p. 389-636. washington, d.c.: the amer. wildl. inst. pimlott, d. h., shannon, j. a., and kolenosky, g. b. 1969. the ecology of the timber wolf in algonquin provincial park. ont. dep. lands and forests res. pap. (wildl.) 87, 94 p. some recent research papers of the north central forest experiment station tree improvement opportunities in the north-central states related to economic trends, a problem analysis, by david h. dawson and john a. pitcher. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-40, 30 p., illus. 1970. relation between the national fire danger spread component and fire activity in the lake states, by donald a. haines, william a. main, and von j. johnson. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-41, 8 p., illus. 1970. thinning and fertilizing red pine to increase growth and cone production, by john h. cooley. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-42, 8 p., illus. 1970. the impact of estimation errors on evaluations of timber production opportunities, by dennis l. schweitzer. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-43, 18 p., illus. 1970. user evaluation of campgrounds on two michigan national forests, by robert c. lucas. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-44, 15 p., illus. 1970. system identification principles in studies of forest dynamics, by rolfe a. leary. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-45, 38 p., illus. 1970. skiing in the great lakes state: the industry and the skier, by william a. leuschner. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-46, 42 p., illus. 1970. proceedings of the ninth lake states forest tree improvement conference, august 22-23, 1969. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-47, 34 p. 1970. a water curtain for controlling experimental forest fires, by von j. johnson. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-48, 7 p., illus. 1970. wildness ecology: a method of sampling and summarizing data for plant community classification, by lewis f. ohmann and robert r. ream. usda forest serv. res. pap. nc-49, 14 p., illus. 1970. about the forest service.... as our nation grows, people expect and need more from their forests--more wood; more water, fish, and wildlife; more recreation and natural beauty; more special forest products and forage. the forest service of the u.s. department of agriculture helps to fulfill these expectations and needs through three major activities: [illustration] · conducting forest and range research at over 75 locations ranging from puerto rico to alaska to hawaii. · participating with all state forestry agencies in cooperative programs to protect, improve, and wisely use our country's 395 million acres of state, local, and private forest lands. · managing and protecting the 187-million acre national forest system. the forest service does this by encouraging use of the new knowledge that research scientists develop; by setting an example in managing, under sustained yield, the national forests and grasslands for multiple use purposes; and by cooperating with all states and with private citizens in their efforts to achieve better management, protection, and use of forest resources. traditionally, forest service people have been active members of the communities and towns in which they live and work. they strive to secure for all, continuous benefits from the country's forest resources. for more than 60 years, the forest service has been serving the nation as a leading natural resource conservation agency. * * * * * transcriber's notes this is a compilation of four separate reports, each having their own table and figure numbers. i have retained the original table and figure numbers due to all the references made to them within the text. however i did reindex the footnotes for the complete compilation. i made minor punctuation corrections, modified the table formats, moved some illustrations, and made the following typo corrections: table of contents: changed "occurence" to "occurrence". originally: the possible occurence of the great plains wolf in northeastern minnesota page 5: added missing parenthesis after "individuals". originally: the same color (with the exception of a few black or white individuals (see mech and frenzel, page 60) page 27, deleted repeated word "the". originally: when still on the the ice about 15 feet from shore, page 34, literature cited: changed "vegetatation" to "vegetation". originally: ohmann, l. f., and ream, r. r. 1969 vegetatation studies in the bwca page 37: changed "repreductive" to "reproductive". originally: lungs, liver, kidneys, repreductive tracts page 40: changed "wildnerness" to "wilderness". originally: while in the wildnerness more males were taken page 41: changed "decidous" to "deciduous". originally: the deciduous first incisors of fawns and the decidous page 42: changed "end" to "and". originally: from wolf-killed deer end examined grossly in the field page 42, figure 9: changed "discoverd" to "discovered". originally: a permanent first premolar (arrow) was discoverd in m-8. page 47: changed "wildnerness" to "wilderness". originally: not surprising that in the wildnerness area page 57, footnote 36: deleted duplicate "to". originally: personal correspondence to to l. d. mech, oct. 10, 1969. page 58: changed "diffference" to "difference". originally: nevertheless, with extremely deep snow, the diffference page 59, literature cited: changed "roll" to "role". originally: nasimovich, a. a. 1955. the roll of the regime of snow distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net double challenge by jim kjelgaard dodd, mead & company new york 1958 © 1957 by jim kjelgaard all rights reserved second printing no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher library or congress catalog card number: 57-5233 printed in the united states of america by the cornwall press, inc., cornwall, n.y. _for patty gallagher, and linda, pam, larry and craig lewis_ contents 1. the jolt 1 2. the threat 17 3. the camp 31 4. the fugitive 47 5. coon valley 59 6. messenger dog 75 7. a flight of woodcock 91 8. trouble for nels 107 9. a black bear charges 121 10. damon 137 11. pythias 153 12. al's betrayal 167 * * * * * _the characters, incidents and situations in this book are imaginary and have no relation to any person or actual happening._ * * * * * double challenge 1 the jolt when ted harkness reached the summit of hawkbill, he hurried. he grinned a little smugly as he did so, for his had been a non-stop climb and most people who wanted to reach hawkbill, the highest point in the mahela and the only one that wasn't forested, had to rest at least twice. some, starting out with firm determination to climb to the top, wavered en route and never did get there. the gorgeous, tricolored collie that had been pacing beside ted ran a short ways, snuffled into some brush and disappeared. presently he came wagging back, to fall in beside his master, and ted let a hand rest on the dog's silken head. a little farther on, the collie pricked up its ears and ted stopped in his tracks. just ahead, a fallen tree lay at an angle down the slope. either rooted in soft earth or shallowly rooted, it had toppled when its upper structure became too heavy for its root system to support, and it had fallen so recently that its leaves had not even started to shrivel. sitting nervously on its trunk, suspecting danger was near but lacking the faintest idea as to where it was, were seven young bobtailed grouse. an imp of mischief danced in ted's eyes. ruffed grouse were one of the sportiest and one of the wisest of birds, but they weren't born wise and experienced. like everything else, they had to learn and certainly these grouse weren't old enough to have learned much of anything. ted said softly, "get one, tammie." very slowly, knowing his game and stalking it as a cat would have stalked, tammie slunk forward. ted watched with great interest. rarely could any dog catch a mature ruffed grouse unless it was injured, and it was questionable as to whether tammie could take one of these comparative babies. but he might. tammie neared the log, sprang, and six of the seven young grouse took fluttering wing. the seventh, clamped in tammie's slender jaws, fluttered a moment and was still. eyes proud, plumed tail waving, tammie trotted back to ted and placed the prize in his master's hand. ted complimented him. "good boy, tammie!" he took the young grouse gently, feeling its thumping heart and understanding its terrified eyes. it wasn't hurt. when teaching tammie to catch various birds and animals, ted had taught him to be tender-mouthed. after a moment, he tossed his captive into the air and watched it fly out of sight. "let's go, dog." they broke out of the beech woods onto the abutment that rose above. almost solid rock, nothing grew here except lichens and, in the cracks, occasional strips of grass. bent somewhat like a hawk's bill, it was a favorite playground for hawks that wanted to test their wings. the view was unsurpassed. ted sat down on the very tip of hawkbill and tammie squatted companionably beside him. ted looked at the mahela. for as far as he could see in any direction, forested hills folded into one another. spinning creek sparkled like a silver ribbon that some giant hand had draped gracefully down a forested valley. the road to lorton, from this distance, was a footpath beside the creek. two miles down the valley, the green clearing in which lay carl thornton's crestwood resort, the only resort in the mahela and ted's place of employment, gleamed like a great emerald. just below, almost at ted's feet, was the snug log house in which he and his father lived, surrounded by two hundred acres of forest, except for small and scattered patches here and there. the harknesses owned the last remaining private land in the mahela. its only clearings were those in which the cabin was built and one for a garden patch. al harkness didn't want or need much clearing. he preferred the beech woods to the cultivated fields, the trap line or woodsman's ax to the plow. behind hawkbill rose a mountain that, long ago, had been ravaged by fire. the fire had burned slowly in the lower reaches and the forest there remained green and virgin. but a little more than halfway up, probably fanned by sudden, fierce winds, the fire had become an inferno. nearly all the trees had been killed and had long since fallen. the place had grown up into a tangle of blackberry canes, with a few patches of scrubby aspen here and there. as ted watched, he saw what he'd hoped to see. it was only a wisp of motion, a mere flutter in the aspens, and as soon as ted spotted it, he lost it. presently he picked it up again. it was an immense deer, a great gray buck. heavy-bodied, thick-necked, it would outweigh most big bucks by at least fifty pounds. massive of beam, with four perfect points on either side, its antlers were a hunter's dream come true. it was feeding on something, probably patches of grass that grew among the briers. ted's eyes glowed and he continued to search. presently he saw the second buck, an exact twin of the first. it was standing quietly in the warm sun, a hundred feet up-slope. these were the bucks that were known throughout the mahela, and far beyond it, as damon and pythias. all who'd seen them thought that either one, if bagged, would set a new record. but so far, both had carried their antlers safely through several hunting seasons and from the lazy way they posed on the mountainside, they might have been two gray steers in any farmer's pasture. the appearance was deceptive, though, and ted knew it. let anything at all excite either buck's suspicion and they'd prove their mettle. ted rubbed tammie's head reflectively. "there they are," he observed, "and one of these days i'm going to hang one of those heads over our fireplace." tammie yawned and ted laughed. "okay, so i'm bragging again. but i'm still going to do it. let's go, dog." having seen what he had come to see, he struck back down the mountain, through the forest of massive, gray-trunked beeches that marched like rows of orderly soldiers in all directions. forty-five minutes later he emerged into his father's clearing. no shanty or casual cabin, but a solid log structure built by a master craftsman, the house was set back against the line of trees. artfully designed, it belonged exactly where it was and as it was. the harkness house fitted the mahela as well as did the big beeches against which, and of which, it was built. with a wing on each side and a covered porch that jutted forward, somehow the house itself seemed to hold out welcoming arms. a huge brick chimney told of the big fireplace within. to one side was a shed, half of which formed a home for the few chickens al harkness saw fit to keep. there were never fewer than six of these and never more than ten, just enough to furnish ted and his father with the eggs they needed and to provide an occasional fowl for the pot. the other half of the shed was a storage place for tools. behind the house was another, larger shed which sheltered a gasoline engine and buzz saw and provided a place for al to take care of the furs, wild honey, herbs and other treasures that he brought in from the mahela. in front stood the game rack, a cross pole mounted on two heavy timbers imbedded in the ground. here hung the deer and occasional black bear that al, ted and their guests brought down. to one side lay the garden, big enough to provide all the vegetables the harknesses needed but not big enough to make a glaring scar in the beech woods. as a protection against raiding deer, this garden was surrounded by an eight-foot fence. the road to lorton ran about sixty yards in front of the house but was hidden from it by trees. beside the road was the high line with its two wires stretching into the house. there was a rutted drive that served as an entrance and exit for the battered pickup truck which was all the car al harkness had ever thought he needed. when the boy and dog entered the clearing, tammie raced ahead and streaked toward the work shed. knowing his father would be there or tammie wouldn't have gone, ted strolled up and looked in at the open door. sitting on a wooden chair with a broken back, al harkness was using his hunting knife to put the finishing touches on a board over which, when the time was right, a mink pelt would be stretched. he looked up and said, "hi, fella." "hi, dad. i'm back." "figgered that out all by myself, when your dog came in to say hello." tammie was sitting near, watching al work. for a moment, ted watched, too. perfectly-shaped, with exactly the right taper, the board upon which al worked did not vary a hundredth of an inch from one side to the other. al, who got more money for his furs than other trappers did because he took better care of them, sliced off another shaving and squinted down the board. a big man, he seemed as rugged as one of the giant beech trees. his brows jutted out like stone crags, while the eyes beneath them were gentle. but they were gentle in the manner of a soft wind that can become a fierce gale. there was something about him that was more than faintly akin to the grouse ted had held in his hand, the rugged summit of hawkbill, and the two immense bucks he had seen. al harkness would be out of place anywhere except in the mahela. "what'd you see?" he asked. "damon and pythias," ted answered happily. "anybody who thinks they had a rack of horns last year should see them now!" "where they hangin' out?" "where they always are at this time of year, in the briers on burned mountain." "and where," al asked, "will they be come huntin' season?" "i don't know, but i'm sure going to find out. one or the other of those heads will hang over our fireplace." "for sure now?" al smiled faintly. "if it doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying on my part." "one, two, three, four," al counted rapidly. "one thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand--you'll have to get at the end of a long line of hunters who want those heads." "i know a lot of hunters have tried for them, but they can be had." "anything can be had," al observed sagely, "and one nice thing 'bout young 'uns is they think they can get it. land either of those bucks and your picture'll be in every paper in the state. maybe even in some out of state." "sure," ted grinned, "i'll be famous as a deer hunter before i ever am as a resort owner." finally satisfied with his stretching board, al laid it carefully in a corner. he took a blackened pipe from his shirt pocket and an exquisitely wrought tobacco pouch from his trousers. made of home-tanned buckskin, even if the pouch had not borne the stamp of al's craftsmanship, it would have been recognized as his. his name, a. harkness, was stencilled on it. al filled his pipe, lighted it and puffed lazy bursts of blue smoke into the air. tammie, who, in common with most dogs, disliked the smell of tobacco, sneezed and moved farther away. for a moment al did not speak. finally he murmured, "so now you're goin' to be a famous resort owner?" "why, didn't you know?" ted asked gaily. "the mahela lodge will be known all the way from lorton to danzer." al grinned faintly. "that's a real long ways, nigh onto six miles. you wouldn't change your mind?" "about what?" "you can still go to college this fall and learn to be a dentist, lawyer, or anything else you want." "colleges cost money." "i have," al said tartly, "been scarin' up a penny every now and again since i been changin' your didies. i can still scare up enough to send you through college, but i mistrust about startin' you in the resort business. crestwood cost carl thornton more money than i've earned in my whole life." "i don't want to leave the mahela." "too much of your pappy in you," al growled, "and not enough of your mother. i want you to be somethin' besides a woods runner." "it isn't that, dad. i've tried to explain to you. it's the people--seeing them come in here all tired out, and seeing them go away rested and refreshed after we've shown them everything we have in the mahela. i know college is valuable and i don't look down my nose at education. but this is my job." al sighed. "i've tried to talk some sense into you. how are you and thornton gettin' along?" "dad, thornton owns crestwood. i just work there." "so that makes thornton better'n you, huh? you're goin' to be a right smart passel of time, savin' enough to start your own resort on what thornton pays you." "i'm getting experience, meeting people, learning how it's done. i'm really learning the business from the bottom up." "huh?" "nels anderson and i have been working on the plumbing in crestwood's basement," ted grinned. al frowned. "i'm not foolin'. this is a big job you've set up for yourself and i don't see how you'll ever get enough money to do it." ted said confidently, "i'll work it out." "i wish," al declared, "that i was eighteen 'stead of forty-nine. i'd be able to work things out, too. but it's you doin' it. everybody's got to live the way they see fit." al picked up another board and began shaping it. ted took his pocketknife from his pocket. "i'll help you, huh?" "reckon not." al shook his head. "sunday's your day off." "let me help. it wouldn't really be work to me." "nope. even if i did want help, nobody but me can make my stretchin' boards." "then i'll go get dinner." "that's a smart idea." with tammie pacing beside him, ted went into the house. everything about it was solid, strong, heart-warming. the front door was made of oak boards an inch and a half thick, the windows were set ten inches back in the log walls, the ample fireplace was of native stone. obviously it was the home of an outdoorsman. two mounted bucks' heads stared from the same wall, and of the five rugs on the living room floor, three were bearskins and two were bobcats. ted's and al's rifles and shotguns hung on a rack and there was a glass-enclosed case for fishing tackle. but al harkness, child of the mahela though he was, did not spurn modern conveniences. electric lights hung from the ceiling. bottled gas furnished fuel for the kitchen range and there was a hot water heater. al had an electric refrigerator, a large freezer and a tiled sink with regulation hot and cold faucets. tammie, knowing they'd been out and would go no more, curled up on one of the bearskin rugs. ted took a chicken from the refrigerator and began to stuff it with a dressing made of bread dough, giblets, apples and seasoning. it was a task he'd done often, and his thoughts wandered. al, who'd never gone beyond the sixth grade, had a near-worshipful regard for education and he'd insisted that his son be educated. after graduating with honors from lorton high, ted himself realized that college training would be valuable. but there were other factors involved. with no desire to become a trapper and woodsman like his father, ted wanted to stay in the mahela. it was worthy and wonderful. wilderness would always be needed, and, deep inside him, ted saw himself running a grand lodge to which guests could come and partake of the benefits crestwood's clients certainly found. people who came back to the wilderness always seemed to be coming back to the source of things and finding spiritual values that lay only at the source. ted had taken a flunkey's job at crestwood two days after he graduated. it did not pay as much as he might have earned elsewhere, but it was what he wanted and he saved as much as possible. meanwhile, his dream continued to grow. the couple of hundred dollars he had put aside was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the--ted had never even dared let himself imagine how many--thousands he needed. but he knew he would find a way and, above all, he wished that he could make his father know it, too. ted lighted the oven, put his chicken in to roast and scrubbed potatoes to be baked in their jackets. he mixed biscuit dough. since neither he nor al cared for dessert, he didn't prepare any. but he did take a package of carrots and peas from the freezer. he remembered whimsically that, before they had the freezer, his father used to can dozens of quarts of vegetables. dreamily he went about setting the table. as he did so, he noticed a man in an expensive car driving up the lorton road. there was a squeal of brakes as he stopped suddenly and a shriek of tires as he turned up the harkness drive. he was a short man, and fat, but his smile was nice, although his eyes were shrewd. "do you own this land?" he demanded. al and ted told him that they owned it, whereupon the short, fat man declared breathlessly that a diamond mine had just been discovered in their back yard and that he, personally, would guarantee them a hundred thousand dollars for the mining rights! he would give fifty thousand at once, and it was all right with him if they built a great resort in front, as long as they didn't interfere with his mine. ted grinned ruefully as his daydream faded and he went to call his father to dinner. * * * * * the next morning, the rising sun was only halfway down hawkbill when ted walked to his job at crestwood. his heart lifted, as it always did when he saw the place. he liked to imagine that he owned it. semi-luxurious crestwood, the only resort in the mahela, had accommodations for sixty guests under normal conditions and perhaps ninety if they were crowded in. it was well patronized in fishing season, had a sprinkling of guests who wanted to do nothing save enjoy the out of doors when there was neither hunting nor fishing, filled up again when the small game season started and was packed in the deer season for which the mahela was famous. while deer hunting was on, thornton turned away twice as many guests as he could accommodate. afterwards, crestwood was closed until fishing season opened again. at the far end of a spacious clearing, set back against the beeches and blending very well with the background, crestwood's main lodge was a big log building that contained a dining hall, a kitchen, a lounge, a game room, an office for thornton, quarters for the help and rooms for guests who preferred to remain in the lodge. to one side were ten neat log cabins that accommodated four guests each in normal times and six during deer season. the utility rooms and outbuildings were behind the main lodge and hidden by it and the wide driveway was of crushed stone. "hi, ted!" ted turned to wait for middle-aged nels anderson, his co-flunkey at crestwood. neither brilliant nor subtle, but always gentle, nels had been taught by a lifetime of hard knocks to appreciate the good things that came his way, and, as far as nels was concerned, the best thing that had ever come his way was his job at crestwood. always a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, the most nels asked was to be paid with reasonable regularity for his hewing and drawing. he smiled a slow scandinavian smile as ted returned his greeting. "good morning, nels. how are you feeling?" "goot. and you?" "first rate. shall we start earning our wages?" "yah. you go down? or me?" "i'll go. you catch the pipe." they entered the lodge. ted ducked into crestwood's gloomy basement, turned on the light and caught up a length of pipe. he and nels were running water to some of the upstairs rooms. he maneuvered the pipe through an already drilled hole and waited for his companion to catch it and stab it into an elbow. nothing happened and ted sighed resignedly. nels was one of those rare people who know enough about many things to do a passable job. he could run water pipes and wires, build a stone wall, shingle a roof, tend a sick cow or horse, fell trees, construct a root cellar and do well any of a few dozen more things that might need doing. but he was apt to get sidetracked, in which event he needed a while to wake up. obviously he was sidetracked now. then the door opened and nels stood behind ted. "the boss, he wants to see you." "what's he want?" "he forgot to say." "well--" "he say right now." "will you take this pipe?" "oh! yah, i take it." nels took the pipe and ted went back into the lobby. he knocked on the office door, and carl thornton opened it. "come on in, ted." the boy stepped into the spacious office. the floor was covered with a thick carpet. at one side was a mahogany desk upon which stood a typewriter. over it were hung bookshelves. there were four cushioned chairs and a satiny davenport upon which the owner usually slept. in a wall rack were thornton's high-powered rifle and a belt full of his distinctive, brass-jacketed, hand-loaded shells. ted turned to face his employer. in his late thirties, thornton was not slightly built. but there was about him an air of slightness that was accentuated by his quick movements. thinning blond hair was artfully combed to hide a bald spot. his eyes were pale blue, almost icy blue, behind gold-rimmed glasses. the ghost of a smile haunted his lips. he had a flair for conversation that always made it appear as though nothing anyone else could say was nearly as important as what he had to offer. "i've been watching your work, ted, and i like it." "thanks, mr. thornton." "there'll be a better job pretty soon; crestwood's going to expand." ted's heart leaped. this was what he'd always wanted. "thank you." "a good man," thornton said, "is not easily come by and i've learned the value of one. that's why i'm putting you on a special job right now." "you are?" ted's voice quivered eagerly. "yes. you're a pretty good deer hunter, aren't you?" "i--i guess so." "you know of those two bucks they call damon and pythias?" "everyone does." thornton said, "i want them." "you--?" "that's right. with those two heads on the wall--" thornton shrugged. "crestwood would be mentioned in every paper in the state. if they're really records, there probably would be national publicity. in any event, they'll help bring guests here." "but--nobody has even managed to get near those two bucks in hunting season." thornton looked shrewdly at him. "but before the season?" "you mean?" "that's just what i mean. those two bucks don't go into hiding until after hunters take to the woods. i'm pretty sure that anyone who knew what he was doing could get both of them before the season opened. how about it?" ted said reluctantly, "it might be done." "good! take all the time you need and i'll leave the details up to you. if you're caught, of course you'll keep your mouth shut and i'll pay the fine. but i think you'll know how to go about it without getting caught. deliver both bucks to crestwood--we'll arrange those details after you get them--and thereafter it's up to me. good luck." ted heard himself saying, "no, mr. thornton." thornton looked puzzled. "i don't understand." "i can't do it." "i've already told you that i'll pay your fine if you're caught." "it isn't that." "then what is it? does it make any difference if those bucks are shot now or six weeks from now?" "yes." "why?" "getting them now would be violating the law." "who doesn't violate the law? considering the mass of laws we have, few people can live a single day without, intentionally or otherwise, running afoul of them. have you ever looked up some of the crackpot laws, such as the one which states that, on sunday, in this state, no horse shall wear other than a plain black harness?" "it's not that." "ted, do you know anyone at all in the mahela who lives up to the full letter of the game laws? do you know anyone who doesn't take what he wants when he wants it, in season or out?" "yes." "who?" "my father and i." there was an ominous silence. thornton broke it. "it seems that i've misjudged you." "it seems you have!" ted's anger was rising. "i'll leave now!" 2 the threat tramping along the lorton road toward his father's house, ted told himself that he had been a complete fool. with a start in the only business that interested him, he had sacrificed everything for what suddenly seemed a trivial reason. carl thornton had spoken the truth. those who lived in the mahela thought that just living there gave them a proprietary interest in the game and fish that shared the wilderness with them. but, except for smoky delbert, a notorious poacher who hunted and fished for the market, most dwellers in the mahela confined their poaching to killing a deer when they felt like having venison or catching a mess of trout when they thought they needed some fish for dinner. they broke the law, but as far as ted knew, their chances of going to heaven when they died were fully as good as his. they weren't sinners. half inclined to turn back and tell thornton he'd reconsidered, still ted went on. it wouldn't be easy, but definitely it would be possible to shoot both of the great bucks before the hunters who invaded the mahela when the season opened sent them into hiding. if ted got them, or even promised to try to get them, he would be back in thornton's good graces. "if i was smart," he told himself, "i'd tell thornton i was hunting those bucks and not get either." he played with the tempting thought, then put it behind him and walked on. nobody who called himself a man took another man's pay for doing a job and then failed to do it. ted asked himself questions and tried to provide his own answers. was he afraid of loring blade, the game warden? he didn't think so. the mahela was a big country and the warden could not be everywhere at once. the chances were very good that anyone who knew what he was doing could get both bucks safely to crestwood, where they became thornton's responsibility. besides, thornton had said he'd pay the fine if ted were caught. did he shrink from breaking the law? yes, of course. at the same time he knew positively that if he and his father were in desperate straits, if they had no food and no other means of getting any, he'd shoot deer or any other edible game he could find, regardless of whether it was in season or out. there seemed to be something else involved and ted could find no precise bracket in which it fitted. it concerned the grouse he'd held in his hand, the cool morning breeze, the view from hawkbill, his father--everything ted loved and held dear. his mind was a whirlpool in which nothing at all was clear except that he could not shoot the two bucks for thornton. it would be as easy to shoot tammie--his lips formed a sick grin at that thought! yesterday his dreams had been bright as bubbles in the sun. today all the bubbles were burst. there wasn't the faintest possibility of getting a job at another resort for the simple reason that there was no other resort. of course, if he left the mahela--but he couldn't do that either. ted was a half mile from their house when he saw al's tobacco pouch lying beside the road. he picked it up and put it in his pocket. obviously his father had been here--probably he'd been scouting mink sign along spinning creek and had walked back up the road--and he was forever losing his pouch. but somehow somebody always found it and brought it back to him. ted tried to put a spring in his step and a cheerful smile on his lips. a man faced up to his own troubles and did not inflict them on other people. he tried to whistle and succeeded only in hissing. he was a hundred yards from the house when tammie, who'd caught his scent, hurried to meet him. sleek fur rippling and short ears jiggling, he advanced at the collie's lope, which seems so restrained and is so incredibly fast. tammie came to a graceful halt in front of ted and looked at him with dancing eyes. "hi, dog! hi, tammie!" ted ruffled his head with a gentle hand as tammie fell in beside him. plucking the tobacco pouch from his pocket, he gave it to the collie. "here. take it to al." the tobacco pouch dangling by its drawstrings, tammie streaked up the road. disdaining the drive leading into the house, he cut through the woods and disappeared. ted squared his shoulders, tried again to whistle--and succeeded. his father must be home. when ted was working and al went out, tammie always went with him. ted turned up the drive and was halfway to the house when tammie came flying back to meet him. they went to the shed in the rear; al would be working. ted peered through the open door and his father, shaping another stretching board, glanced up to greet him. "hi, ted!" "hello, dad!" "no work today?" "that's right." al bent his head to hide the question in his eyes. something had happened and he knew it. his voice was a little too casual as he said, "figgered when tammie fetched my tobacco pouch that he'd made up his mind to go 'round pickin' up after me." "no, i found it beside the road and sent tammie with it. you should put a string on that pouch and tie it to your britches." "guess i'd ought. tammie and me took a whirl down the crick to look for mink sign. must of lost my pouch on the way back." "find any sign?" "there'll be mink on the crick this year. i can take a string of pelts and leave enough so there'll also be mink next year." "now that's just swell!" ted bit his tongue. wanting to keep his troubles to himself by appearing gay and careless, he'd leaned too far in that direction and been over-emphatic. al raised his head and searched his son's face with wonderfully gentle eyes. "want to tell me?" "tell you what?" "what happened to you." "oh," ted forced what he tried to make a casual laugh, "thornton fired me." al remained calm. "he what?" "thornton gave me the gate, the bounce act, ye olde heave-ho. he said, in short, that i was never to darken his kitchen towels again." al said, "come off it, ted." suddenly ted's misery and heartbreak were too great a burden to bear alone. he fought to keep his voice from quavering and his lower lip from trembling. "that's right. i've been fired." "want to tell me why?" al did not raise his voice. "i--i wouldn't shoot damon and pythias for thornton." al arched surprised brows. "why's he want those two bucks?" "he's going to expand crestwood. he said that if he had one or both of those heads to put on the wall, it would be written up in every paper in the state. he said they'd help bring guests." "boy, seems to me like you went off half-cocked." "what do you mean?" "thornton's takin' a lot for granted to think that you, or anyone, could get either one of those bucks. but if you wanted to hunt 'em, and if you did get one, 'twould do no harm to give it to him. 'twould save your job for you." "that would have been different," ted said wryly, "but that wasn't what he asked. he wants both bucks _before_ the season opens." "so?" al was almost purring. "and you turned him down?" "that's right." "you don't aim to change your mind?" "no." "not even to get your job back?" "not even for that." "you're sure now?" "i'm sure." "that bein' the case," al said, rising, "i think i'll go down to crestwood and have a little talk with mr. thornton. you stay here with tammie." * * * * * when al harkness climbed into his old pickup truck and pressed the starter, his thoughts went back thirty-six years. the mahela had been young then, and he'd been young, and that, he'd told himself a thousand times since, was probably the reason why he'd also been blind. it was not that he'd lacked eyes, very keen eyes that could detect the skulking deer in its copse, the grouse in its thicket and the rabbit in its set. but he hadn't seen clearly what was right before his eyes. at that time, the road to lorton had been a mud track in spring and fall, a dusty trace in summer and impassable in winter. nobody had needed anything better. the only car even near the mahela belonged to judge brimhall, of lorton, and excitement ran at fever pitch when the respected judge drove his vehicle to danzer, seven whole miles, without breaking down even once! lorton and the mahela itself had been almost as far apart as lorton and new york were now. even when the road was good, a traveler had needed a whole day to go the fifteen miles to town and back. whoever had extensive business in lorton might better figure on two days for the round trip. the dwellers in the woods had been inclined to sneer at the town folk as sissified and, in turn, were sneered at for being hicks. there'd been seven families in the wilderness; the harknesses, the delberts, two families of staceys and three of crawfords. all of them had gardens, a milk cow, a few chickens, a couple of pigs and a team of horses or mules. but all this was only secondary--the mahela itself fulfilled most of their wants. it was a great, inexhaustible larder, provided by a benign providence who had foreseen that men would rather hunt than work. al remembered some of the hunts. his father, george stacey and tom crawford had shot thirty-three deer in one day and sold them all in lorton. two days later, they shot twenty-nine more. there weren't that many deer when al came of an age to hunt. his elders were at a loss to explain the scarcity, unless some mysterious plague had come among the animals. never once did they think of themselves and their indiscriminate, year-round slaughter as the "plague." on al's thirteenth birthday, he shot a buck and a doe. they were the last deer taken in the mahela for the next thirteen years. it wasn't an inexhaustible larder at all, but just a place that could be depleted by always thoughtless and often vicious greed. then had come the change. the game department, the lorton paper announced, had purchased deer from a state that still had some. in the hope that they'd multiply and rebuild the vast herds that had once roamed there, twenty of them were to be released in the mahela. there was to be no hunting at all until such time as there were sufficient deer to warrant a hunt, and game wardens were to enforce that regulation. it hadn't been easy. bitterly jealous of what they considered their vested rights, the natives of the mahela had resisted the game wardens. there had been quarrels and even a couple of shootings. but the wardens had won out and the deer had come back. there were as many as there'd ever been and perhaps more. protected by strict and sane laws, they flourished. seven families had all but exterminated the mahela deer. now four thousand properly regulated hunters a year couldn't do it, and this al harkness had seen. he thought of the families--still the harknesses, the delberts, the crawfords and the staceys, who lived in the mahela. with the exception of al and ted, who observed the game laws to the letter, most of them took more than their share of the mahela's wildlife. smoky delbert was an especially vicious poacher who belonged, and one day would land, in jail. but, with game wardens on constant patrol, even smoky could no longer indulge in wholesale slaughter. there was, al had always conceded, some excuse for the crawfords and the staceys. al was the only mahelaite who'd held on to the entire family acreage. glad to raise money any way he could, the staceys and crawfords had sold theirs, all but a homesite and garden patch, and the proceeds were long since exhausted. most of the men worked at day labor and their employment was never certain. always struggling, there were times when they would have no meat at all if they did not shoot an occasional deer. that condition would not endure. since all the younger people left the mahela, preferably for some brightly lighted city, as soon as they possibly could, the staceys and crawfords who remained were not going to last forever. but if there was some excuse for them, there was none whatever for carl thornton. comparatively wealthy, certainly he was in no danger of going hungry. educated, he must understand what conservation meant. supposedly intelligent, he must know that nobody at all could take what he wanted simply because he felt like taking it, or for his own advantage, and still hope to leave enough for others and for future generations. al braked to a halt in crestwood's drive and entered the lodge. jules crowley, thornton's pale-faced clerk, stepped in front of him. "you can't come in here!" al said, "oh yes i can." he moved around jules, jerked the office door open and closed it behind him. thornton was sitting at his desk, going over some papers. he looked up. al hesitated. now that he was here, just what was he supposed to do? it would be silly to threaten carl thornton, and how could he report him to the game warden when he had broken no law? al felt a little foolish and thornton's voice was as cold as his eyes when he spoke. "what do you want?" "you fired ted?" "that's right." "what for?" "inefficiency." "ted told me different. he told me you fired him because he wouldn't shoot those two big bucks for you." "he's a liar." al stepped to the desk, twined his right hand in thornton's lapel, lifted him to his feet and used his left hand to slap both thornton's cheeks. then he let the resort owner slump back into the chair and turned on his heel. "for callin' ted a liar," he said. he stalked out, knowing as he did so that he had made a deadly enemy but not caring. thornton owned crestwood. but he was still a little man and sooner or later little men stumbled over big problems. as al climbed back into the pickup, he almost forgot thornton. he had something more important to occupy his thoughts. he had hoped mightily that, after he finished high school, ted would go on to college. it didn't matter what he studied there as long as it was something; a harkness would go out of the mahela to become a man of parts. but ted had not only wanted to stay in the mahela, but also to start a resort there, and for almost the first time in his life al faced a problem to which he saw no solution. an expert woodsman, he earned a comfortable income. since his own wants were simple, there would certainly be enough left over to pay ted's college expenses. but al couldn't even imagine the vast sum of money needed to start a resort. he had told the truth when he said crestwood cost thornton more than he'd earned in his whole life. al fell back on an idea that he himself had been mulling over. hunters and fishermen were a varied breed, with varying tastes. some preferred the comforts of crestwood, but every season numbers of them hauled trailers into the mahela or set up tents there and they did so because they liked that way of hunting or fishing. not all of them wanted the same things and not all cared to be crowded. driving back into his own yard, al got out of the pickup and faced his son serenely. but seeing ted's uncertain hand fall to tammie's head, he grinned inwardly. the boy turned to tammie whenever he was worried or at a loss. "did you see thornton?" ted's voice was too casual. "i saw him." "did--?" "no," al told him gently. "i didn't. he's still alive and, as far as i'm concerned, he can stay that way. ted, let's go up to beech bottom." "swell!" ted and tammie got into the pickup and al drove. he did not speak because he was thinking too busily to talk. a father, if he was worthy of being a father, showed his children the right path. but it was always better if he could guide them into doing their own thinking, instead of leading them along the path--and sometimes that called for subtle measures. two miles up the road, al came to a clearing. a little less than an acre, it was a jungle of yellow-topped golden rod. here and there a milkweed raised its spear-shaft stem and showed its silk-filled pods to all who passed. in the center was an old building with all the windows broken and part of the roof fallen in. sun, wind, rain and snow had exercised their own artistry on the unpainted boards and tinted them a delicate shade which no brush could possibly achieve. there was a little patch of summer apples and two small bucks, stretching their necks to get the wormy fruit, moved reluctantly away when the truck stopped. al got out of the truck and ted and tammie alighted beside him. al looked at the tumble-down building. "my gosh! it ain't possible!" "what isn't?" al grinned ruefully, "seems like yesterday i worked here." "you worked at the old hawley logging camp?" "yep. chore boy. got up at four every mornin' to feed and curry the horses so they'd be ready to go into the woods. you wouldn't think fifteen men, or fourteen men and a boy, ate and slept in that old house, would you?" "it's big enough." "by gosh! seems like a person gets born, takes six breaths and gets old. that old house is still good, though. those boards are really seasoned and i bet they last another hundred years." ted asked without much interest, "what happened?" "old man hawley sold everything 'cept that little patch when the state took over and made the mahela into state forest. jud, his son, was goin' to make a huntin' camp of it. but he never did and he never will. bet you could buy the works for a hundred and fifty dollars." ted almost yelled, "dad!" "what's the matter? bee sting you?" "no, but something else did! dad, i'm going to buy it!" "that?" al looked puzzled. "don't you see?" ted's eyes were shining and al knew his heart was singing. "with more and more people coming into the mahela every year, they must have more places to stay. i'm going to tear this house down and build a camp right here! bet it'll rent five months out of the year!" "well, i'll be jugged!" al hoped ted couldn't interpret his smile. "that _is_ an idea!" "we'll buy them all!" ted bubbled, "with the money you were going to use to send me to college! there're plenty of these small plots in the mahela and nobody else wants them! they can be had cheaply! dad, it can be done that way!" "by gosh, ted, it might! but it'll take a while." "i know but--what's tammie barking at?" "one way to find out is to go see." off in the goldenrod, tammie barked again. they made their way to him and found him peering into a shallow little stream, tumbling run, that wound out of the beeches, crossed the clearing and hurried back into the beeches, on its way to meet spinning creek. in the middle of the run, a small gray raccoon with a trap on its left front paw did not even glance up. it had fought the trap fiercely and now was too spent and too weary to fight anything. al's words were almost an explosion. "smoky delbert!" he jumped down into the creek, encircled the little raccoon's neck with an expert hand and used his free hand to depress the trap spring. free, but not quite believing it, the little animal went exactly as far as the trap chain had previously let him go and then ventured two inches farther. sure at last that the miracle had happened, he scuttled into the goldenrod. al jerked the trap loose from its anchor. "let's go, ted." "where?" "you want to buy this place. we'll go into lorton and see jud hawley. but on the way, we'll have a little palaver with smoky." a half hour later, al drove his pickup into the delbert yard, to find another truck there ahead of him. it belonged to loring blade, the warden, who was talking with smoky. he turned to nod at al and ted. "hi!" al said, "i won't be but a minute, lorin'." he held the steel trap out to smoky delbert. "this yours?" smoky looked at him through insolent, half-closed eyes. "nope." "you lie in your teeth! i've told you before not to set traps before furs are prime. i'm tellin' you again and this is the last time." "what goes on?" blade demanded. "nothin' you can help, lorin'. smoky, if i find you poachin' in the mahela once more, i'm goin' to beat you within an inch of your life!" "you got any ideas along that line," smoky remained insolent, "come shootin'." al said, "i can do that, too!" 3 the camp sprawled on his favorite bearskin in the harkness living room, tammie dreamed a dog's good dreams and his paws twitched with excitement as he lived again some old adventure. al, sitting in front of the fireplace, studied the bed of glowing coals within it as though they were as fascinating as the first coals he had ever seen. sitting at the table with a pen in his hand, a pile of fresh paper on one side and a pile of crumpled sheets on the other, ted was busy writing. he laid the pen down, picked up what he had just written and frowned over it. making a motion to crumple this paper too, he thought better of it and called, "how's this, dad? 'for rent, furnished camp in the mahela. bunks for eight. forty-five dollars a week in small game season, sixty in deer season. available for season. ted harkness, r.d. 2, lorton.'" al shrugged. "says 'bout everythin' you got to say." "i don't know." ted's frown deepened. "'bunks for eight,' it says. if a bunch of deer hunters take the place, they may bring twelve or sixteen. do you think i should say, 'bring extra cots for more than eight?'" "mighty important point," al said gravely, "but do you figure you got to throw out that much sign? "if i was readin' that and wanted to rent a camp and saw 'bunks for eight,' i'd calc'late that there wasn't bunks for ten or sixteen. i'd figger that, if i brought more than eight, i'd best bring somethin' for 'em to sleep on." "if i say 'accommodations for eight,' and a bigger party wanted to take the camp, they might pass it up." "'bunks' is the word," al pronounced. "why it's pra'tically liter-choor. city people are always gettin' accommodations. might help rent your camp if they knew they was goin' to sleep on bunks." "that's a point," ted agreed. he continued to frown thoughtfully. "now this 'available for season,' do you think i should say at ten per cent discount?" "nope." "but doesn't everybody do that?" "everybody 'cept horse traders, and you can always do your horse tradin' when and if you have to. but i don't think you're goin' to rent for the season." "why not?" al shrugged. "figger it out by yourself. how many city people can take a whole season just to go huntin'? most they get is a couple of weeks or so." "that's right, too. do you think i should say, 'deer and small game abundant'?" "i wouldn't. nobody'd come into the mahela 'thout havin' some idea they could find game here and there's another point." "what's that?" "you're tryin' to build up a business, and the more repeat business you can get, the less it'll cost to get it. promise too much and you might drive business away. some people, readin' about over-plenty game, might expect a flock of grouse behind every tree and a ten-point buck in every swale and be mad if they didn't find it. let 'em do their own lookin'." "i was thinking of hiring out as a guide." "wouldn't put that in either. some people want guides and some don't. anybody who rents your camp and wants a guide will ask you where to find one. then you can dicker." "do you think i'm asking too much money?" "nope. chances are that you won't get less than six in any party. split the cost amongst 'em and it won't break any one. your prices are fair." ted lost himself in his literary effort. "it doesn't seem very forceful." "land o'goshen!" al's eyes glinted with amusement. "you're tryin' to get information across, not writin' a speech! how many papers you crumpled so far?" "well," ted looked at the pile of discarded papers beside him and grinned, "quite a few. you really think this is all right?" "a masterpiece," al answered solemnly. "mail it afore you change your mind again." ted folded his paper, wrote a short letter to the effect that he wanted his ad to run in the classified section, wrote a check, put all three in an envelope and addressed it to a leading daily newspaper in a city from which the mahela drew numerous hunters. tammie trotted beside him as he ran down to the mailbox, put his letter in and raised the red flag to let bill parker, their rural carrier, know there was mail to pick up. he ran back to the house. _"br-r!_ it's cold!" "the jackets in the closet," al observed drily, "are not there because they look pretty." ted said meekly, "yes, dad." he re-seated himself at the table and took up his pen. the first hunting season, for woodcock, opened next week. two weeks later, squirrels, cottontails and ruffed grouse became legal game and the season ran for a month. during the last week of small game season, black bears could be shot. then everything else was closed and hunting wound up with the three-week deer season. ted calculated carefully. there were six weeks of the small game season. if he rented his camp throughout at forty-five dollars a week, it would give him a net return of two hundred and seventy dollars. three weeks of deer season would add another hundred and eighty, or a total of four hundred and fifty. ted consulted his expense records. jud hawley had sold them the land with the old building on it for a hundred and fifty dollars and al and ted had torn down the old building and rebuilt it. just the same, expenses had mounted with incredible speed. al had all the tools, but it was necessary to buy nails. the window casings al had fashioned, but the glass that went into them cost money. they'd had to buy a secondhand cooking range and a heating stove and enough table and cooking ware to serve many people. bedding had been an expensive item, and composition shingles for both the roof and outer walls had cost a great deal. economizing as much as possible and hiring no labor, the camp had still cost six hundred and fifteen dollars. however, the old building had been a huge place and there was enough lumber left over to build another, smaller camp as soon as they acquired another building site. ted nibbled the end of his pen. "we'll be in the clear on this one before next hunting season; then everything it brings in will be pure gravy." "how do you figger it?" "there's six weeks of small game hunting and three of deer season. if the camp is rented continuously, it will bring in four hundred and fifty dollars. then, when fishing opens--" "if," al broke in, "is a right fancy word. might be a good idea to rent your camp 'fore you spend the rent money." "it might at that," ted said meekly, "and i forgot to charge against it the fifteen dollars the ad's costing." "charge it," al advised, "and get this one thing straight. there's no such thing as 'pure gravy.' what a body gets, he works for. what he don't work for, he don't get. you started the ball rollin', but it will stop if you don't keep it rollin'." "what do you suggest i do?" "just what you are doin', but don't get cocky about it. you've made a start, but it's a small start that stacks up against a big job. see how things work out. if they come 'round like i think they will, this camp will make money. but it won't be your money. it belongs to the job you've set yourself. build another camp--and another and another, until you've got as many as you can handle. go on from there." "go on?" "you started out," al reminded him, "to own a place like crestwood." "that will take years!" "did you expect to get it in a week?" "well--no." "good, on account you won't. you'll need years. then, after you finally get what you want, or somethin' close to it, all the people who set 'round on their hunkers while you worked will still be settin' 'round tellin' each other how lucky you are." ted grinned, then yawned and stretched. "gosh! all this heavy philosophy's making me tired!" "what do you think your bed's for?" "you get the best ideas!" "oh, i'm the smart one!" al smiled and filled his pipe. "catch yourself some shut-eye. there's work to be done come mornin'." * * * * * the next morning, with al driving and tammie on the floor in front of ted, they started back toward the camp they had built. the lazy sun, reluctant to get out of bed, made a splash of gold only on the very tip of hawkbill. the rest of the wilderness was a deep-shadowed green, with overtones of gray. a doe danced across the road in front of them and stopped to look back over her shoulder at the passing pickup. they saw two more does, then a buck--and al stepped suddenly on the gas. spurting ahead, the old truck still missed by a wide margin a lean coyote that was running a scant twenty feet behind the buck. tammie rose and bristled. ted held him down. the collie was fast, but nothing except a greyhound was fast enough to catch a coyote. visible for only fleeting seconds, this one disappeared in the forest. failing to run the coyote down, al stopped his truck. "doggone! of all times to be without a rifle!" "it looked to me as though he was chasing that buck," ted observed. al shook his head. "just followin' it; one coyote couldn't kill a grown buck. but he can and will do a lot of damage 'mongst the small game. i'll have to nail that critter's scalp to the wall soon's i can. let's have a look." they got out and examined the tracks in the dusty road. al made careful observations of his own. he went a little ways into the forest and came back to the truck. "looks like he's been crossin' here quite a few times. i'll fetch the rifle tomorrow mornin', on the chanst i'll nail him. if i don't, i'd best string some traps. can't have coyotes in the mahela." "we sure can't." without completely understanding his father's bitter lesson--seeing his beloved wilderness all but denuded of game by thoughtless or greedy hunters and built back through sound conversation--ted knew only that al had an almost ferocious hatred for destructive elements wherever they were found. therefore, the coyote could not be tolerated. ted's eyes roved up hawkbill, and the cool wind felt good on his face. when they mounted a hill, he strove for and caught a glimpse of the burned mountain behind hawkbill. al saw and interpreted his look. "they're there all right, and it's my bet they'll be there after deer season ends." "not both of 'em," ted asserted. "i'm going to nail one or the other." "which one you aim to get? damon? or pythias?" "either will satisfy. how do you tell 'em apart?" "i imagine there'd be some small differences if a man was close. but on a far look, i can't tell which is which. they're alike as two peas in a pod. all i'm sure of is that i never saw bigger bucks." ted said smugly, "either should be as much advertising for the harknesses as it could be for crestwood." "hadn't you ought to get it first?" al asked wryly. "well, here we are again." to the vast delight and relief of a colony of chipmunks that were snugly at home beneath it, the harknesses had built their new camp on the site of the old. however, they had done so to save hauling lumber and because the old foundation was so solid; any benefits accruing to the chipmunks were merely incidental. the new camp was a one-story structure, twenty-six feet long by eighteen wide. the exterior, if less than magnificent, did promise comfort. the windows were small, consisting of four panes each, and set well back in their casings. two tin chimneys, one for each stove, protruded well above the roof. the shingled walls and roof gave assurance that no cold winds could creep in and there was a covered porch. probably not so much as one hunter would ever sit on it, but it did provide a place for storing wood and keeping it dry. the surrounding goldenrod had been crushed and scattered and the truck had made its own path in. al drew up in front of the door and tammie leaped out to sniff at the various cracks and crevices the chipmunks used in their comings and goings. al and ted went inside. in the center of the one room, not too close to the heating stove, was a long wooden table, with benches on either side. convenient to it was a built-in cupboard, one end of which contained tableware and dishes. running along the wall, the other half of the cupboard held skillets, pans and kettles. nearby was the cooking stove, with cabinets for food storage and a sturdy table for the cook's use. at the other end of the building, as far as possible from both stoves, were the bunks. scattered along the walls were two secondhand davenports and five chairs that had seen their best days but would still offer comfort to anyone who'd been hiking the hills all day. al surveyed the place critically. "not much like crestwood." ted teased, "it is kind of ramshackle." "ramshackle!" al bristled. "why you young whipper-snapper! this is as good-built a camp as--" "there you are!" ted grinned. "if you had a choice, would you stay here or at crestwood?" "why here," al grumbled. "i never did go for that fancy stuff." "and neither do a lot of other hunters. when they go out, they'd as soon be in the woods. besides, the prices here aren't much like crestwood's, either. in deer season, thornton's cheapest room is fifteen dollars a day. we could rent twenty camps like this if we had 'em." "and we won't even rent this'n 'thout we finish it. now let's do some figgerin'." at the kitchen end of the camp, they had built a wooden stand and in it placed the tub from a large kitchen sink. there was an overflow pipe that led to a septic tank beneath the floor of the camp itself; thus it wouldn't freeze. al scratched his head. "my figgerin's all done." "it is?" "yup, and it figgers out the same's it always does. if we want water in here, we'll have to work to put it in. get your boots on." "yes, boss." ted donned rubber boots and they went out. tammie, who had been having an exciting time trying to catch a chipmunk that insisted on poking its nose out of a crevice, wagged his tail and ran to join them. a doe that had come to the apple trees stamped an apprehensive foot and drifted slowly into the forest. the two workers took a pick and shovel from the truck, and al led the way to a little knoll. on the very top of the knoll was a seepage of water that sent a tricklet into tumbling run. green grass, rather than goldenrod, lined its length and at no place was the runlet more than four inches wide or two deep. never in al's memory had it been more or less; the spring provided a constant flow. even in coldest weather, the runlet never froze, and its banks were always free of snow. it was a favorite drinking place for deer that found other water icebound. al asked, "can you think of any more excuses for deep thinkin'?" "not even one." "me neither," al said mournfully, "so i guess we can start the workin' part. do you want the pick or the shovel?" "is there a choice?" "could be, but here's the shovel and you might as well dig." ted sunk his shovel point deep into the wet earth and scooped out a chunk of soggy earth. ice-cold, muddy water at once filled the hole and ted scooped again. he made a wry face. "this is like shoveling glue!" "case you ever get a job in a glue factory, you'll know how to shovel it," al soothed. "we got to get down anyway three feet." "i'll persevere, but i know now why you wanted the pick. "who's the brains of this outfit?" "obviously you are." "there ain't any real need for a pick." al grinned. "wet ground don't have to be loosened. i'll go snake in some wood." al left and tammie frisked beside him. both got into the truck, and al drove across the clearing into the woods. then there came the sound of his ax ringing on dead wood.... an hour later he was back. the pickup's box was filled with wood and al dragged a log that he had chained to the truck. he left the wood beside the camp and, with tammie sitting proudly in ted's accustomed place, drove back for another load. ted continued to deepen the spring. it was cold, dirty work, but it was a good idea and certainly it would make the camp more comfortable. the spring must be made deep enough to form a pool. then its present overflow would be plugged, diverted into some secondhand pipe they'd already bought and led into the kitchen sink. al thought there was sufficient fall so no pump would be necessary and the water would force itself through the pipe. thus the cabin would be assured of a continuous flow of fresh, pure water. in winter, when the camp would have no occupants, it would be necessary only to pull the pipe or plug it and so send the overflow back into its original course. al returned with a second load of wood, dumped it and came up to see how ted was doing. tammie sniffed at the muddy pool, then promptly jumped into it. he climbed out, shook himself and sent a roily spray flying in all directions. ted ducked and sputtered, "for pete's sake, dog!" al grinned. "he thinks you need a bath." ted glanced down at his mud-spattered boots and clothing. "maybe i do. is this deep enough?" "let's have the shovel." ted stood aside while al took the implement. an old hand at this sort of thing, he probed expertly into corners that ted had missed and lifted out shovelfuls of mud without splashing his clothes at all. ten minutes later he leaned on the shovel and inspected the spring, which in its present stage of construction was a muddy pool, four feet square by a little more than three deep, with the overflow still going down its natural channel. "that'll do," al decided. "now for the plumbin'." he caught up a length of pipe, walked to the apple trees, inserted his pipe in a crotch and bent it into an 'l.' he bent it again, so that one end formed a gooseneck, and carried his pipe into the cabin. al maneuvered one end through an already drilled hole in the floor, hung the gooseneck over the sink and used a metal clamp to fasten his pipe to the wall. ted marveled. his father had measured nothing, but the bent pipe fitted perfectly and the straight half of the 'l' lay flat on the ground beneath the cabin. ted asked, "what now?" "let's eat." "most sensible idea i've heard all day." they ate the sandwiches and drank the coffee they'd brought along while tammie, sitting hopefully near, expertly caught and gobbled the crusts they tossed him. then the two went back to work. taking a bit of soap from his pocket, al soaped the threads on another length of pipe; filling the threads, the soap would prevent leaks. the two "plumbers" then fitted this section into the pipe that protruded beneath the cabin and continued with additional lengths until they were within five feet of the spring. al cut that five-foot length off with a hack saw. he plugged the cut end with a piece of wood, started at a point about a foot below the top of the knoll and used the flat of his ax to drive the plugged section of pipe through so that it emerged a foot below the surface of the spring. he screwed the short length into the already laid pipe and straightened. "now we're diggin' where there's taters!" he said cheerfully. catching up the shovel, he closed the spring's outlet with dirt and mud. then he rolled up his right sleeve, reached into the water and pulled the wooden plug out. a second time he straightened, grinning. "if it don't work, it's a sign we did it wrong. let's go see." they re-entered the cabin and stood expectantly near the sink. for a moment nothing happened. then a series of choking gurgles and a rush of air came through the gooseneck. this was followed by a muddy trickle that subsided to a few drops. then there was a violent surge of water that leveled off to a steady flow. al and ted looked triumphantly at each other. "it works!" al said. "running water yet!" ted exulted, "even if it is muddy!" "it'll clear itself in a few hours." "don't you think we should have a faucet on this gooseneck?" al shook his head. "not in cold weather. it don't freeze 'cause it runs fast. come spring, we may tie a faucet onto it." "what do we do now?" "go home. it's quittin' time." ted was surprised to find that long evening shadows were slanting across the valleys. they had worked hard, and perhaps that had made the day seem so short. only when they climbed back into the pickup for the ride home did he realize that he was very tired. he tickled tammie's silken ears. "tomorrow's another day," he murmured. "yep," al agreed somberly, "and another day brings more work. reckon i'll take after that coyote. he's got to be caught. you want to saw wood?" "sure thing." * * * * * early the next morning, al let ted and tammie off at the camp and turned back, with traps and rifle, to get on the trail of the marauding coyote. while the collie renewed his acquaintance with the chipmunks, ted laid a chunk of wood in the sawbuck and sawed off a twelve-inch length. he sawed another ... and worked until noon. after lunch, he started splitting the wood he had sawed. it was the right way to do things. if hunters cut their own wood, they might injure valuable trees. evening shadows were long again when al came to pick him up. "get your coyote?" ted greeted his father. "no, but i will. i found where he's runnin' and i put traps in the right places. see you got a sizable pile of wood." "i haven't been loafing." "not much anyhow." ted said tiredly, "what a refreshing sense of humor my old pappy's got." they turned into the driveway of their own house, to see loring blade's pickup truck already there and the game warden waiting. with him was jack callahan, sheriff of mahela county. al's voice was weighted with surprise as he welcomed them. "hi, lorin'. 'lo, jack. been waitin' long?" "not very long," loring blade said. "we figured you'd be in about now. we have to ask you some questions, al." "well, come in and ask." they entered the house and ted snapped on the lights in the living room. he started into the kitchen to prepare supper. al swung to face their guests. "ask away," he invited them. "we came to find out," said jack callahan, "what you can tell us about the shooting of smoky delbert." 4 the fugitive the words brought ted to a shocked halt, just as he was entering the kitchen. he turned to stare in disbelief and tammie, sensing that something was wrong, searched his master's face as though this would show him what he must do. failing to find any guiding sign, the collie turned toward the two strangers. he did nothing and would do nothing until ted or al told him to. but he was ready for any part he must take. in his turn, ted looked to his father for a clue and found none. whatever al might feel, he was successfully hiding it, and his voice was neither raised nor lowered when he spoke. "somebody finally got him, huh?" jack callahan challenged, "what do you mean by that?" "where you been the past twenty or twenty-five years, jack? smoky's been askin' for it at least that long." callahan's voice was hard as ice and as brittle. "you didn't answer my question." "so i didn't, but i will. i know nothin' 'bout who might've shot smoky, but i can think of lots of reasons why." "is this yours?" callahan's hand dipped into his pocket and came up bearing al's distinctive tobacco pouch. ted gasped. his father was unmoved. "yep. but i haven't seen it for two weeks or more." "that's true!" ted asserted. "he hasn't had it for at least that long!" al said quietly, "stay out of this, boy." "you needn't stay out." callahan swung toward ted. "was your father with you today?" "well--no." "where was he?" "he was out hunting a coyote." a note of triumph in his voice, callahan turned again to al. "by any chance, a two-legged coyote?" al said disgustedly, "don't be a fool!" "did you have your rifle with you?" "what would you carry if you was huntin' a coyote? a pocketful of pebbles?" "can you account for your actions of today?" "yep. crossed the nose of hawkbill, went into coon valley, climbed that to its head, swung behind burned mountain, crossed the fordham road and come back by way of fiddlefoot crick." "can you prove all this?" "sure!" al snorted. "i'll get you an affy-davit from a couple of crows that saw me." "that is your tobacco pouch?" "i've already said it is." "that pouch," and again callahan's voice rose in triumph, "was found not six feet from where smoky fell!" "so?" "al, i'd hate to have to get tough with you." "don't think you'd better try it." "loring heard you threaten to shoot delbert." "and i also," loring blade broke in, "heard smoky threaten to shoot al. there's more than one side to this, jack, and suppose you simmer down?" "i'm in charge here!" "but you're getting nowhere. al, will you talk to me?" "i'll tell you what i can, lorin'." "if you had anything to do with this, tell your story now. i don't hold with shooting, but certainly i never held with smoky delbert. i, for one, am willing to believe that, no matter how it happened or who he met, smoky raised his rifle first. i've known him a long while." "but you never jailed him." "only because," the warden said, "i could never catch him. he was crafty as he was mean. but he's still a human being." "could be some argument 'bout that," al murmured. "lorin', where was smoky shot?" "coon valley," the warden answered reluctantly. "almost beside those three big sycamores near glory rock." "is he dead?" "no, but he probably would be if he hadn't dragged himself to the fordham road. bill layton, passing in his logging truck, found him and took him into the hospital at lorton." "is he goin' to die?" "he's in a bad way." "has he talked?" "not yet." "how about the bullet?" "it went right through him; we couldn't find it." "how do you know he was shot near them three sycamores in coon valley?" "bill told us where he picked him up. jack and i went up there to see what we could find and," the warden shrugged, "the back trail wasn't hard to follow. smoky was hit hard." "and you found my tobacco pouch?" "that's right, al. it was within a few feet of where smoky fell." "how do you know he fell there?" loring blade shrugged again. "he laid a while before he started to drag himself out. there was plenty of evidence." "now here's a point, lorin'. i've already said i was in coon valley today. suppose i had my pouch, couldn't i have lost it when i passed the sycamores?" "you could have." "what time did you go up coon valley?" jack callahan broke in. "'twas before eight. i started early." "then you crossed back to the fordham road?" "don't try to snarl my words up," al warned. "i've already said that i went up coon valley to its head and crossed back of burned mountain to the fordham road." "but you heard no shooting?" al seemed a little contemptuous. "you ever make that crossin'?" "i asked you a question." "and i asked you one. did you ever cross that way?" "no." put on the defensive, callahan sulked. "try it," al advised shortly. "it's a right smart hop. there's places back in there where you couldn't hear a cannon fired in coon valley." "look, al," loring blade pleaded, "i'll ask you again to tell your straight story. i'm sure there has to be more to it than this. i know you too well to think you'd shoot delbert or anyone else down in cold blood. won't you help me to help you?" al said doggedly, "i've told my story. seems like there's an easy way to settle this whole works." "what is it?" "delbert ain't dead. when he talks, he'll tell who shot him." "there's no guarantee that delbert will ever talk." jack callahan said, "i'm afraid i'll have to take you in, al." "on what grounds?" "suspicion. if delbert lives, the charge will be assault with a deadly weapon. if he dies--" callahan shrugged. al looked aside, and the fierce storms that could rage in his usually gentle eyes were raging now. ted shivered, and then al calmed. "all right, jack. if that's the way it must be." "you won't resist?" "i promise i won't raise a hand against you or lorin'." loring blade said relievedly, "that's a help, al. thanks." "is there any reason," al asked, "why a body can't eat first? ted and me've been out sinst early mornin' with only a snack in between." loring blade said agreeably, "no reason at all, al." callahan glared at the warden. al smiled faintly. "have a bite with us, lorin'?" "i'll be glad to." "how about you, jack?" "look here, al, if you try anything--" "i've give my word that i'll raise no hand to either of you." "see that you keep your word." "leave that to me. will you eat with us?" callahan answered reluctantly, "i'll stay." "then ted and me'll be rustlin' a bite." silent, but seething inwardly, al joined ted in the kitchen. knowing something was amiss, but not what he could do about it, tammie lay down woefully on his bearskin rug. wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say, ted looked dully at his father's face. it was unreadable. finally al said, "we'll all feel better when we've had a bite to eat, and i for one am hungry." he lighted a burner and stooped to take a kettle from beneath the sink. ted stared his astonishment. al had the huge kettle, the one they used when there were ten or more hunters staying with them. half-filling it with water, he put it over the burner to heat and took an unopened peck of potatoes from their storage place. industriously he began to peel them. ted said, "dad--" "we'll need plenty," al broke in. "s'pose you get about four more parcels of pork chops out and start 'em cookin?" "but, dad--" "let's not," al whirled almost savagely, "waste our time talkin'. let's just do it." sick with fear, ted did as directed. he and al froze pork chops six to a package, and three were all a hungry man wanted. four more packages meant that they would cook thirty pork chops, and what were any four men--even four ravenous men--to do with them? ted got four more packages out and began breaking them apart. he stole a sidewise glance at his father. had this sudden, terrible accusation unseated al's reason? ted put the still frozen pork chops into two of their biggest skillets and began thawing them over burners. loring blade came into the kitchen. "can i help?" al said, "reckon not, lorin'." "my gosh! you're making enough for an army!" "might's well have plenty. ted, give me another sack of biscuit mix." ted's head whirled. he licked dry lips and looked at the two pans of biscuits al had already prepared. loring blade turned away and in that instant when they were unobserved, al shook a warning head. ted took another sack of biscuit mix from the cupboard while cold fear gnawed at him as a dog gnaws a bone. if there was some idea behind this madness, what could it possibly be? al was preparing enough food for a dozen men. ted turned to his skillets full of sputtering pork chops while al tested the boiling potatoes with a fork. "most done," he commented. "how you comin'?" "another five minutes." "guess i can drain the spuds." he drained them into the sink, shook them, and added a generous hand full of salt and a bit of pepper. he shook the kettle of potatoes again to mix the seasoning thoroughly. then he put them on the table and pushed the hot coffee pot to a warming burner. while ted took their biggest platter from the cupboard and began forking pork chops onto it, al slipped in to set four places at the table. "ready?" "all ready." "guess we can eat, then." leaving the potatoes in their huge kettle, he carried it in and put it in the center of the table. ted brought the platter of pork chops and returned to the kitchen for coffee. al passed him with two plates of biscuits. "chow." jack callahan, who had been so grim and unrelenting and now seemed to regret it, smiled. "whew! are four of us going to eat that?" "if we can." "i'll do my darndest." "you're s'posed to." "doggonit, al," callahan said plaintively, "don't blame me for this. i have a job and i intend to do it!" "i know." "there's nothing personal." "i know that, too." "do you have to be so gloomy?" "what'd you do if you was on your way to jail? turn handsprings?" loring blade grinned mirthlessly, speared two pork chops and added a generous helping of potatoes. he broke a hot biscuit and lathered it with butter. the game warden began to eat. "seen damon and pythias lately?" he asked companionably. "nope." loring blade looked down at his plate. under ordinary circumstances they could have made easy conversation. but circumstances weren't ordinary; the shadow of one in trouble cast its pall over the other three. the game warden ate a pork chop and some of his potatoes. then, unable to refrain from talking about that which loomed so largely, he burst out, "al, for pete's sake! if you have anything to say, say it! if you shot in self-defense, i, for one, will buy the story. there's a way out if you'll take it!" "i've told my story, lorin'." "you refuse to admit you shot delbert?" "i didn't shoot him." callahan said, "there's evidence to the contrary." "so?" ted toyed with a single pork chop, one potato, and almost gagged. he took a drink of hot coffee and found it stimulating. tammie, lying on the bearskin, looked questioningly at his master. loring blade pushed his plate back. "i'm full. told you you cooked far too much." "no harm's done." "we'll help you clean up." "right nice of you." al put the uneaten pork chops, a great pile of them, in two covered dishes and placed them in the refrigerator. he covered the kettle of potatoes and left them on the table, and put the biscuits in the breadbox. ted washed the dishes and loring blade dried them. while he worked ted brought some order to his scattered thoughts. his father was in trouble, serious trouble, and nothing mattered now except getting him out. that meant the services of a skilled attorney and they had little money. but he could sell the camp for at least as much as it had cost and probably he could get a job in lorton. ted washed the last plate and loring blade dried it. there was an uneasy interval during which nobody did or said anything because nobody knew what to do or say. finally loring blade asked, "are you ready, al?" "yep." "shall we go?" "guess so." ted said firmly, "i'm following you in. i'm going to see john mclean tonight. he's a good lawyer." there was a ring of command in al's voice, "no, ted!" "but--" "don't come to lorton tonight! stay right here!" ted said reluctantly, "if that's what you want--" "that's what i do want. this thing's too harebrained already. no use makin' it more so by actin' without thinkin'." "i'll come in in the morning." "if you think best. so long for now." the door opened and closed and they were gone. ted heard loring blade start his pickup and watched the red taillight bobbing down their driveway. they reached the lorton road and loring blade gunned his motor. ted sank dully into a chair and tammie came to sit comfortingly beside him. the big dog shoved his slender muzzle into ted's cupped hand, and, getting no response, he laid his sleek head on his master's knee. the measured ticking of the clock on the mantel seemed like the measured ringing of tiny bells. ted fastened his gaze on it, and because he had to do something, he watched the clock's black hands creep slowly around. like everything else, he thought, time was a relative thing. fifteen minutes seemed no more than an eyewink when one was busy, but it was an age when you could do nothing except struggle with your own tortured thoughts. another fifteen minutes passed, and another, and an exact hour had elapsed when tammie sprang up and trotted to the door. he stood, head raised and tail wagging. ted opened the door. "dad!" "'fraid i got to move, ted. help me pack all thet grub we cooked for supper, will you? hills'll be full of posse men for the next few days and i can't be startin' any fires." "but--" "i kept my promise," al assured him, "and all i promised was that i wouldn't raise a hand 'gainst lorin' or jack. never did say i wouldn't jump out of the truck when it slowed for dead man's curve." "they'll be on your trail!" "not right away, they won't. i went into the woods when i took off and they're lookin' for me there." he grinned briefly. "callahan found me. 'come out or i'll shoot!' he said. i didn't come out and he shot. hope the beech tree he thought was me don't mind." "you could have run from here if you were going to run anyhow!" "when i run," al harkness said, "nobody 'cept me gets in the way of any bullets i might draw. think i want 'em shootin' up you or tammie?" al laid a canvas pack sack on the kitchen table. while ted wrapped the cooked pork chops in double thicknesses of waxed paper and the excess biscuits in single, his father spooned the potatoes into glass quart jars and mashed them down. he packed everything into the rucksack and added a package of coffee, one of tea, some salt and a few miscellaneous items. donning his hunting jacket, he shouldered the pack. filling two pockets with matches, he slid two unopened boxes of cartridges into another. finally he strung a belt ax and hunting knife on a leather belt, strapped it around his middle and took his rifle from its rack. "don't try to find me, ted." "what shall i say if they come?" ted whispered. "tell the truth and say i was here. they'll find it out anyhow." "what are you going to do?" "lay in the hills 'til somethin' turns up. can't do nothin' else now." "dad, don't go!" ted pleaded. "stay and face it out. it's the best way." "it might have been," al agreed, "and i was most tempted to go clear in. but it ain't any more." "why?" "lorin' had his radio on; listened on the way down. smoky delbert come to and talked. he named me as the man who shot him and said i shot from ambush! be seein' you, ted." 5 coon valley tammie whined uneasily and ted woke with a start. he glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw that it read twenty minutes past five. the last time he had looked, he remembered, the clock had said half past two. obviously he'd fallen asleep in the chair where he'd been waiting for someone to come or something to happen. no one had come, but they were coming now. on the lorton road, ted heard the cars that tammie had detected twenty seconds earlier. he got to his feet and looked out into the thin, gray mistiness of early dawn. with its lights glowing like a ghost's eyes in the wan dimness, a car churned up the harkness drive and a second followed it. the boy shrank away. last night's events now seemed like some horrible nightmare, but the tread of steps outside and the knock on the door proved that they were not. ted opened the door to confront loring blade and corporal paul hausler, of the state police. he glanced beyond them at the men gathered beside the cars and saw that three of the nine were attired in state police uniforms. the six volunteer posse men were tom and bud delbert, smoky's brothers; enos, alfred and ernest brill, his cousins; and pete tooms, who would go anywhere and do anything as long as it promised excitement and no monotonous labor. loring blade greeted ted, "good morning, ted." the boy muttered, "good morning." "you seen your dad?" "yes." "i mean, since we took him away last night?" "yes." "did he come back here?" "that's right." "what time?" ted hesitated. he'd had his eyes fixed on the clock, but seconds and split seconds counted, too. "i don't know the _exact_ time." "better tell the truth," corporal hausler warned bluntly. "it can go hard with you if you don't. where's your father now?" "i don't know." "maybe a couple of slaps will jar your memory!" he took a step forward. tammie, rippling in, placed himself in front of ted. there was no growl in his throat or snarl on his lips, but his eyes were grim and his manner threatening. hausler stopped. "i don't think you'd better let him bite me." loring blade said quietly, "cut it out, paul. there's enough trouble in this family without adding unnecessarily to it. ted didn't do anything." "he can tell us where his father is." "i cannot!" ted flared. "when did he leave here?" "last night." "what time?" "i forgot to hold a stop watch on him." "why didn't you stop him? don't you know that failing to do so can make you liable to arrest as an accessory after the fact?" "a sheriff and a game warden couldn't stop him." "he's right," loring blade agreed. "we couldn't. why don't you start your men into the hills?" "if he left this house," hausler threatened, "we'll be on his track in two minutes." he turned and went out, and ted laughed. loring blade swung to face him. "you feel pretty bitter, don't you?" "how would you feel?" "not too happy," the warden admitted. "why did you laugh?" ted grinned faintly. "does that trooper really think he, or anyone else, can track dad?" "if he does have such ideas," loring blade conceded, "he'll soon have some different ones. nobody can track al harkness." "nor can they find him." "perhaps not immediately, but sooner or later they will." "yes?" ted questioned. "send a thousand men into the hills, send a thousand into any big thicket, and they wouldn't find him unless they happened to stumble right across him." "al can't stay in the hills forever." "maybe not, but he can stay there a long time. he knows every chipmunk den in the mahela." "he won't be easy to find," the warden conceded, "but he will be found. what time did he come back last night?" "just about an hour after you took him away." loring blade exclaimed, "wow!" ted looked quizzically at him and the warden continued, "we were on dead man's curve, and he was between jack and me, when suddenly he pushed the door open and just seemed to float out of it. we beat the brush around dead man's curve until one o'clock this morning. about then i tumbled to the idea that he must have come back here." "why didn't you come last night?" loring blade shrugged. "he slipped through our fingers once. it wasn't hard to figure that he wouldn't have done that only to let himself be picked up again. besides, it did seem sort of useless to hunt him at night. he headed into the woods, and because he didn't make a sound that either jack or i could hear, we thought he was holed up right close. ted, do you think he shot smoky?" "no!" "why not?" "he said he didn't." "delbert said he did." "just what did he say?" "that's all. he regained consciousness briefly. the officer with him asked who shot him and he said al did from ambush. i doubt if he's talked since." "do you believe dad shot smoky?" the warden frowned. "if he did, it wasn't from ambush. there's more to it than that. we could have brought it out, but it will be harder now. when al ran, he made things look pretty bad." "not to me." "but to a lot of other people. do you think you can get him to come back and give himself up?" "i asked him last night to stay and face it out." "why wouldn't he?" "dad's part of the mahela," ted said quietly, "and the mahela's code is the one he knows best. he would not go to jail for a crime he didn't commit, any more than a wild deer would voluntarily enter a cage." "doggone, that sure complicates things. do you have any bright ideas?" "what did you find in coon valley?" "just what i told you, smoky's back trail and your dad's tobacco pouch." "nothing else?" "smoky's rifle. we brought it in with us." "no sign of anything else?" loring blade answered wearily, "you know what it's like there. unless it's a trail like smoky's, and smoky was bleeding hard, there's little in the way of sign that a human eye can detect." "just the same, i think i'll go up there." "what do you expect to find?" "i don't know. anything would be a help." "guess it would at that. good luck." "are--are you going to join the hunt for dad?" loring blade grinned wryly. "i'm not that optimistic. i agree with you that, if al wants to lose himself in the mahela, he won't be found. but sooner or later he'll show up. he can't spend the winter there." "i wouldn't bet on that." "bet the way you please. now i'm not saying that you will, but if you should run across al up there in the hills, see if you can persuade him to give himself up. he still has a good case, in spite of smoky's testimony. too many people know al too well to believe he'd shoot anybody from ambush; he has a lot of friends. the only ones who'd join the posse were delberts and pete tooms, and i sure hope none of them stumble across al. if they come in fighting, he's apt to fight right back, and one stove-in delbert around here is enough. good luck again, ted." ted lost his belligerence; the warden was his father's friend. "stay and have breakfast with me." "thanks, but we breakfasted in lorton before we came here. i'll be seeing you around." "do that." the warden left and ted was alone except for tammie. he dropped a hand to the collie's silken head and tried to think a way out of the bewildering maze in which he was trapped. he was sure of two things; al had not shot smoky delbert and his father would stay in the hills until, as loring blade had said, winter forced him out. but it would have to be bitter, harsh winter. al could make his way in anything else. ted whispered, "what are we going to do, tammie?" tammie licked his fingers and ted furrowed his brow. the situation, as it existed, was almost pitifully vague. a man had been shot in coon valley, and the only signs left were the hurt man's trail and an accusing finger to point at who had hurt him. there had to be more than that, but what? loring blade had found nothing and loring was an expert woodsman. however, even though everything seemed hopeless, somebody had better do something to help al and, except for loring blade, ted was the only one who wanted to help him. even though it was a slim one, finding something that the game warden had not found seemed the only chance. ted decided to take it. "but we'll eat first," he promised tammie. ted prepared a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs and fed tammie. then he fixed a lunch and, with tammie beside him, got into al's old pickup. he gulped. the seat had always seemed small enough when he and his father occupied it together. with al gone, and despite the fact that tammie sat beside him, the seat was huge. ted gritted his teeth and started down the drive. he turned left on the lorton road, slowed for the dangerous, hairpin turn that was dead man's curve, speeded up to climb a gentle rise, descended back into the valley and turned again on the fordham road. a well graded and not at all a dangerous highway, somehow the fordham road had never seemed a place for cars. it was as though it had always been here, a part of the mahela, and had never been torn out of the beech forest with gargantuan bulldozers or ripped with blasting powder. for the most part, it was used by the trucks of a small logging outfit which, under state supervision, was cutting surplus timber and by hunters who wanted to drive their cars as close as possible to remote hunting country. ted slowed up for five deer that drifted across the road in front of him and stopped for a fawn that stood with braced legs and wide eyes and regarded the truck in amazement. only when ted tooted the horn did the fawn come alive, scramble up an embankment and disappear. the boy smiled wearily. had al been with him, both would have enjoyed the startled fawn and they would have talked about it. an hour after leaving his house, ted came to the mouth of coon valley. long and shallow, the upper parts of both slopes were covered with beech forest. but if any trees had ever found a rooting in the floor of the valley or for about seventy yards up either side, they had died or been cut so long ago that even the stumps had disappeared. the usual little stream trickled down the valley. ted pulled over to the side and stopped. he got out and put the truck's keys in his pocket. tammie jumped to the ground beside him. the big collie bristled and walked warily around a dark stain in the road. ted fought a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. there was no doubt that some hurt thing had lain here, but unless someone had told him so, he never would have known that it was a man. ted licked his lips, and tammie stayed close beside him as they started up the valley. smoky delbert's journey had indeed been a terrible one. had he not been hardened by a lifetime of outdoor living, probably he never could have made it. in a way, ted supposed, it was smoky's atonement for his many vicious practices. yet, the boy found it in his heart to admit that, whoever had shot the poacher and forced him to crawl, wounded and bleeding, to the fordham road, was even more vicious. ted stirred uneasily, then calmed himself. al had said it was no part of his doing. therefore it was not. who had done this dreadful thing? a spring trickling across the valley had left a soft spot. here ted stopped instantly. very plain in the soft earth were the tracks of a single, unshod horse that had walked down coon valley and back up it, or up it and back down. ted could not be sure, but his heart leaped. loring blade and jack callahan had said nothing about any horses. who had taken a horse up the valley, and why? his interest quickening, ted looked for more horse tracks. he found them farther on, where the trail became a stretch of sand from the little stream's overflow, but he still could not determine whether the horse had gone up or down the valley first. he knew definitely only that it had traveled both ways, and if he could find out why, he might also find a clue as to who had shot smoky delbert. ted kept downcast eyes on the trail. save for that unmistakable sign left by smoky delbert and an occasional path or little trail which anything at all might have used, for a long ways he found only scattered indications that coon valley was traveled at all. the lush grass, beginning to wither because of lack of rain, formed its own hard cushion. an indian or bushman tracker might have been able to read the story of what had come this way. ted could find little. trotting a little ways ahead, tammie stopped suddenly, pricked up his ears and looked interestedly at a small clearing that reached perhaps three hundred yards into the beech woods. following his gaze, ted saw two brown horses and a black one. their heads were up and ears pricked forward as they studied the two on the trail. ted sighed in resignation. the crawfords and the staceys, who lived in the mahela, each kept several horses. why they did, why they kept any at all, only they could explain, for neither had enough land to warrant keeping even one horse. still they had them. the horses were usually left to forage for themselves from the time the first spring grass appeared until hunting season opened. then sometimes they were pressed into service, to pack or pull the tents and gear of hunters who had a yen for some remote spot, or to pack out deer or bears that had been brought down a long ways from any road. at any rate, the horse tracks were explained. while it wasn't usual for one horse to break from its companions and go wandering, now and again one would do it. the black horse broke from the two browns, trotted down to ted, arched its neck and extended a friendly muzzle. ted petted him. "lonesome for a human being, fella?" ted went on and the black horse followed him a little ways before it turned back to join the other two. a half mile from the fordham road, ted came to the three sycamores near glory rock. the sides of coon valley pitched sharply upwards here, and the beech forest came closer to the valley's floor. the three sycamores, a giant tree and two near-giants, rustled their leaves in the little breeze and remained aloof from everything else, as though they were the royalty in this place. even glory rock, an elephant-backed, elephant-sized boulder whose ancient face wore a stubble of lichens, seemed demure in their presence. to the left, a raggle-taggle thicket of beech brush crawled to within twenty feet of the valley's floor. ted looked down at the place where smoky delbert had fallen, and there could be no mistaking it. the boy stood still, searching everything near the spot, and as he did hope faded. the bullet, loring blade had said, had gone clear through smoky. that, within itself, was unusual. with no exceptions of which ted knew, everybody who came into the mahela used soft-point hunting bullets that mushroomed on impact. but now and again, though very rarely, a faulty bullet didn't expand when it struck. probably that was another factor that had saved smoky's life. a mushrooming bullet did awful damage. in spite of the fact that some of it might escape the hunter, probably at least eighty per cent of anything hit with one died sooner or later. smoky, ted's experience told him, never would have moved from beside the sycamores if this bullet had mushroomed. ted furrowed his brows. the bullet might prove a lot, but finding it was as hopeless as locating a pebble in the ocean. there was nothing except the sycamores and grass right here, and none of the sycamore trunks were bullet marked. going through smoky without expanding, the bullet had snicked into the ground the same way. locating it might mean sifting tons, and perhaps dozens of tons, of earth. even then, unless one were lucky, the bullet might elude him. tammie, who was sitting beside ted and staring into the beech brush, whined suddenly. in turn he lifted both white front paws and put them down again. he drank deeply of some scent that only he could detect. ted looked keenly at him. "what have you got, tammie?" tammie ran a little ways toward the beech brush and turned to look back over his shoulder. ted frowned. loring blade had reported correctly and in full everything that could be found in the valley, but loring hadn't had a dog with him. obviously, tammie's nose had discovered something that any human being might well miss. ted ordered, "go ahead, tammie." the dog started up-slope toward the brush and ted followed. he ducked into the thicket, so dense that, once within it, visibility was limited to twenty feet or less and there were places where he had to crawl. in the center of the thicket, tammie halted to look down and ted came up beside him. in the center of the beech brush was a well-marked trail used by deer that knew perfectly well the advantages of staying in a thicket. tammie was looking down at a splash of drying blood, obviously a deer had been badly wounded here and had fallen. ted heaped lavish praise on his dog. "good boy! good boy, tammie!" he set his jaw and his eyes glinted. unless a hunter were within twenty feet of the trail, in which case it was highly improbable that any deer would have come down it, nobody within the beech brush could have wounded the deer. but how about the opposite slope? ted retraced his steps and climbed to the top of glory rock. from that vantage point, where he could look across at it instead of trying to look through it, the beech thicket became more open. he couldn't see everything, but he could see very plainly the place where the deer had fallen. moving to one side, ted had the same view. the deer could have been shot from any of a dozen places on this slope.... what had taken place assumed definite shape in ted's mind. smoky delbert, always the poacher, had known of the beech thicket and the trail through it. he had waited for a deer and shot one when it appeared. somebody else, somebody who knew and took violent exception to smoky and his antics--and there were at least thirty men who did--had either happened along or had witnessed the whole thing. probably there had been an argument, followed by the shooting. no nearer a solution than he had been before, ted nibbled his lip in frustration. he knew now why smoky had been shot, but he still hadn't the faintest idea as to who had shot him. all he had were widely scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, with too many pieces missing. however, first things came first and he'd better get the hurt deer, for it was both practical and merciful to do so. badly wounded, it couldn't possibly travel far. if he found it still alive, the least he could do was put it out of its misery. if it was dead, he should save what could be salvaged of the venison. al would have done the same had he been here. ted said, "come on, tammie." they returned to the place where the deer had fallen and took up the trail. it was easy to follow, for the animal had been badly hurt. straight down the trail it had run, and sixty yards farther on ted found where it had fallen again and thrashed about. the beech brush blended back into beech forest and the trail ted followed swerved to within twenty feet of the valley floor. he found a great puddle of blood where the deer had fallen a third time. he marveled. the deer had been down three times in a little more than three hundred yards and it never should have been able to get up and go on. but it had gone on and it had also nearly stopped bleeding. from this point there was only a spot here and there to mark the leaves. ted shook his head. if he wasn't seeing this himself, he wouldn't have believed it. he remembered that a deer is an incredibly tough thing. it can still run after receiving wounds that would stop a man in his tracks. overrunning the trail, the boy had to stop and circle until he picked it up again. it was necessary to do this so many times that, by midafternoon, he was scarcely a mile from the three sycamores. a half hour later he lost the trail completely; the deer had stopped bleeding. ted made a wide circle in an effort to find the trail again, and when he failed, he made a wider circle. he stopped to think. he'd have sworn, knowing how hard the deer was hit, that it would never run five hundred yards. obviously he had guessed wrong, and what now? anything he did would be little better than a shot in the dark, but if he could help it, he would not leave an injured beast to a lingering, terrible death. wounded wild things were apt to seek a haven in thickets. perhaps, if he cast back and forth through brush tangles, tammie would scent the deer again. ted made his way to a grove of scrub hemlock, cut from there to a laurel thicket and pushed and crawled his way through half a dozen snarls of beech brush. he knew that he was not going to find the wounded deer and he sorrowed for the suffering animal. about to drop his hand to tammie's head, he found that the collie was no longer beside him. he was about twenty feet back, dancing excitedly in the trail. his ears were alert, his eyes happy, and there was a doggy smile on his jaws. he had a scent, but it was not the scent of a wounded deer. ted took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to the dog. "take it to al," he ordered quietly. "take it to al, tammie." carrying the handkerchief, tammie streaked into the forest and disappeared. ted walked down coon valley and waited at the truck. an hour and a quarter later, no longer carrying the handkerchief, tammie joined him. ted petted him and looked somberly at the forest. he didn't know where al was hiding and he didn't want to know. but tammie knew. 6 messenger dog in the gathering gloom of the beech woods, a silver-throated thrush sang its evening song. then, starting where it had ended, the thrush repeated the same notes backwards. ted paused to listen and tammie halted beside him. the boy grinned faintly. because it first seemed to wind itself up and then to unwind, al had always insisted on calling this thrush the "winder bird." it was, ted supposed, as good a name as any. tammie sat down and turned a quizzical head to look at the harness he was wearing and, for excellent reasons, could wear only at night. ted himself had made the harness from a discarded pack sack. it had a chest strap to keep it from sliding backwards, a belly strap to prevent it from falling off, and on either side was a spacious pocket with a flap that could be fastened. right now, the pack was laden with thirty pounds of junk that ted had picked up around the house. tammie tried to scrape the harness off with his right hind paw. ted stooped to pet and coax him. "come on, tammie. come on. that's a good boy!" tammie sighed and got to his feet. he didn't know why he was thus burdened and he had no aspirations whatever to become a pack dog. but if ted wanted it, he would try to do it. he followed to the end of the drive and stood expectantly while ted opened the mailbox. the metropolitan daily in which ted had placed his ad, and that was always delivered to the harknesses a day late, lay on top. beneath were thirteen letters. ted's heart began to pound. he'd watched the mail every day, but except for the paper, the usual hopeful bulletins addressed to "occupant," and a few miscellaneous items, there had been nothing interesting. ted had almost despaired of getting anything, but he realized, as he stood with the letters in his hand, that he hadn't allowed hunters enough time to answer his ad. the thirteen letters represented more first-class mail than the harknesses usually received in three months, and ted held them as though they burned his fingers. they were important, perhaps the most important letters he had ever had or ever would have, for the future of the harknesses could depend on what was in them. ted ran back up the drive. running with him, tammie was too busy to pay attention to the obnoxious pack. ted burst into the house, slammed the door behind him, laid the letters and papers on the table and knelt to take the pack from tammie. he thrust it, still laden, into the darkest corner of a dark closet and turned excitedly back to the mail. sighing with relief, tammie curled up on his bearskin. ted looked at the sheaf of letters. except for two, they were addressed in longhand. he picked one up, made as though to open it then put it back down. if the news was good, it would be very good. if bad, it would be very bad. his eye fell on a box on the paper's front page. gunman still at large after a week's intensive manhunt, albert, "al" harkness is still at large in the wild mahela. harkness, named by clarence delbert as the man who shot him from ambush, escaped from two officers the same night he was apprehended. delbert, still in critical condition, has supplied no additional details. corporal paul hausler, of the state police, has expressed confidence that harkness will be captured. ted pushed the paper aside and stared across the table. for three days the hunt had been pressed with unflagging zeal. only pete tooms and the duly deputized delberts had gone out for two days after that and now, ted understood, even they were staying home. they had discovered for themselves what ted and loring blade had known from the start: if al chose to hide in the mahela, he couldn't be found. but the item in the paper cast a shadow of things to come. al could hide for a while, perhaps for a long while, but without proper equipment or a place to stay, even he couldn't live in the wilderness when winter struck with all its fury. sooner or later, he would have to come out, and what happened when he came was so terribly dependent on what was in the letters! ted slit the first one open and read, dear mr. harkness: i saw your letter in the _courier_ and we would like to rent your camp for the first two weeks of deer season. can you let me know at once if it is available? there will be ten of us. ted put the letter aside and picked up the next one. that likewise wanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. there would be eight in the party. but there was a very welcome, "i enclose an advance to hold our reservation," with a twenty-dollar check made out to ted. he folded the note over the check and took up the third letter. that also wanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. ted turned to tammie. "doesn't anybody hunt anything except deer?" but the fourth letter, containing a deposit of ten dollars, was from a party of grouse hunters who wanted the camp during the first two weeks of grouse season, and the fifth had been written by a man representing a group of hunters who obviously liked to do things the hard way. scorning anything as easy as deer, grouse, squirrels, or cottontails, they wanted the camp for bear season. there was no deposit enclosed, but if they could be persuaded to send one, the camp would be rented for another week. the next five letters, two of which contained deposits of twenty dollars each, were all from deer hunters who wanted to come the first two weeks of the season and the one after that was from a confirmed grouse hunter who wished to come the first week. ted picked up the last letter, one of two that were typewritten, and read: dear ted harkness: for lo, these many years, my silent feet have carried me into the haunts of big game and my unerring rifle has laid them low. i have moose, elk, grizzlies, caribou, sheep and goats to my credit. honesty compels me to admit that i also have several head of big game to my discredit, but that happened in the days of my callow youth, when i thought hunting and killing were synonymous. presently, in my mellow old age, i still love to hunt. but i have become--heaven help me!--a head hunter. in short, i want 'em big or i don't want 'em. i do not have a whitetail buck to which i can point with pride. living in the mahela, and i envy you your dwelling place!, you must know the whereabouts of such a beastie. the simplicity of your ad was most impressive and i always did admire people who sign themselves "ted" rather than "theodore." i do not want your camp, but do you want to guide a doddering old man? find me a room, any old room at all as long as it's warm and dry, and i'm yours for three weeks. find me a buck that satisfies me and, in addition to your guiding fee, i'll give you a bonus of twenty-five dollars for every inch in the longest tine on either antler. humbly yours, john l. wilson ted re-read the letter, so friendly and so obviously written by a hunter who had experience, time and--ted tried not to think it and couldn't help himself because his need was desperate--money. the harkness house was very large and, now that al was not in it, very empty. there was no reason whatsoever why john l. wilson, whoever he was, should not stay here. twelve dollars a day was not too much to ask for board, room and guide services. as for the twenty-five dollars an inch--there were some big bucks in the mahela! ted sat down to write, "dear mr. wilson: thanks very much for your letter--" he crumpled the sheet of paper and started over, "dear mr. wilson: there are some big bucks--" then he crumpled that sheet and did the only thing he could do. "dear mr. wilson: i am going to tell you about damon and pythias." ted told, and he was scrupulously honest. his father, born in the mahela almost fifty years ago, had never seen bigger bucks. certainly they were the biggest ted had ever seen. in their prime now, royal trophies, a couple of years would see them in their decline. ted gave it as his personal opinion that both were at their best this year. next season, they would not be quite as good and the year after, ted thought, both would bear the misshapen antlers that are so often the marks of old bucks. but just getting a shot at either would involve more than a routine hunt. the two bucks were very wise; many hunters had tried for them and nobody had come near to getting either. it might very well take three weeks just to hunt them, and ted could not guarantee success. however, though they were far and away the biggest, by no means were damon and pythias the only big bucks in the mahela. he concluded by writing that mr. wilson could stay with him, and that his fee for board, room and guide service would be twelve dollars a day. ted sealed the letter, addressed it, put two stamps on, marked it air mail and turned to the others. he shook a bewildered head. the way carl thornton ran crestwood, catering to guests had always seemed the essence of simplicity. obviously, it had its headaches. of the dozen applicants for his camp, eight wanted it in deer season only and all wanted the first two weeks. ted screened the letters again, then narrowed them down to the three who had sent advances. they'd offered earnest intent of coming, the rest might and might not appear. but which of the three should he accept? ted solved it by consulting the postmarks on the letters. all had been mailed the same day, but one had been stamped at ten a.m. and the other two at two p.m. ted wrote to the author of the letter with the earliest time mark, a mr. allen thomas, and told him that the camp was his for the first two weeks of deer season. the other two checks--if only he had three camps!--he put in envelopes with letters saying that, he was very sorry, but the camp had already been reserved for the time they wanted. then, in a flash of inspiration, he opened both letters and added a postscript, saying that the camp was still available for the last week of the season. he grinned ruefully as he did so and seemed to hear al saying, "'most missed a pelt there, ted." ted assured the other deer hunters that his camp was reserved for the first two weeks but open the third. he contemplated bringing his price down to forty-five dollars for that week. then he reconsidered. most hunters thought that hunting would be much better the first of the season than it ever could be the last, and, in part, they were right. unmolested for almost a year, during the first days of the season game was apt to be less wary. as compensation, during the latter part of any season there were seldom as many hunters afield. anyhow, deer hunters who really wanted a camp would not let an extra fifteen dollars stand in the way of getting one. writing to the bear hunters, ted accepted a tentative reservation that would be confirmed as soon as he received a deposit of ten dollars. too many people made reservations with no deposit; then, if something arose that prevented their honoring their reservations, they simply didn't come. anyone who paid money in advance would be there or cancel in plenty of time to get their money back. ted told the grouse hunters who'd sent a ten-dollar deposit that the camp was theirs for the first two weeks of the season and he pondered over the other grouse hunter's letter. nobody at all had applied for woodcock season because, ted decided, woodcock are so uncertain. one of the finest of game birds, they are also migratory. a few nested in the mahela, but they were too few to attract sportsmen. depending on conditions, flight birds might and might not be in the mahela during the season and some years they by-passed it completely. but when they came, they offered marvelous shooting. ted wrote the second grouse hunter, a mr. george beaulieu, that the only vacancy he had left was for the third week of grouse season. but was he interested in woodcock? if he was, and if he would advise ted to that effect, ted would be happy to call him long distance in the event of a worthwhile flight. tammie rose, yawned prodigiously and lay down to sleep on his other side for a while. ted shuffled the pile of letters, which he needn't put in the mailbox because he was definitely going into lorton in the morning, and pondered. it hadn't worked out quite as he'd hoped it would, with the camp rented continuously throughout six weeks of small game hunting and three of deer. he figured with his pen on a discarded piece of paper. the camp was definitely rented for two weeks of grouse and one of bear hunting at forty-five dollars a week. that added up to a hundred and thirty-five dollars. it was certainly rented for two weeks of deer hunting at sixty a week, thus he would have a hundred and twenty dollars more. ted sighed wistfully. two hundred and fifty-five dollars was by no means an insignificant return on their investment, even if they had put a price on their labor, and they could look forward to the next hunting and fishing seasons. if al were here, they'd be happy about it and eagerly planning more camps. but al wasn't here, and all that mattered now was that, by the end of deer season, ted could be certain of having at least two hundred and fifty-five dollars in cash. if john wilson came, stayed with ted for twenty-one days, and paid him twelve dollars a day, that would be two hundred and fifty-two dollars more. if mr. wilson got a buck that satisfied him, and the buck's antlers had one tine nine inches long-"cut it out!" ted advised himself. "cut it out, harkness! count on what you know you'll have, and that's two hundred and fifty-five dollars." tammie, hearing ted's voice and thinking he was called, came over to sit beside his master. he raised a dainty paw to ted's hand and smiled with his eyes when the boy took it. ted glanced at the clock. "great guns! twenty past one! we'd better hit the hay!" he shucked off his clothes, put on his pajamas and crawled into bed. but even though he was tired, sleep would not come because he was thinking of al. how was his father spending this chilly night--and where? in some cave perhaps, or some thicket. ted tried to put such thoughts behind him. wherever al might be, that outdoorsman was warm, dry and even comfortable. but ted's mind insisted on seeking the gloomy side, and he was brought out of it only when tammie whined. instantly ted became alert. taught to whine but never to bark when a stranger came near the house, tammie was warning him now. the boy slipped out of bed, and, in the darkness, he felt for his shoes and pulled them on. he laced them so there would be no danger of tripping over the shoelaces and soft-footed across the floor to take a five-cell flashlight from its drawer and his twelve-gauge shotgun from its rack. out of the night came a sound that has been familiar since the first ancient man domesticated the first chickens. it was the sleepy squawk of a hen protesting removal from its warm roost. ted opened the door softly, stabbed the darkness with his light and trapped within its beam a figure that ran from the chicken coop toward the forest. "get him, tammie!" tammie rippled forward, and the light magnified his bobbing shadow twenty times over. he was not a dog but a monster, a nightmare from some antediluvian swamp, bearing down on the fleeing man. he rose into the air, struck the runner's back with his full weight, knocked him sprawling and snarled over him. it was what he'd been trained to do and it was all he'd do unless his captive tried too hard to get up. then a little fang-work might be necessary, but this prisoner wasn't even moving. ted shined his light into the terrified face of a young ne'er-do-well known to his parents as sammy allen stacey, to himself and a few of his intimates as s.a., and to too many others as silly ass. his captor asked sternly, "what are you doing here?" "uh--nothin'." "what's in the sack?" "i--i just borrowed three of your hens!" sammy started to sniffle. "i was goin' to bring 'em back tomorrow! honest!" "guess i'll go back to the house," ted said meaningfully. "when i hear you scream, i'll know tammie's working on you." "no! don't! please don't!" "think you can stay out of other people's chicken coops?" "yes! yes!" ted ordered, "all right, tammie." the collie moved back and ted addressed the prostrate youth. "get up and get out of here. if ever you come back again, i'll just turn you over to the dog." sammy rose and ran into the woods. ted returned the three indignant hens to their roost and addressed tammie, "i'll bet that, if ever he is found in another chicken coop, it won't be ours. you must have scared some sense into him." back in the house, tammie sought his bearskin. ted replaced the flashlight and shotgun, took his shoes off and went back to bed. tomorrow he must go to lorton but it needn't be bright and early because, by mahela standards, lorton just didn't get up bright and early. ted slept until a quarter to seven. an hour later, with tammie on the pickup's seat beside him, he started down the road. he drove slowly because the business and professional offices in lorton wouldn't open for another hour. coming opposite crestwood, he saw nels anderson, his former partner, working with a pick and shovel beside the driveway. ted eased his truck over and stopped. "hello, nels." "py golly, ted!" nels' face could never reflect anything he did not feel. "is goot to see you!" "it's good to see you, too. how are things?" "we must not holler. yah?" "guess it never does any good. how's the boss?" nels smiled sadly. "mad." "what's he mad at?" "me. i go to fix the freezer and he say, 'get out of there, you crazy scandahoovian! from now on you work only outside and joost three days a week!" "for pete's sake! why?" "he's mad." "why don't you get a different job, nels? one you can depend on?" "yah, i like to. i do not like mr. thornton no more." "why not?" "he gets mad. you hear from your pa, ted?" "no." "i'm awful sorry," nels said gravely. "i do not believe your pa, he shoot this man like they say he did. if i could help him, i would." "thanks, nels. be seeing you." "so long, ted." ted drove on, wondering. he'd had only two personal contacts with carl thornton--the day he was hired and the day he was fired. he couldn't really say that thornton was not an unpredictable individual, given to sudden rages, because he didn't know him that well. he had impressed ted as somewhat cold and carefully calculating. the boy shrugged. nels was a nice person. but an idea soaked into his head about as easily as sunbeams penetrate mud. probably he'd broken some rule which he had not understood and still didn't understand, and thornton was punishing him. but putting him on halftime, and nels with five children to support, seemed like extreme punishment. ted drove on to lorton, where, even though most of the town's residents were his friends, he could not help feeling self-conscious. smoky delbert's shooting had brought lorton more fame, or notoriety, than it had known since its founding. the story had been in most of the state's papers and gained wide distribution through a couple of news services. parking in front of the first national bank, ted left tammie in the truck, dropped his stamped letters in a mailbox and walked up the dimly lighted stairs that led to the law offices of john mclean. edith brewman, mclean's ageless secretary, had not yet come in but john mclean was rummaging through her desk. he looked up and said, "howdy, boy." "good morning, mr. mclean." ted stood awkwardly, a little embarrassed and a little lost. just how did one approach an attorney and what did one say to him? john mclean continued to paw through the desk and ted studied him covertly. a huge, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit, with unkempt gray hair and a black tie askew on his collar, john mclean looked like anything save the successful attorney he was. his dress and person were part of a clever act. slouching into a courtroom, he was more apt to provoke snickers than admiration. but an opposing attorney who underrated him, and most did, literally fell into his clutches. there was a silver tongue behind john mclean's rather slack lips and a razor-sharp brain beneath his gray hair. he grinned loosely now. "edith's too darn' orderly. when she puts something away, i can never find it. what can i do for you?" "i'm ted harkness, mr. mclean." "i know." "i want to find out if you'll take care of my father." "judging from what i've read in the papers, your dad's taking pretty good care of himself." ted said hesitantly, "he can't stay in the mahela forever. sooner or later, they'll get him." "sooner or later," john mclean said, "they get everybody. wish people would stop making a joke out of that old saw, 'crime doesn't pay.' it doesn't." he resumed poking through the desk while ted stood uncomfortably, not knowing whether or not he'd been dismissed. two minutes later, john mclean whirled on him. "is your dad guilty?" "no!" "how do you know?" "he said he isn't!" john mclean chuckled. "simmer down. i don't want to fight you. just wanted to find out if you had a good reason for thinking your dad innocent." "is the reason good enough for you?" as though forgetting ted, the attorney opened another drawer and leafed through its contents.... he said suddenly, "i'll take the case." ted sighed relievedly, "oh, thank you!" "better save that until after the trial." "but--" "save your worries, too." "then you can help him?" "we'll figure out something. who did shoot this delbert?" "i wish i knew." "so do i." ted said uneasily, "i haven't any money right now, but i'll have at least two hundred and fifty-five dollars, and perhaps a great deal more, right after deer season." john mclean murmured, "it'll help. the price of justice is too often too blasted high." "do--do you want to talk with dad soon?" "where is he?" "laying out in the mahela." "the mahela's a big place." ted said honestly, "i don't know where he is. i haven't seen him since he left but--i could get a message to him." "i won't ask you how. does your dad mind laying out?" "no." "then leave him until the time's right. it would have been better if he'd given himself up right away; but staying out now will do more good than harm. people, even prosecuting attorneys, can forget quite a bit in a short time." "is there anything else?" "when he comes in, or when you bring him in, i want to be the first to talk with him. can you arrange that?" "i'm sure i can." * * * * * that night, back at the harkness house, ted took tammie's harness from the closet and emptied it of junk. he replaced the junk with an equal weight of food, added a handful of matches, thrust a pad of paper and a pencil into one of the pockets and strapped the harness on tammie. ted took his dog to the back door and let him into the darkness. "take it to al," he ordered. "go to al, tammie." tammie, who hadn't been able to see any sense in the pack but who saw it now, raised his drooping ears and wagged his tail. he raced away in the darkness. ted had scarcely closed the back door when there was an imperative knock at the front. he opened it to admit jack callahan. 7 a flight of woodcock the sheriff stood tall in the doorway, his face unreadable, while at the same time he seemed to strain forward like an eager hound on a hot scent. disconcerted, showing it and aware that he showed it, ted fought for self-possession. he said, "well hello." "hello, ted." callahan was not unfriendly. "how are things?" ted tried to cover his confusion with a shrug. "not much change." "you seem," callahan was looking narrowly at him, "a bit nervous." "is that strange?" "guess not." callahan was too casual. "it's probably a nerve-wracking business. uh--thought i heard you talking?" "you might have. i was talking to tammie." "your dog, eh?" "that's right." "i don't see him around." "i just let him out the back door. he likes to go for a little run at night." "i'm darned," callahan said, "if i didn't think i caught a glimpse of you letting him out. tammie looked awful big." "he's a big dog." just how much had callahan seen? definitely, a pack-laden collie was not going camping and callahan would know where it was going. the sheriff dropped into a chair and crossed his right leg over his left knee. "i know he's big, i've seen him before. but he sure looked bigger than usual. that's a mighty good dog, ted." "yes, he is." "highly-trained, too, isn't he? that dog will do almost anything you want him to, won't he?" "oh, sure," ted said sarcastically. "every night he sets his own alarm for five o'clock. then he lays and lights a fire so the house will be warm when i get out of bed." "aw now, ted!" callahan said reproachfully. "you know darn' well what i mean! why only the other night i found silly ass stacey running down the road like a haunt was chasing him. 'don't go up there!' he told me. 'don't go up to harknesses! they have a man-eating dog and it just ate me!'" doubtless unintentionally, callahan had given something away. the harkness house was being closely watched or the sheriff wouldn't have been on the lorton road at the hour when sammy ran down it. in full control of himself now, ted did not let himself reveal what he had just learned. he said grimly, "sammy was in our chicken coop." "_hm-m._ want me to pick him up for it?" "i doubt if he'll be as fond of chicken stealing from now on. tammie knocked him down and did a little snarling over him. he didn't hurt him." callahan grinned. "figured that out all by myself; nobody who'd most been eaten could run as fast as silly ass was running. hope it does teach him a lesson; if he gets rid of his oversized notions, he won't be anything except a harmless sort of nut. jail might make him vicious. but that's what i mean about your dog. you've really got him trained." "i spend a lot of time training him." "you have to if you want results, but it's worth it. you have a dog you can really work." "there are limits." "of course. of course there are. a dog's a dog. but i'll bet," callahan looked squarely at ted, "that tammie would even go find your father if you told him to." "you're sure?" "well, who could be sure? but i admire trained dogs no end and yours is the best i ever saw. call him back, will you? i'd like to see him again." "i--" ted hesitated and hated himself because callahan noticed his hesitation. "i don't know if i can. tammie takes some pretty long rambles at night and he may be out of hearing." "you'll have loring on your tail if he bothers game." "tammie doesn't bother anything unless he's ordered to do it." callahan said admiringly, "that's where training comes in. this could even be a story!" "what could?" "why, your dad laying out in the mahela. he doesn't have any grub except the load he cooked the night loring and i were here--and wasn't i the dope not to see through that? he needs about everything. you can't take it to him because you could be followed. but you have a big, strong, well-trained dog. you, oh you might even make a pack for him. then you load the pack and send it to your dad. who's going to follow tammie? get it?" ted looked at the floor. coming at exactly the wrong second, callahan had seen enough to rouse suspicion but not enough to be sure of anything. the boy conceded, "it's a story all right." "could even be a _true_ story, huh?" "you're doing the guessing." "oh, well," callahan shrugged, "i didn't come here to bother you. but i sure would like to see that dog of yours again and i haven't much time. call him back, will you?" both hands in front of him, fingers tightly locked, ted walked to the back door. when tammie took anything to al, he usually ran. if he had run this time, and kept on running, he would be out of hearing. if he was not out of hearing, he would come back. ted hoped callahan didn't see him gulp. if tammie returned with the pack, it would be all the evidence callahan needed that the dog could find al. but not to call him would serve only to convince the sheriff, anyhow, that tammie was on his way to al. ted opened the back door and whistled. he waited a moment, whistled again and closed the door behind him. "he'll come if he heard." "and if he didn't," callahan commented, "he's a long way back in the mahela, huh?" "that's right." "now that's strange," the sheriff mused. "i know a little about dogs. you take an airedale, for example. he'll make long tracks, if he gets a chance. but i always thought a collie was pretty much the home type. i never figured they'd get very far from their doorsteps. unless, of course, maybe it's a trained collie that's sent away." "dogs vary." "of course, of course. there's no rule says two of any one breed have to be alike. couple of years ago, over beyond taylorville, we had to get a pack that was running wild and, believe it or not, there was a boston bull with them. now who'd think a boston bull--what's that?" "i--i didn't hear anything." "well, i did. ah! there it is again!" a second time, and unmistakably, tammie's distinctive whine sounded at the back door. ted's heart plummeted to his toes and his throat went dry. he was about to rise and let tammie in--the only thing he could do--but he was forestalled by jack callahan. "there he is. he heard you, all right. i'll let him in." he walked to the back door ... opened it. ted hoped his gasp was not as loud as it seemed. wearing no pack, tammie came sedately in, greeted callahan with a wag of his tail and tripped across the floor to sit down beside his master. the boy bent his head to conceal ecstatic eyes. poker-faced callahan showed nothing of what he must be feeling. "just as handsome as i remember him!" he said admiringly. "that dog's a real credit to you, ted!" "he has just one little flaw," ted said gravely. "sometimes he thinks he sees things he never saw at all." callahan grinned engagingly. "some people make that mistake, too. especially when there's deep shadow. how are you making out, ted?" "all right. my camp's rented for five weeks and i may rent it for woodcock season, if the flight comes in." "loring told me there's flight birds at taylorville. he said there's quite a few, and he thinks there'll be a big flight." "hope it comes here!" callahan said soberly, "if it'll help you, so do i. i'm sorry you're in trouble." "trouble comes." "i know, but being the sheriff who makes it isn't the snap job it's cracked up to be. i've had to hurt a lot of people i'd rather not bother, but when i swore to uphold the law, i didn't make any exceptions and i'm not going to make any. i hope you don't hold that against me." "i don't." "just so you understand. a lot of people who cuss peace officers would find out for themselves what a mess they'd be in if there weren't any." "i know that, too." "then you know why i must bring your dad in. when i do, and i will, he'll get every break i'm able to offer. by the same token, smoky delbert may have some breaks coming. so long for now, ted." "so long." callahan left and ted was alone with tammie. he tickled the big dog's soft ears. "the lord watches over idiots!" he murmured. "he sure enough does!" what had happened was obvious. disliking the pack anyway, tammie hadn't gone more than a couple of hundred feet before ridding himself of it. only he knew how he'd unclasped the buckles, but he'd managed. of course, when ordered to do so, he should have gone to al. but he could be forgiven this time. "i'd best get to bed," ted told him. "i don't know where you left that pack, but do know i'd better find it before mr. callahan comes back this way. that man has sixteen eyes, and don't ever let's think he's dumb! he came right close to tipping over our meat house tonight!" ted was up an hour before dawn and had breakfasted by the time the first pale light of day began to lift night's shroud from the great beech trees. with tammie at his side, he stepped out the back door and formed a plan of action. he didn't know exactly how much time had passed between his whistle and tammie's appearance at the door, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty seconds. certainly the collie had needed some little time to rid himself of the pack. it couldn't possibly be far from the cabin. ted petted the dog. "you lost it," he scolded gently. "why don't you find it?" tammie raced ahead twenty yards, whirled, came back to leap at and snap his jaws within a quarter inch of ted's right hand, then flew away again. he continued running around and around, stopping at intervals to snap. but though he never missed very much, he never hit either. ted walked slowly, on a course parallel to the cabin, and he turned his head from side to side as he walked. there were no thickets or windfalls here. there was nothing at all except the big beeches. wherever tammie had dropped it, the pack wouldn't be hard to see. descending into a little swale, ted flushed three woodcock out of it. their distinctive, twittering whistle, which ted had always thought was made by wind rushing through stiff flight feathers, sounded as they flew. the boy's eyes glowed with pleasure. the ruffed grouse was a marvelous game bird and nobody who knew him well, or even fairly well, would ever deny it. but there was a very special group--ted himself belonged to it--who held the woodcock in highest esteem. swift-winged and sporty, the woodcock had an air of mystery and romance possessed by few other wild things. measuring eleven inches, from the tip of his bill to the end of his tail, the woodcock's plumage varied from black to gray, with different shades of brown predominant. so perfectly did they blend with their surroundings that, even though a hunter might watch a flying woodcock alight on the ground, he was often not able to see it afterwards. their legs were short and their bills, with which they probed into soft earth for the various larvae and worms upon which they fed, were ridiculously long. but their eyes remained their outstanding characteristic. placed near the top of the head, they were luminous and expressive, as though, somehow, they mirrored all of nature. they were very large in proportion to the bird's size. whoever saw them would never forget them and who knew the woodcock knew one of the finest and most delightful of all wild creatures. ted marked the trio down, but he did not approach them again. the season was not open, and nobody could ever be sure of woodcock. perhaps these were stragglers. maybe they marked the vanguard of a big flight that would be in the mahela when the season opened and maybe they didn't. he'd have to wait and see and, even then, neither he nor anyone else could be sure. cover that might be alive with woodcock one day could be empty, or hold only a few birds, the next. during the night, every woodcock had often picked up and moved on. when he'd gone as far as he thought he should, ted moved twenty-five yards deeper into the woods and swung back on a course parallel to the one he'd followed. he began to worry. the pack couldn't possibly be far because tammie hadn't had time to go far. it was good sized, so it should be easy to see. ted made another swing about. two hours after he had started hunting, he stopped. he was a half mile from the house, definitely the extreme limit tammie might have reached. the boy went back to cover the same area more carefully.... he went through it a third time. by midday, he was wholly baffled. the pack was not here. where was it? had jack callahan, nobody's fool, seen more than he had admitted seeing? had he slipped back after leaving ted and found the pack himself? it seemed improbable. recovery of the pack, so obviously for a dog and not for a man to wear, would be proof within itself that ted had intended to send tammie to al. and if callahan had the least reason to suppose that tammie could really find al, he'd be in the house right now, insisting that he do it. ted petted the collie. "why can't you talk?" he murmured. "why can't you tell me what you did with it?" tammie licked his master's fingers and wagged his tail. ted sighed. he'd looked in all the places where the pack might be and hadn't found it. it stood to reason that nobody else was going to find it either, or at least, they wouldn't find it easily. still worried, ted went back to the house and fixed a lunch. he thought of looking for the pack some more and decided against it. there was no other place to look but there were things to do. he hadn't been at the camp since the night al was accused of shooting smoky. if he intended to rent it to hunters, he'd better go see how things were. ted chose to walk, for he had been doing a great deal of serious thinking and had changed many of his ideas. running a successful resort, or even a successful camp, involved a great deal more than just being a gracious host. in any city, or even any town, such a camp probably wouldn't rent at all because it was so radically different from what urban residents had come to expect in their dwellings. but it fitted the mahela, and for a short time each year, it would be appreciated because it offered a refreshing change from conventional living. but there was still more involved. few people wanted to get into the out-of-doors merely for the sake of being there. the place must offer something, and beyond any doubt the mahela's prime attraction was its deer herds. but nobody, regardless of whether he was running crestwood or renting camps, could hope to make a living just from the three-week deer season alone. he would also have to lure all the small game hunters and all the fishermen he could, and if he didn't lure them honestly, they'd never come back. it stood to reason that nobody who lived a couple of hundred miles from the mahela could know what was taking place there. they must be kept informed, and ted wished to walk now because he wanted to judge for himself whether or not there would be a worthwhile flight of woodcock. the birds might be anywhere at all. ted had flushed them from the very summit of hawkbill. but as a rule they avoided the thickest cover and haunted the streams, bogs and swamps because they found their food along stream beds and in swamps. with tammie trailing happily beside him. ted followed the course of spinning creek. he flushed two woodcock from a sparse growth of aspens and watched them wing away and settle on the other side of the creek. then he put up a single and, farther on, a little flock of five. in the clearing, almost at the camp's door, another single whistled away and dropped near tumbling run. that made nine woodcock between the harkness house and the camp. definitely it was not a substantial flight and no hunter should be advised to come to the mahela because of them. but there were more than there had been. a doe and two spring fawns were nosing about the apple trees. bears had been climbing the same trees, leaving scarred trunks and broken branches in their wake. black bears, of which there were a fair number in the mahela, would come almost as far for apples as they would for honey. but they came only at night and did a lot of damage when they climbed the trees. however, these tough apple trees had been broken by bears every year they'd borne a crop and they'd always recovered. they'd recover again, and ted supposed bears had as much right as anything else to the apples. he grinned. the fruit was gnarled and wormy, but it was a woodland delicacy and woodland dwellers competed for it as fiercely as a crowd of undisciplined children might compete for a rack of ice-cream cones. ted walked all around the camp, saw nothing amiss and unlocked the door. he pulled the hasp back, went in--and saw tammie's pack lying under the table. momentarily alarmed, he stopped. only one person could have left the pack! he picked it up and thrust his hand into a side pocket. he found and pulled out a page torn from the pad of paper he'd inserted in the pack and read the penciled note. dear ted; i was cuming to see you last nite. tammy met me a sniff from the dor and i snuck up and saw calhan. gess he wants to see me rite enuf but i don't want to see him! hope taking tammy's pak don't throw you off. i can get along a good spel with the stuf in the pak and wudcok seson cuming on. i've saw a mess of flite wudcok. don't send tammy agen without you know it's safe and send him after midnite. i won't be so far away he can't get to me and bak. watch calhan. he's sharp. your dad p.s. i got the kyote. ted heaved a mighty sigh of thanksgiving. al had the pack's contents and there were three blankets missing from the camp. for the first time, the dark clouds that surged around the boy revealed their silver lining. al was still a fugitive, but he had enough to eat and he was sleeping under blankets. it seemed a great deal. ted read the note again and smiled over it. a hunted outlaw, al was still abiding by the principles in which he believed. he might have been justified in killing game for food, but the reference to woodcock season indicated that he had done no such thing. possibly--ted remembered that he had his coyote traps--he had caught a bobcat or so. the season was never closed on bobcats and, if one could overcome natural squeamishness, they were really delicious eating. ted lifted the stove lid, put the note within, applied a lighted match, waited until the paper burned to ashes, then used the lid lifter to pound the ashes to dust. he looked fondly at tammie, who had been nowise derelict. ordered to go to al, he had done exactly that and it was none of tammie's doing if al had been within a "sniff" of his own back door. ted said cheerfully, "guess we'll go home, tammie. but we'll come back for the pack tonight, mr. callahan, or some of his friends, probably will be patroling here and there." that night there were three more letters, two from deer hunters who wanted the camp the usual first two weeks of the season and one from a grouse hunter who wanted the first week. ted advised them of the camp's present status, put his letters in the mailbox and lifted the red flag to let the carrier know there was mail to pick up. the next night there were five letters, two of which had been sent airmail. ted opened the first. dear mr. harkness: your letter intrigued us no end. we haven't seen a good flight of woodcock for ten years and didn't think there was any such thing any more. should they come in, by all means call me and reverse the charges. my business phone is tr 5-4397; my home is la 2-0489. call either place and we'll start an hour afterwards. there'll be seven of us, and i enclose a ten-dollar check as deposit. cordially, george beaulieu the second airmail letter read: bless you, ted! you've started me dreaming of damon and/or pythias. one or the other will do, but nothing else, please! by your own invitation, you're stuck with me for the full twenty-one days. i'll see you the day before the season opens. gratefully, john l. wilson there was a check for a hundred dollars enclosed and almost grimly ted folded both checks in his wallet. he'd have to spend some money for food, but not a great deal. the freezer was almost full and much of the garden remained to be harvested. he stared at the far wall. he had not planned it this way. he had looked forward to a happy venture, to enjoying and helping his guests, and if he made money in so doing, that would be fine. had things turned out as he'd planned, there was already enough money in sight to build and equip another camp. but that was not to be. al had to come out of the mahela some time. when he did, they were in for a fight, and money would be a powerful weapon in that all-out battle. they must win, and anything else must be secondary. the other three letters were from deer hunters who wanted the camp the first two weeks of the season. ted devoted the next fortnight to harvesting the garden. he dug the potatoes, emptied them in the cellar bin and stacked squash and pumpkins beside them. bunches of carrots and turnips were stored in another bin, and shelled beans were put in sacks. almost every mail brought more letters, and two out of three were from deer hunters. ted rented his camp for the season's third week. maybe nobody could make a living from deer hunters alone, but anybody who had enough camps, perhaps ten or twelve, could certainly earn a decent sum of money from just deer hunters. the mahela changed its green summer dress for autumn's gaudy raiment and the frosts came. woodcock continued to drift in, and two days before the season opened, they arrived in force. where there had been one, there were thirty, and still they came. ted drove into lorton and called from the drugstore. "mr. beaulieu?" "yes?" "this is ted harkness, mr. beaulieu. the woodcock are in." "a big flight?" "the biggest in years." "we'll be there tomorrow," george beaulieu said happily. "hold the camp for us!" "i'll do that, and anybody in lorton can tell you where to find me." "thanks for calling. we'll be seeing you." 8 trouble for nels in the beech forest, just beyond tumbling run, a buck so young that budding antlers did little more than part the coarse hair on its head stamped a front hoof and snorted. old enough to have a vast admiration for himself and his own powers, but too young to have any sense, the little buck snorted again and tried to sound as ferocious as possible. nosing about for any apples that might remain under the trees near ted's camp, he had stood his ground gallantly when ted and tammie approached. not ten minutes before their arrival, he'd chased a rabbit away from the trees and he was so impressed by that feat that he thought he could chase anything. but when ted and tammie refused to run, he'd trotted into the forest to do his threatening from a safer place. he snorted again, more hopefully than angrily, and when he did not regain possession of the apple trees, he looked sad. ted grinned at him. "junior's almost decided he can't bluff us, tammie. poor little guy! he'd just about convinced himself that he's a real ripsnorter of a buck. oh, well, it's a hard world for everybody." ted continued to string clotheslines between the apple trees. he pulled them tight, tested their tension with an experimental finger and turned thoughtfully back to the camp. it might be a hard world for adolescent bucks, but if it weren't for the fact that his father was still laying out in the mahela, right now it would be a pretty good one for ted. true to his promise, george beaulieu and his six companions had arrived the day before woodcock season opened. in his mid-fifties, beaulieu was branch manager for an insurance company. of the six men with him, only twenty-six-year-old george junior, an insurance salesman who thought his father was the greatest man in the world and who wanted nothing more than to follow in his footsteps, had been less than middle-aged. the other five were a filling station owner, a dentist, a toolmaker, an electrical appliance dealer and a printer. their party had been complemented by two dogs, an english setter and a springer spaniel. there had been nothing sensational about any of them, including the dogs. except for george beaulieu, his son and the printer, none of the men had been even fair hunters. the three, far and away the best of the seven gunners, had averaged three shots for every woodcock brought down. the worst gunner, the electrical appliance dealer, who appropriately enough was named joseph watt, had fired at least fifteen times for every woodcock he put in his pocket. yet ted felt that the happy man had lived through an uplifting and a near-sensational experience. although unpretentious, his guests had definitely not been meek or demure. whoever missed an easy shot, which practically all of them did at least twice a day, was needled mercilessly by the others. not one among them, under the best of conditions, could have made even a meager living as a professional hunter. yet they represented the best type of present-day game seekers. they had come to shoot woodcock and they would have been disappointed not to shoot some. but they did not pursue their quarry with the calculating coldness of a smoky delbert or, for that matter, with the intense concentration of an al harkness, when al was after a pelt he wanted. they were out for fun and they had fun, and although game mattered, meat did not. there were so many woodcock that everybody, even joseph watt, got some. but considering the shells they shot, the camp rental, food, transportation and licenses, their game probably cost them at least fifteen dollars a pound! after the first week ended and there seemed to be more woodcock than ever--the flight was still coming in--they had decided that another ten years might pass before they saw this again and stayed the second week. they'd left only this morning, promising to be back next year if there was another flight of woodcock, or for grouse if there was not. ted hummed as he started toward the camp. the beaulieu party had been wonderful guests and certainly they were welcome back. if the mahela was good for them, they were just as good for the mahela. ted gathered up as much bedding as he could carry. he'd been a little worried about it because he'd provided neither sheets nor pillowcases. but lack of them hadn't seemed to worry the beaulieu party in the slightest. most people who hunted all day were too tired by night to care whether their beds were formal, or anything except comfortable. next year--always supposing his father and he still had the camp, ted thought that they would have to provide linens, too. summer campers spent more time in camp than hunters did, and they were apt to be more particular. ted hung the blankets and quilts on the lines he had strung and pinned them securely. if they aired all day long, they'd be fresh by night. the grouse hunters--ted had corresponded with an arthur beamish--were due some time after supper and there would be ten in the party. the small buck, that had been lurking hopefully near and awaiting a chance to come back, snorted his astonishment when the bedding began to blow in the wind and ran away as fast as he could. the little fellow thought he was fully capable of dealing with anything natural, but wind-blown bedclothes smacked of the supernatural. ted lost himself in thought. the camp was completely rented, except for the third week of small game season, and it would return a little more than four hundred dollars in rent. added to that was the money he'd certainly get from john wilson, and the total was more than it had cost to build and furnish the camp. some of it would have to go for food and john wilson probably would expect good things to eat, but he'd get them. ted had six woodcock, a gourmet's delight, in the freezer, and he would add the legal two days' possession limit of six grouse. he'd need more than that, but even after buying whatever was necessary, he'd still have enough money to put up a hard legal battle for al when his father finally had to surrender. there would be at least twice as much money as ted had told john mclean he would have. if more was needed, and it probably would be, he'd sell the camp. ted gathered up the dirty towels and wash and dish cloths, put them in a bushel basket brought along for that purpose and replaced them with fresh, clean laundry. the beaulieu party, another proof of their sportsmanship, had left the camp in fine shape, with the dishes washed and stacked where they belonged and the floor clean. tammie came in the open door and ted grinned at him. "guess we can go, tammie, and you'd better rest a bit. you're going into the hills tonight." tammie wagged an agreeable tail and trotted out to the pickup with his master; ted eased the little truck onto the road. he'd sent tammie, with a load of food, the night before the beaulieu party arrived and everything had gone without a hitch. tammie had left shortly after midnight and returned two and a half hours later. the pack was empty save for the note al had thrust in it. dear ted: tammy cum al rite. this works good, huh? i got enuf to last me anyhow 2 weeks mor. don't send tammy befor. the les you got to send him, the beter it is. good luk and thanks. your dad ted sighed wearily. he'd hoped that, with passing time, the situation would clear itself or be cleared. if anything, it was worse. definitely out of danger, but due for a long convalescence in the lorton hospital, smoky delbert had told everything. starting from the fordham road, he had gone up coon valley with the intention of finding good places to set fox traps. he'd carried his rifle because there was always a chance of seeing a fox or bobcat, predators upon which there was a bounty. he'd known al harkness was ahead of him, for al's distinctive boot marks had been left in the soft place where the spring overflowed the coon valley trail. nearing the three sycamores, and without any warning at all, al had risen from behind glory rock and shot. it was a simple, straightforward story and one that bore out other known facts. by his own admission, al had been in coon valley the same day. he did wear boots with soles of his own design, and therefore they were distinctive. smoky delbert, a woodsman of vast experience, might very well have seen these tracks, in spite of the fact that loring blade had missed them. ted sighed again. the papers had printed smoky's story and most were sympathetic. there had even been a couple of resounding editorials demanding that al be brought in--regardless of the cost and effort that might be expended to apprehend him--and face the justice he so richly deserved. but editors were not the only ones who had swung to smoky's side. time, john mclean had asserted, made people forget. only, in this instance, it had made too many of them forget that smoky delbert was a vicious poacher. he had, instead, become the wronged innocent, and when ted went into lorton now there were those who averted their faces when they passed him or even crossed to the other side of the street to avoid meeting him at all. carl thornton had become something of a local hero. nobody knew how the news had leaked out, but everyone knew that crestwood's owner was paying all of smoky's extensive hospital bills. that puzzled ted, for thornton had never seemed the type to care about anyone's welfare save his own. but he would do anything that worked to his own advantage, and perhaps he thought it worth his while, at the price of smoky's hospital expenses, to have lorton solidly behind him. there could be no doubt that lorton was there. "cut it out!" ted urged himself. "you don't like thornton, but give him credit, if credit's due." ted swung up the harkness drive and parked. while tammie went off on an inspection tour to assure himself that everything was as it should be, the boy took the basket of laundry inside. he grimaced. modern in some respects, al had by no means accepted the streamlined age as an unmixed blessing. he'd bought a freezer and refrigerator because their advantages were obvious. but he scorned washing machines and was sure that, though clothes emerging from one might look clean, they couldn't possibly be as pure as those that were washed on a scrub-board. ted put the washtub on its stand, filled it with hot water, added soap and went to scrubbing. he rinsed the laundry, ran it through a hand wringer and hung it on a line stretched behind the house. an hour before sundown, he went back to camp to replace the bedding and wind his clotheslines on a spool. he got his own supper, fed tammie, washed the dishes and had just finished putting them where they belonged when the collie whined a warning. a car, followed by a second, came up the drive and, a moment later, there was an unnecessarily loud knock on the door. ted opened it to confront a rather plump man, who was probably in his mid-thirties. he was dressed in a gaudy wool shirt, hunting pants, ten-inch lace boots, and around his middle was belted a hunting knife almost long enough to be a small sword. his black hair was a little wild and so were his eyes, but his smile was pleasant and his outstretched hand was quite steady. "ted?" "that's right." "i'm beamish," the other stated, a little thickly. "b'-gosh, we found you!" "you certainly did!" ted smiled faintly. hunters going into camp often did a little anticipatory celebrating and evidently arthur beamish had been overdoing it. "this the camp?" he asked. "no, the camp's farther up the road." "good!" arthur beamish said happily. "you go in the woods, you go in the woods! more woods, the better! that's what i always say! what do you always say?" "same thing." ted grinned. "if you want to follow me, i'll show you the way up there." "ride with ya," beamish declared. "tha's just what i'll do." "you're welcome." ordering tammie to stay in the house, ted guided his exuberant guest to the pickup and opened the door for him. arthur beamish bellowed, "follow us, men! ah, wilderness!" he sat companionably close and draped a friendly arm across ted's shoulder. "lots of grouse?" "plenty. you like grouse hunting, eh?" "best darn' game there is!" beamish exploded. "i rather get me one grouse than forty-nine deer! and i get 'em, too!" "you do?" "didn't you ever hear about me?" "i--" ted hesitated. obviously, he was supposed to know his guest. but he didn't, yet to say the wrong thing might mean to give offense, "uh--aren't you--?" "tha's right!" beamish said happily. "i'm beamish, the trapshooter! traps in summer, grouse in season! br-br-br! up they go! bang! down they come! every time!" ted twisted uneasily. three grouse was the daily bag limit. nobody should need, or take, more than that. he calmed himself. as yet, nobody had taken more. he pulled in to the camp and stopped. "fine camp!" enthused beamish, who could see only that part of it which was illuminated by the pickup's lights. "best i ever did see! great lil' camp!" the other two cars stopped and the rest of the hunters got out. even in the night, there was that about them which at once set them apart from the quiet beaulieu party. they were younger, more restless, and they fairly oozed that nervous sparkle which so often marks young executives. they were also sensible--only arthur beamish and one other had been over-indulging themselves. definitely, the drivers of the two cars were in full possession of all their faculties. the three beautiful setters that had ridden in a pen in one of the car's trunks were as smartly turned out as the men. obviously, they were hunting dogs, the best money could buy. but this crowd had money to spend. "come 'round!" arthur beamish bellowed. "wan'sha to meet ted!" one by one, ted was introduced to the rest of the party and as he met them, he liked them. if they were young and restless, they were also competent and talented and they had an air of belonging here in the wilderness. probably this was not the first camp they'd ever seen. "let's go in," ted suggested. arthur beamish bubbled, "you get the best ideas!" ted let the men into the camp, watched closely as they inspected it and knew definitely that they'd been in such places before. their glances were quick but all encompassing. one of them, and although ted did not remember all the names, he thought this one was tom strickland, turned with a smile. "this will do very well. do you know where we can get a wet nurse?" "a what?" strickland grinned, "a sort of combination cook, fire-builder, sweeper-upper, dishwasher; we'll want to spend our time hunting." "i think i can find somebody. is nine dollars a day all right?" "sure. can you send him up tomorrow?" "send him tonight!" somebody yelled. strickland said scathingly, "i wouldn't inflict you wild hyenas on anyone tonight. i'll cook breakfast." "oh, my aching ptomaine!" ted grinned. "i'm sure i can send somebody tomorrow. everything's o.k., eh?" "right as rain." ted got grimly back into the pickup and started down the road. nine dollars a day for fourteen days meant another hundred and twenty-six dollars that probably would be sorely needed when al had his inevitable day in court, but ted hadn't wanted to accept the job tonight because, somehow, doing so would have seemed grasping. but he'd swallow his pride and take it tomorrow. he must think of nothing except clearing his father's name. back at the house, ted loaded tammie's pack very carefully. laying out in the mahela, al would not expect and did not need luxuries. ted packed cornmeal and oatmeal, desiccated soup, a parcel of dried apricots, powdered milk, sugar, tea, flour. but when everything else was in, there was room for a parcel of frozen pork chops. ted added them and a note. dad: everything's fine. there are grouse hunters in camp now and there will be bear hunters next. take care of yourself and let me know what you need. love, ted at five minutes past midnight, he strapped the pack on tammie, took him to the back door and let him out. just as he did, there was an almost timid knock on the front door. he jumped nervously. "go to al!" he urged. "take it to al, tammie! and please run!" he shut the back door and perspiration broke on his brow as he stood anxiously near it. callahan, whose suspicions should have been effectively lulled, was not lulled at all. he'd merely bided his time, struck at the right hour and ted was trapped. he crossed the floor on shaky legs and opened the front door to come face to face with nels anderson. ted gasped. his one-time working partner was pale and looked ill. weariness had left its impression in great blue patches beneath both eyes, but it was not entirely physical weariness. nels had suffered some terrible shock--and in his extremity he had come to his friend. "nels! what's wrong?" "i," nels forced the shadow of his former smile, "am all right." "come on in!" "i--i do not want to bother you. but i saw your light and--" "what on earth have you been doing?" "walkin'. yoost walkin'." "all night?" "i--" nels looked at the floor. "i did not want to see hilda. i--i lose my yob." "how come?" nels smiled again, but it was a sickly smile. "mrs. martin, she's helpin' in the kitchen while huntin' season's on, she says, 'nels,' she says, 'the door on the walk-in cooler is stuck. i can't open it. can you?' i say i open it and thornton comes. 'told you to stay out of here!' he yells. he was awful mad. 'now get out and stay out!' so, no more yob." "you'll get another one." "oh sure. i get another one easy. you--you know where?" ted said recklessly, "i know where you can work for the next two weeks. there's a bunch of hunters in my camp and they're looking for somebody to do their cooking and odd jobs. get up there tomorrow morning and say i sent you. the pay is nine dollars a day." stars shone in nels' woebegone eyes. "you mean it?" "sure i mean it." "yah! i go tell hilda!" nels had shuffled in the door but he seemed to float out of it. ted stared grimly at the black window. he needed the money himself, but nels had a wife and five children and whether or not they ate regularly depended on whether nels worked steadily. ted paced back and forth, then sank into a chair. weariness overcame him and he dozed.... he awakened suddenly, sure he'd heard something. then tammie whined for admittance and ted got up to let him in. he took off the pack and looked for the note he knew he would find. dear ted: tammy cum agen, as you know. i'm set rite nise now. there is no need to send tammy agen for a cuple weeks. tel your bear hunters that a lot of bears hang out in carter valley. your dad 9 a black bear charges ted had had an awakening. four days after he sent nels to work for the beamish party, nels had come back singing their praises in the loftiest tones. they were all gentlemen of the highest order. nobody cared what he cooked as long as there was plenty of whatever it was. driving nels into lorton, mr. strickland had asked him to order groceries and had paid the rather large bill without a murmur. that night they'd voted him the best camp cook they ever saw and given him a ten-dollar tip. of course, they were a little bit queer. he'd told them his name at least a dozen times, but everybody insisted on calling him hjalmar. they pronounced it exactly as it was spelled, too. nels didn't mind because hjalmar was certainly a fine old name. but it had taken him almost a day to get used to it. they were wonderful hunters, especially that mr. beamish. the first day he'd shot five grouse, the second seven, and on the two succeeding days he'd shot five and seven. that made twenty-three grouse in four days and he'd used just thirty-two shells. it must be some kind of record or something, nels didn't know. however, each day everyone else in the party had paid mr. beamish money. nels understood if mr. beamish scored too many misses, he'd have to pay all the others. still singing the praises of the beamish party, nels hurried off to resume his duties with them. ted was left to ponder a problem that he had hoped he would never have to face. too many people--who were too often intelligent people--took game laws far too lightly. they shot what they wished when they wished to, and few of them ever thought that they were doing any wrong. actually, in every sense of the word, they were thieves. bag and possession limits, insofar as it was humanly possible to apportion wild game justly, were provided so everyone might have a share and still leave some behind. who took more than his share, took from all the others. beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was the duty of anyone who knew of game law violations to report the violator to the nearest warden so the proper action could be taken. but how could ted report arthur beamish's when beamish was his guest? the boy still hadn't made a decision when, the next day, loring blade came in. the warden said quietly, "i've been watching the grouse hunters in your camp." "you have?" "yes, and i arrested one of them this morning, a man named beamish. he's killed nineteen grouse that i know of, seven over anything he should have had, in four days." ted said reluctantly, "he's killed twenty-three." "how do you know?" "nels told me." "wish i'd known that, but i think he'll toe the mark now." "what'd you do to him?" "took him before justice mcafee. mac fined him fifty dollars and a positive revocation of his license if he violates any more." "but--" "but what?" "there's a twenty-five dollar fine for every illegal grouse. as long as you were taking him in, you should have had him fined a hundred and seventy-five dollars." "not him," loring blade declared. "you can't hurt him too much by hitting him in the pocketbook. his hunting privileges are what he holds dear." it was, ted decided after the warden had left, a smart way to do things. the penalty for breaking game laws should be harsh, but fining arthur beamish a hundred and seventy-five dollars would bother him less than a ten-dollar fine might inconvenience a stacey or a crawford. however, beamish's hunting privileges really meant something to him. at any rate, the warden's method worked. nels, who lost none of his admiration for the grouse hunters, gave ted a complete report at intervals. nobody in the camp took more than the limit after beamish was fined--and there was still another angle. ted had always known that he and his father were in the minority--sometimes it seemed that nobody except he and al cared what happened to the mahela. but now the boy was assured that others worked for its best interests, too. the grouse hunters had gone home and for a whole week there would be nobody in the camp. there was nothing to worry about in the immediate future. al, as his last note indicated, was doing all right. the beamish party, who'd really liked nels, had expressed their satisfaction in more lavish tips and for the first time in three years, nels' family could get by for a while, even if he did not work. however, he could certainly work all through deer season. the andersons might face a bleak new year, but they would have a happy christmas. ted had decided to seize the week's interlude as a fine time to go over the camp from top to bottom, but there was little to do. nels would never write a learned dissertation about shakespeare, or come up with a startling new aspect of the nuclear fission theory, but whoever hired him got all they paid for, plus a substantial bonus. working by the day, in nels' opinion, meant working twenty-four hours, if that were necessary. the cabin was spotless. even the blankets had been aired. with time heavy on his hands, ted fretted. he collected the six grouse to which he was entitled and put them in the freezer. for lack of something else to do, he went twice more to the three sycamores near glory rock, the scene of smoky delbert's shooting. he didn't find anything, but he hadn't really expected to discover any new evidence or clues. looking for them had helped kill time while he waited anxiously for the bear hunters. deer were not especially hard to get, if all one wanted was venison; there were does and young deer that wouldn't even run from hunters. but the big old bucks with acceptable racks of antlers got big because they were wary and they were difficult to bring down. woodcock were sporting and who hunted grouse successfully had every right to call himself a hunter. squirrels were fun, providing one hunted them with a rifle instead of a shotgun. but unless one used dogs to bring them to bay--and it was against the law to use dogs on any big game in the mahela--black bears were far and away the most difficult game of all. keen-nosed and sharp-eared, they almost always knew when hunters were about. wise, they were well aware of the best ways to preserve their own hides. as circumstances prescribed, they could slink like ghosts or run like horses and they laid some heartbreaking trails. fifty miles was no unusual distance for a black bear to cover in a day and they were full of tricks. ted himself had followed black bears on snow and come to where the trail ended abruptly. the bears had walked backwards, stepping exactly in the tracks they had made running forward, and made a long sidewise jump that always delayed their pursuer and sometimes baffled him. some men who'd spent their lives in black bear country had yet to see their first one. it took hunters of the highest caliber to get them, and thus ted looked forward to those who would occupy his camp. but while he waited there was little else to do and he spent some of his time in lorton. just another sleepy little town for forty-nine weeks of the year, lorton was almost feverishly preparing for its moment of glory. if it was not exactly the center of all eyes, due to its geographical position as the town nearest the mahela, it was the center of deer hunting. every room in its two hotels and three motels had long since been reserved and any householder with a room to rent could have a choice of at least ten hunters. in the next few weeks, lorton would see at least twice as many deer hunters as it had permanent residents. its normally quiet streets would have bumper-to-bumper traffic. parking space would be at a premium; there'd be crowds waiting in every eating place; stores would sell more merchandise than they did at any other time of the year; and any lortonite who knew anything at all about the mahela, even if his knowledge was limited to how to get into it and out of it again, could have a job guiding deer hunters, if he wanted it. in addition, every camping ground in the mahela would have its quota of trailers, tents and hardy souls who either slept in cars or made their beds on the ground. sometimes, in the event of heavy storms, these venturesome ones got into trouble and were trapped until snowplows or rescue parties reached them. but this fall the weather had been mild, almost springlike, and there was every indication that it would continue to be so. twice, just after the grouse hunters left and again four days later, ted sent tammie to al. he would send him again just before deer season opened, for that was an uncertain time. there would be hunters everywhere and no assurance as to what they would do. horses, cattle, sheep, leaves fluttering in the wind and men had all been mistaken for bucks with nice racks of antlers and punctured accordingly with high-powered ammunition. if tammie should be delayed and have to come back in daylight, there was no guarantee whatever that some trigger-happy hunter would not consider him a choice black and white deer. stocking al with plenty of everything he needed meant that tammie would not have to go out again until deer season ended. ted spent the two days prior to the opening of bear season cutting more wood for the camp. on the afternoon before, he built and banked a fire in the heating stove so that the camp would be reasonably warm and dry when the hunters arrived. then he prepared his supper and tammie's and was ready for the knock on his door when it sounded. he opened the door and blinked in astonishment. the man who stood before him was young, not much older than ted himself, and very grave. he wore hunting clothes and hunting boots, but perhaps because they were new, they seemed somewhat ill-fitting. strapped around his middle were two belts, one containing a knife with a blade at least a foot long and the other supporting two enormous 45 caliber revolvers. he was making every effort to appear nonchalant, but it was an effort so strained that the effect was a little ludicrous. his eyes brimmed with a lilting excitement and a vast anticipation. "mr. harkness?" "yes." "i'm alex jackson." "oh, yes." ted extended his hand. "glad to see you, mr. jackson." "as you can see," alex jackson indicated the two revolvers, "i'm ready for them." "uh--are you going bear hunting with revolvers?" "oh, no! definitely not. i have my rifle, too. it's just that one must be prepared when the beasts charge." "ah--what'd you say?" "i said--oh, before i overlook it." alex jackson took out his wallet and counted out the thirty-five dollars still due on the camp rental. ted tried to collect his spinning thoughts. expecting a seasoned, experienced hunter, he'd met instead a youngster who talked seriously about black bears charging. or hadn't ted heard correctly? he slipped the money into his pocket and looked sidewise at his guest. "if you'll follow me, i'll take you to the camp." "would you have a little time to talk?" "of course." "may i bring the fellows in?" "certainly." the man turned to beckon, and somebody shut off the car's idling motor and flicked off its lights. five more hunters came into the house, and ted was introduced as they came. none were older than alex jackson. two, alex's brother paul and a youngster named philip tarbox, looked as though they should be behind their high-school desks, rather than in a hunting camp. alex jackson turned with a smile. "now you know us. how do you like us?" "fine," ted murmured. "uh--how much bear hunting have any of you done?" alex jackson's eyes were full of dreams. "none of us have ever hunted any big game, but i've read all about it." "you've never hunted?" "not big game," alex jackson said modestly. "you see, i just came of age last month and thus was able to handle my own affairs. but i've always wanted to hunt big game, especially bears." "do--do your folks know you're here?" "paul and i haven't any, and i am now paul's guardian. but the other fellows' parents do. yes, of course, and they were glad to have them in my charge. i've been counsellor for three summers at camp monawami. you needn't worry about our ability to handle firearms. we've all hunted rabbits. but i would like to ask your advice." "sure." ted felt weak. "philip, steve, arnold and wilson are armed with nothing but shotguns. do you think i should return to the town through which we just passed and buy them rifles and revolvers?" "gosh no!" "i'm worried," alex jackson said seriously. "grimshaw, in his _bears of the north_, says that when the beasts charge--" "grimshaw was writing about grizzlies. these are black bears." "oh!" alex jackson elevated his brows. "you can say definitely that they will not charge?" "nobody can say that. they're wild animals." "i thought so!" alex jackson seemed vastly relieved. "will a shotgun halt them when they charge?" "oh, yes." ted wished he could sink through the floor. expecting hunters, he had his hands full of what, very literally, were babes in the woods. but they had a great dream and a great hope, and regardless of who told them that not once in 1000 times will even a wounded black bear charge a hunter, they wouldn't believe it because they did not care to believe it. they had come bear hunting to live dangerously! alex jackson nodded happily. "thank you very much. now will you please show us the camp?" "follow me." as he drove up the lorton road, ted gave himself over to his own grim thoughts. obviously, there was much more to building and renting camps than met the casual eye. one never knew who was coming or what they'd do. now he was certain only that this crew of naive hopefuls should not venture into the mahela alone. he wasn't even sure that they should be permitted to stay in camp without supervision, but he'd risk that much for at least one night. he parked in front of the camp, waited for his guests and admitted them. "just what i'd hoped for!" alex jackson exclaimed. "semi-primitive surroundings! delightful!" ted asked, "can you handle the stoves and everything?" "oh, yes! oh, indeed yes! but perhaps you will tell us where we have the best chance of encountering bears?" "i'll do better than that. i'll show you." "that's good of you. would you care to start at daylight?" "i'll be here." "we'll be ready." * * * * * on arriving at the camp a half hour before daylight the next morning, ted saw that it was not burned down and that his young guests had made no obvious blunders. rather, with breakfast eaten and the dishes stacked away, they seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves. but, even though they knew what to do around a camp, the fact remained that none of them had ever hunted big game. ted exchanged greetings and looked out of the window. renting hunting camps might be a nice way to earn a living, but there must be easier ones! the very fact that he'd rented his camp to them implied an obligation. six hunters who knew exactly what to do had little enough chance of getting a bear. these youngsters had one in a thousand. but if there was any way to do it, ted still had to offer them their money's worth and he considered himself responsible for them. sending them into the mahela alone probably, and at the least, meant that they would get lost. "ready?" he asked. "let's go!" alex jackson said happily. ted led the six into the lightening morning. since there was no snow, it was futile even to think of tracking a bear. without any experience, these youngsters had no hope whatever of staging a successful drive, or putting four of their number in favorable shooting positions while the rest beat through the forest and tried to drive a bear past them. only alex jackson and his brother were armed with rifles, therefore they were the only two who had even a slight chance of getting a bear, should one be sighted at long range. but the possibilities of even seeing a bear were so slim anyway that ted had not wanted alex to buy rifles for the other four. there was just one faint hope.... this was the season of the great harvest. frost had opened the pods on the beech trees and beech nuts had fallen like rain into the forest litter below. tiny things, they were in vast quantity. deer, bears, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, foxes, practically every creature in the mahela was spending almost full time filling itself with beech nuts or storing them away. winter, that would bring hunger and lean bellies, was just ahead and well the wild things knew it. if ted posted his crew at favorable places among the beech trees and if they sat absolutely quiet, one or more of them might at least see a bear. very definitely there was not much of a chance, but there was none at all if they did anything else. al had told of a lot of bears in carter valley and ted took his hunters there. he left them in various strategic places where scraped and pawed leaves told their own story of being turned aside so that hungry creatures might partake of the beech nuts hidden beneath. lacking snow, there was no foolproof way to tell just what had been scraping or pawing, but something had and it might be bears. after the rest had been posted, ted took alex jackson out to the rim of carter valley. the slope pitched sharply downwards and rose just as sharply on the other side, but here the valley was shallow, with perhaps a hundred yards to its floor. it was possibly another hundred yards from rim to rim, and the opposite rim was almost treeless. about a half mile away across the treeless slope was a crumbling slag pile. years ago a vein of coal had been discovered here and mined as long as it paid off. but it had ceased to pay and had been abandoned long before ted was born. only the tunnel and the slag pile were left. the opposite slope was covered with beech brush that would be jungle thick to anyone within it. but from this vantage point, eyes could penetrate the brush. any bear going up or down the valley, and one might do just that, would certainly travel through the beech brush and any hunter posted here would surely have some good shooting. ted turned to alex jackson. "you stay here." "here?" "yes. move as little as possible and make no noise. watch the beech brush across there. sooner or later a bear's going through it. i'll pick you up tonight." "right-o." that night, the bear hunters were still reasonably happy. all had seen squirrels and feeding grouse. four had seen deer and three had watched turkeys feeding. paul jackson had thought he'd seen a bear, but it turned out to be a black squirrel running on the opposite side of a fallen tree, with only its bobbing back appearing now and then. for the next few days, the sextette stayed quite happy. then deer, squirrels and turkeys began to pall. they were proud bear hunters, and so far they hadn't seen even a bear's track. the last day, disappointment was in full reign. they'd not only told their friends they were going to get a bear but, ted suspected, alex jackson had done considerable talking about the way bears charged hunters. nevertheless, they all followed ted back into carter valley and the five younger hunters took the places assigned them. it was the best way. they'd occupied these same stands for six days without seeing any bears, but sooner or later the law of averages would send one along. with alex jackson in tow, ted started back toward the valley's rim. alex jackson touched his arm. "i say, would you mind if i just wandered about on my own?" "not if that's the way you want it." alex jackson had arrived so full of dreams and spirit and now he seemed so despondent. "i won't get lost--and i may find something," he said quietly. "good luck," ted replied gently. ted wandered gloomily out to the rim of the valley and sat down in the place alex jackson had been occupying. not every hunter can leave the woods with a full bag of game, but ted felt that, somehow, he had failed this eager young group. his guests might at least have _seen_ a bear. carrying no rifle--he was the guide--and with nothing special to do, ted basked in the warm sunshine. an hour later, his eye was caught by motion down the valley. coming out of the semi-doze into which he had fallen, he looked sharply at it and gasped. a bear, not a monstrous creature but no cub--it weighed perhaps 250 pounds--was coming through the beech brush. it was about two hundred yards down the valley and halfway up the other slope, and it was not in the slightest hurry. it stopped to sniff at some interesting thing it discovered and turned to retrace its steps a few yards. then it came on. ted groaned inwardly. a rifleman posted here could have an easy shot--and alex jackson had sat here idly for six days! the bear came on for another sixty yards, lay down beside a huge boulder and prepared itself for a nap. ted crawled away. bears have a remarkable sense of scent and good hearing, but very weak eyes. this one couldn't see him. if it smelled him, it certainly would not be where it was. if he was very careful, it might not hear him. as soon as ted thought he was far enough from the valley's rim, he rose and ran back to where he'd left paul jackson. that alert youngster heard him coming and had his rifle ready, but its muzzle was pointed at the ground. paul jackson lacked experience, but not sense. he wasn't going to shoot at anything until he knew what was in front of his rifle. ted came close and whispered, "come on! i've got one spotted!" "you have?" "take it easy and quiet! he won't be there if you don't!" nearing the valley's rim, ted dropped back to a crawl. he peered at the boulder and breathed easily again; the bear had not moved. he put his mouth very close to paul jackson's ear. "there he is!" "where?" "just to the right of that big boulder!" "i see him!" paul jackson knelt, rested his right elbow on his right knee, raised his rifle--and ted groaned silently. the youngster's stance was perfect, but so was his buck fever. the rifle shook like an aspen leaf in a high wind. it blasted, and ted saw the bullet kick up leaves twenty feet to one side of the sleeping bear. the bear sprang up as though launched from a catapult and kept on springing. straight up the slope he went, and across the nearly treeless summit. ted shouted, "shoot!" "did you say shoot?" paul jackson was still in a daze, bewildered by this thing that could not be but was. the bear was four hundred yards away when he raised his rifle a second time, shot and succeeded only in speeding the running beast on its way. he lowered his rifle and muttered, "i guess i'm not a very good hunter." "nobody connects every time." the bear was running full speed toward the old mine tunnel. surprised, its first thought had been to put distance between the hunter and itself, but now it was planning very well. the old tunnel had one outlet that led into a dense thicket of laurel. certainly the bear knew all about this and he would go into the thicket. definitely, he was lost to the young hunter. then, within the mouth of the old tunnel itself, another rifle cracked spitefully. the running bear swapped ends, rolled over and lay still. alex jackson emerged from the tunnel. * * * * * twenty minutes later, when paul and ted reached him, he was sitting quietly beside his trophy and looking at it with unbelieving eyes. but they were wonderfully happy eyes. long ago he had dreamed his dream. now--and probably it never had been before and never would be again in hunting annals--he had seen it come true. he looked dreamily up at ted and paul and his voice was proof that, whether it's bringing down a bear, shooting a hole-in-one, or playing a perfect game of chess, any dream can be as bright as the dreamer makes it. "it charged," he said. 10 damon in the parking lot beside lorton's little railway station, ted sprawled wearily in his pickup truck. it had taken much of the day to bring alex jackson's bear out of carter valley. the animal might have been skinned where it fell, cut up and brought out piece by piece, but not one of the young hunters would hear of such a thing. they had come a long way and worked hard for this trophy; they would take it with them intact. it had been necessary to do things the hard way. dragging it would have injured the fine pelt, so ted had lashed its feet to a long pole and put a man on each end. the start had been easy, but game carried in such a fashion has an astonishing way of adding weight. by the time they'd traveled a quarter of a mile, instead of a mere 250, the bear weighed at least 2500 pounds, and the panting carriers were relieving each other every fifty paces. finally, they'd reached an old tote road up which ted could drive with his pickup and the rest had been easy. they'd lashed the bear on alex jackson's car and six exhausted but happy youngsters had piled in to begin their long journey homewards. ted grinned to himself. he'd spent a week with the jackson party solely because he'd thought they would get into trouble if he did not. no guide's fee had been expected or asked, but, just the same, it might have been good business. the fathers of three of the youngsters were ardent hunters themselves. ted had been assured over and over again that they'd hear about the mahela and be directed to ted, far and away the world's best guide. the youngsters were certainly coming back for fishing season and to spend part of their summer in the mahela and they'd want the cabin. ted's grin faded. next year there might not be any cabin to rent. he stretched wearily in the darkness and yawned. he'd reached home just in time to pack tammie and send him on what must be his last visit to al until deer season ended. sending him so early might have been taking a chance, but when ted next returned home he'd have a guest with him, and letting anyone else see the packed tammie would surely be taking more of a chance. ted had fixed a meal for himself, taken two woodcock from the freezer and put them in cold water to thaw. then he had driven in to meet john wilson. the little station's windows looked as though they hadn't been washed for the past nine months and probably they hadn't. lights glowed dully behind them, and the clicking of the telegrapher's key sounded intermittently. ted looked about. the parking lot was full, and the night before deer season opened was the only time throughout the whole year when it ever was. though by far most of the deer hunters came by car, some traveled by train from wherever they lived to the city of dartsburg, sixty miles away. then they came to lorton on what some of the local wags described as the "tri-weekly"--it went down one week and tried to come back the next. actually, it was a daily train, and in spite of a superfluity of jokes and near-jokes about it, it kept a tight schedule. when ted's watch read ten past seven, he left the pickup and went to stand in the shadows on the waiting platform. the drivers of other cars joined him, and here and there a little group of men engaged in conversation. then the train's whistle announced its approach and every eye turned down the tracks. ordinarily, the train pulled a combined baggage and mail car and one coach, but on this eventful night a second coach had been resurrected from somewhere and every window gleamed. the train hissed to a halt and hunters started piling off. without exception, they were dressed in hunting gear; red coats, red caps and whatever they fancied in the way of trousers and footwear. they lugged everything from suitcases to rucksacks and, invariably, either strapped to the luggage or carried in a free hand, rifles were in evidence. the men waiting on the platform went forward to greet hunters they knew and bundled them off to cars. jimmy deeks, lorton's only taxi driver, called his "taxi!" just once and was stampeded by a dozen hunters who wanted to go to a hotel or motel. there was some little argument and, after promising to return for the rest, jimmy went off with as many hunters as his cab would hold. the arriving crowd thinned rapidly and ted looked with some bewilderment on those who were left. he'd never seen john wilson and hadn't the faintest idea as to the sort of man he must look for. certainly he'd be alone, and the only hunters left were in groups of three or more. then dan taylor, the station agent, passed and saw ted. "hi, ted." "hi, dan." "waitin' for somebody?" "yup." "well if he ain't on this train, he's sure walkin'!" the station agent guffawed at his own not very subtle humor and moved on. a second later, a man detached himself from one of the groups and approached ted. he was not tall, even in hunting boots he lacked five and a half inches of ted's six feet. he wore a red-plaid jacket, a red-checked cap and black wool trousers that tucked into his boots. in his right hand was a leather suitcase and in his left he carried a cased rifle. despite the gray hair that escaped from beneath his cap, he walked with a light and firm tread and humor glinted in his eyes. he asked, "are you ted harkness?" "that's right." the man put his suitcase down and thrust out his right hand. "i'm john wilson." ted shook the proffered hand. "i--i thought you'd be different." "don't let my grotesque appearance frighten you. i'm harmless." ted blurted out, "you said in your letter that you're a doddering _old_ man." "ten years older than methuselah." john wilson laughed and the sound was good to hear. "i'm glad to know you, ted." "and i you. shall we get out to the house?" "if you don't mind, i'd like to grab a bite to eat. the dining car on the limited was crowded and i couldn't get in." "the cafes will be crowded and we'll have to wait. i'll fix you something, if you want to come along now." "fine!" ted picked up the suitcase, escorted john wilson to the pickup and put the luggage in the rear. about to open the door for his guest, he was forestalled when john wilson opened it himself and climbed in. ted settled in the driver's seat. "mind if i smoke?" john wilson asked. "not at all." he lighted a pipe and sat puffing on it while ted steered expertly through lorton's hunting season traffic. a happy warmth enveloped him. he liked most people, but very few times in his life had he been drawn so close to one on such short acquaintance. john wilson was probably ten years older than al, but far from doddering. he was that rare person whom age has made mellow rather than caustic. then they were on the lorton road and started into the mahela. john wilson spoke for the first time since leaving the station. "they crowd in." "for deer season they do," ted agreed. "the day after it ends, you could shoot a cannon down main street and never hit a person." they passed a tent set up beside the road, and a gasoline lantern burning inside gave its walls a ghostly translucence. there was a neat pile of wood beside it and wood smoke drifted from a tin pipe that curled through the wall. the car in which the campers had come was backed off the road. it was a good camp and as they passed ted was aware that john wilson knew it was good. but he said nothing, and ted had the impression that he did not talk unless he had something worthwhile to say. a quarter mile beyond the camp, the truck's probing lights reflected from the startlingly bright eyes of a deer. ted slowed. deer were always running back and forth across the road and, since bright lights dazzled them, they would not always get out of the way. they came closer and the lights revealed very clearly a magnificent buck. so alert that every muscle was tense, he stood broadside. one rear leg was a bit ahead of the other, the animal was poised for instant flight. his antlers were big and branching, and in the car lights they looked perfectly symmetrical. it was a splendid creature, one that would command attention anywhere. after ten seconds, it leaped into the forest and disappeared. john wilson said, "a nice head." he spoke as though the buck had delighted and warmed him, but there was in his voice none of the babbling enthusiasm which some hunters, upon seeing such a buck, might express. obviously, he had seen big bucks before. ted commented, "he was a darn' big buck." "as big," and a smile lurked in john wilson's voice, "as your damon and pythias?" ted answered firmly, "no sir. he was not." "then i am in the right place?" "i hope so, mr. wilson." "it'd be just as simple to call me john." ted grinned. "all right, john." they passed more tents and trailers, swerved to miss a wild-eyed doe that almost jumped into the truck. finally, ted drove thankfully up the harkness driveway. the house was stocked with everything they needed, and as far as he was concerned, he was willing to stay there until deer season ended. at any rate, he hoped he'd have to do no more night driving. he escorted his guest in, snapped the light on and waited for what he thought was coming next. it came. john wilson glanced about and he needed no more than a glance. it was enough to tell him what was here and his voice said he liked it. "you do all right for yourself." "glad you like it. if you'll make yourself at home, i'll have something to eat rustled up in a little while." "let me help you." "it's a one-man job." john wilson reclined in an easy chair while ted went into the kitchen. he put a great slab of butter in a skillet, let it brown, seasoned the brace of woodcock, put them into the pan, covered it and turned the flame lower. he prepared a fresh pot of coffee, biscuits, potatoes and a vegetable. all the while, he waited nervously for tammie to whine at the door. there'd have to be some nice timing when the collie returned. ted must slip out, strip the harness off and let the dog in without letting john wilson know he'd worn a harness. when the meal was ready and tammie still had not come, ted's nervousness mounted. the dog was a half hour late already. what could have happened out in the mahela? ted put the dinner on the table and tried to sound casual as he announced, "chow's ready." "this is 'chow'?" john wilson chided him. "butter-browned woodcock is deserving of a better name. let me at it!" he cut a slice of the dark breast and began to eat it. "_mm-m!_ that's good! something wrong, ted?" "yes--uh--that is, no." "you're nervous as a wet cat." "my dog's out and i'm a little worried about--there he is now! go right ahead and eat." tammie's whine sounded again and ted slipped out the back door. hastily he knelt to strip the harness off and take al's note from the pocket. then he threw the harness aside--he'd get it in the early morning--tucked the note in his pocket and, with tammie beside him, went into the house. john wilson stopped eating to admire. "that's a beautiful collie. what's his name?" "tammie, and he's just as good as he looks." tammie sniffed delicately at their guest, received a pat on the head and went to stretch out on his bearskin. john wilson glanced at him again. "aren't you afraid to let him run?" "after tomorrow, poor tammie will be confined to quarters until deer season ends." john wilson nodded. "that's wise, some hunters will shoot at anything. what time do you plan to get out in the morning?" "whenever you care to leave." "isn't it traditional for hunters to be in the woods at dawn?" "that's right." "then let's not violate revered custom. where do these two big bucks hang out?" "they've been on burned mountain for a long while. hunters may put them off there and then again they may not." "where do they lurk during deer season?" "nobody knows exactly," ted admitted. "they've been seen in a dozen parts of the mahela. sometimes they've been 'seen' in a dozen different places at the same hour on the same day. we'll just have to plan as we go along." "that suits me. i'll help with the dishes." "i'll do them." "you'll spoil me!" "take it easy while you can. you're in for some rough days." john wilson resumed sitting in the easy chair. before ted washed the dishes, he stole a glance at al's note. ted; i got enuf. don't send tammy agen til deer seson ends. i wish your sport luk. i saw one of the big buks on burned mountin today. gess you'll find both. your dad ted nodded, satisfied. if damon and pythias were still on burned mountain, he knew exactly where to go. he touched the note to the flame, waited until it burned to ashes, swept them into a wastebasket and joined his guest. john wilson, looking at the dying embers in the fireplace, asked quietly, "got your campaign mapped, general?" "only the first skirmish. i know--that is, i'm pretty sure that damon and pythias are still on burned mountain." "then at least we'll know where to find them." "i believe so. do you mind if i carry a rifle?" "why, i hope you do." "i won't shoot either damon or pythias, even if i should get a shot," ted promised. "but i would like to get a buck. it helps a lot on the meat bills." "by all means get one. pretty warm for this time of year, isn't it?" "too warm. some snow would be a great help." they exchanged more hunting talk, then went to bed. an hour before dawn the next morning, after ordering tammie to stay in the house, ted closed the back door behind him and started up hawkbill with his guest. he walked slowly, for hawkbill was a hard climb for a young man, even in daylight. though john wilson was by no means doddering, neither was he young. ted stopped to rest at judicious intervals. the darkness lifted slowly, but it was still a thick curtain of gray when, in the distance, a fusillade of shots rang out. ted grimaced. some fool, who couldn't possibly see what he was shooting at, had shot anyhow. that was one way hunters managed to kill each other instead of game. as daylight became stronger, shots were more frequent. some quite near and some far-off, the sounds were a ragged discord, with now four or five hunters shooting at the same time, then a single shot or succession of shots, then a lull with no shooting. hunters were seeing deer and shooting, but definitely not all of them were connecting. as ted knew, many a deer, many a herd of deer, had emerged unhurt after a hundred or more shots were fired at them. ted mounted the crest of hawkbill and turned to offer a hand to his panting guest. john wilson wiped his moist brow. "whew! why didn't you tell me we were going to climb the matterhorn?" ted grinned sympathetically. "you're up it now, and we can see what there is to be seen." ted buttoned his jacket. the weather was unseasonably warm, but here on hawkbill's summit, little fingers of cold that probed at his exposed nose and throat told of chillier things to come. while the temperature made no difference, snow would increase their chances a hundred per cent. he studied burned mountain. spread out in a thin skirmish line, a party of red-clad hunters were about halfway up it. a deer fled before one of them and the man stopped to raise his rifle. there sounded the weapon's sharp bark, but the deer ran on and disappeared in some brush. john wilson said, "he should have had that one with a slingshot." "wonder if he could tell whether it was a buck or doe. i--there he is!" "there who is?" "one of those big bucks! see him?" "no." "a quarter of the way below the summit. look a hundred yards to the right of that light-colored patch of ground and thirty yards down slope." "i still don't--oh, my gosh!" he uncased his binoculars, put them to his eyes, focused and stared for a full three minutes. when he took the glasses down, there was a gleam of purest ecstasy in his eyes and at the same time a little awe. "there isn't a buck that big!" he murmured breathlessly. "look again," ted invited. "wonder where the dickens the other one is." he searched the briers, a little puzzled. damon and pythias were known as such because, except during the rutting season, they were never far apart. but definitely only one of the two huge deer was on burned mountain now. it was very unusual. ted shrugged. there was no unchangeable rule that said the two big bucks must always be together. maybe the sound of shooting or the hunters going into the woods had caused them to separate, or perhaps they had parted for reasons of their own. the shooting continued spasmodically, and not too far away came the outlandish cacophony of shrieks and shouts that meant a hunting party was staging a deer drive. a thin voice screamed, "he's coming your way, harvey!" as ted continued to watch the big buck, john wilson became restless. "let's go after him." "wait a bit," ted advised. "it isn't going to be that easy." the climbing hunters, about a hundred and fifty yards apart, broke out of the forest and into the briers. two of them were so placed that, unless he moved, they would pass the big buck at almost equal distances. but the buck let them pass without so much as flicking an ear. he knew very well exactly where both hunters were, but he was no fawn to panic because men were in the woods. the buck had a good hiding place, knew it, and he had eluded hunters this time merely by doing nothing. "he's smart, all right." john wilson had appreciated the strategy, too. "what do you suggest, ted?" "i'm going over to flush him out. you stay here and let me know what he does." "but--what good will that do?" "deer are pretty much creatures of habit. he's in that bed now because he likes it. if he doesn't become too frightened today, the chances are good, both that he'll go into the same bed tonight and that he'll do the same thing when he's flushed out of it tomorrow. only you'll be waiting for him." john wilson nodded. "that listens all right." "wave your red hat when he goes," ted directed. "i'll see that and wait for you, and we can figure our next move afterwards." unencumbered by an older companion, ted half-ran down the opposite slope of hawkbill and started swiftly up burned mountain. he had no hope of seeing the buck, but just going to the bed where it had been lying was within itself no easy task. viewed from the summit of hawkbill, various parts of burned mountain had various distinguishing characteristics. but once on the mountain itself, everything looked alike. ted emerged from the forest into the briers, crashed a way through them, and when he thought he was very near the place where the buck had bedded, he turned to see john wilson waving his hat. ted sat down for what he was sure would be a long wait. he had climbed to this place in twenty-five minutes, but he was eighteen years old. an hour later, he heard john wilson's, "hall-oo!" "here!" ted yelled. carrying his hat, streaming perspiration, but entirely happy, john wilson panted up to join him. "he went out," he said cheerfully, "and i'll swear he flushed no more than twenty yards ahead of you! thought sure you'd see him." "where'd he go?" "quartered up the mountain and crossed the summit just a little to the right of some white birches." ted nodded. the course described by john wilson had kept the big buck in thick cover all the way. it was the route he might have been expected to take, except that there were a dozen others with brush just as thick. however, there was every chance that he would go the same way a second time and tomorrow morning john wilson would be posted in the birches while ted tried to drive the buck through. "what's it like on top?" john wilson asked. "patches of laurel and rhododendron. we'll go see what we can do." * * * * * that night, tired and hungry, the pair made their way down burned mountain. they hadn't seen the monster buck again, but were in no wise disheartened. there were twenty days of the season left and john wilson had had, and failed to take, a chance at a very good eight-point buck. obviously, he'd meant it when he said he wanted only the biggest. ted prepared supper and washed the dishes afterwards.... the two hunters were sprawled in the living room when tammie whined to announce that someone was coming. a minute later there was a knock at the door and ted opened it to confront george stacey. "come on in, george." "cain't. gotta git home. thought i'd stop an' tell ya that thornton, down to crestwood, fetched in one of them big bucks today." "he did?" "sure did, an' hit's big enough for ary two bucks. go see hit. hit's a'hangin' on the game pole." "thanks, george." "yer welcome. go see hit." "want to go?" ted asked his guest. "sure thing!" the night air had a distinct bite, and a definite promise of freezing cold to be. ted turned the heater on, and after they'd gone a mile or so, the pickup's cab filled with welcome warmth. as soon as they came in sight of crestwood it was evident that something unusual had occurred at that resort. carl thornton provided parking space for his guests. now all the available area was filled and parked cars lined both sides of the driveway. ted backed into one of the few empty spaces. he and john wilson got out to join the crowd at the game rack. crestwood's hunters had brought in seven other bucks this opening day and three of them were big deer. but the biggest seemed puny beside the monster that the crowd was eyeing. its antlers were laced close to the game pole, but its outstretched hoofs nearly touched the ground. if this buck did not set a new record, it would come very close to so doing. john wilson murmured, "gad, what a buck! is the other as big?" "they're twins." ted went up for a closer look. he put his hand on the hanging buck and set it to swinging gently. he gasped. as unobtrusively as possible, hoping none had noticed his outburst, he drew back into the crowd. but several matters that had been very cloudy had become very clear. 11 pythias ted lingered on the fringes of the crowd, and in his mind's eye he conjured up an image of nels anderson. nels always earned his pay plus a little bit more, and ted wondered why carl thornton had fired him. but he wondered no more. the great buck hung on crestwood's game rack and bore carl thornton's deer tag, but it had never been killed today. the weather, though colder, still had not dipped to the freezing point and the big buck was frozen solidly. the others hung limp and pliable. failing to persuade ted to hunt the big bucks for him, obviously thornton had hired someone else and ted's thoughts swung naturally to smoky delbert. smoky would do anything for money and he knew how to bargain. if he'd hired smoky, thornton must have paid a stiff price and the rest was simple. crestwood's walk-in refrigerator had a freezing compartment that would accommodate a side of beef. it had been necessary only to bring the buck to crestwood--no impossible or even difficult feat--hang it in the freezer, and on this, the first day of the season, bring it out again. nels, of course, had been fired solely to keep him from discovering what was in the freezer. it would hurt both thornton and crestwood if it were known that thornton had bought his buck. the favorable publicity for which he'd hoped, and which he'd certainly get unless ted exposed him, would turn to scathing condemnation. alan russell, crestwood's part-time bookkeeper, broke from the crowd and came to ted's side. "hello, ted." "hi, alan." "some buck, eh?" "sure is," ted said wryly. "i can imagine thornton telling his adoring guests just what a daniel boone he had to be to get it." "after this season he won't be telling 'em at crestwood." "why not?" "thornton's sold out." "sold out!" "that's right." "when did all this happen?" "it's been hanging fire for a couple of months, but the prospective buyers met thornton's price only three days ago. it was a stiff price." "are you sure?" "i'm handling the book work." ted said happily, "alan, i love you!" the other looked suspiciously at him. "do you feel all right?" "i never felt better!" ted's heart sang. game laws were game laws, and they applied to carl thornton as well as to everyone else. but crestwood was important to the economy of the mahela. one did not jeopardize the livelihood of those who worked there, or the sorely needed money crestwood's guests spent in the mahela, because of a single illegally killed buck or half a dozen of them. but now ted was free to act. he sought and found john wilson. "shall we go?" "guess we might as well. looking holes right through this buck won't bring the other one in range. wonder how the lucky cuss got it?" "i have an idea." "i expect you have. _br-r!_ it's getting cold." "it will be colder. we have to hurry." john wilson looked at him curiously. "what's up?" "i'll tell you in a minute." they got into the pickup. ted started the motor that had not yet had time to cool completely, and a trickle of warmth came from the heater. john wilson looked sharply at ted. "all right. give." "did you notice anything unusual about that buck?" "only that it's the biggest i ever saw." "it's also frozen solid." "i--i don't understand." "the weather hasn't been cold enough to freeze deer. thornton never killed that buck today." "then he--?" "that's it exactly." there was a short silence. john wilson broke it with a quiet, "is there a story behind it?" "there is." "want to tell me?" ted told of his love for the mahela, and of a heart-rooted desire to dedicate his life to helping people enjoy it. he spoke of his work at crestwood, and of his great dream to have a similar place, one day. he related as much as he knew, which was as much as anyone knew, of the story of damon and pythias. he told of carl thornton's commissioning him to get both bucks before the season opened, of his refusal to do so and the consequent loss of his job. he described the camp, and how and why it was built. then the bombshell; smoky delbert's shooting and al a fugitive in the mahela. he spoke of his father's near-passionate interest in true conservation, and of his near-hatred for those who violated the sportsman's code. however, aware of crestwood's importance to the mahela, knowing that this violation would hurt and perhaps ruin thornton, al himself would not have reported it. but now that thornton was leaving, was there any reason why he should be shielded? there was another brief silence before john wilson said quietly, "don't do it, ted." "you mean let him get away with it?" "under any other circumstances," john wilson said, "i'd say drive into lorton and report him to the game warden. as things are with you now, if you do, you'll hate yourself. how are you going to decide exactly whether you turned him in to settle a grudge or because you're a believer in conservation? i agree that he should be arrested and fined. but arresting him won't return the buck to burned mountain. it won't do anything at all except bring thornton a hundred-dollar fine, and he can spare the money. yes, i'd say let him go and good riddance." "but--" "you asked my advice and you got it. if you turn him in, you'll hurt yourself more than you will him. by all means report law violators, but never let even a suspicion of personal prejudice influence your report. it won't work." "i guess you're right." "i hope i am." that night the temperature fell to zero, and every buck on every game rack in the mahela froze solid. there was no longer any evidence whatever to prove that damon, as ted thought of the great buck on crestwood's game rack, had been taken by other than legal means. even if ted wanted to do something now, his chance was gone. * * * * * for twenty days, always leaving the harkness house before dawn and never getting back until after dark, ted and his guest had hunted pythias. they had seen deer, dozens of them, and ted had dropped a nice eight-point so close to his house that they had needed only fifteen minutes to dress it out, slide it in over the six inches of crisp snow that now lay in the mahela and hang it on the game rack. john wilson had had his choice of several bucks, and at least four of them had been fine trophies. but he had come to hunt the big buck that still lurked on burned mountain and he was determined to get that one or none. it looked as though it would be none, ted reflected as he sat in front of the blazing fire, tearing a bolt of red cloth into strips. pythias, who had sucked in his woodcraft with his mother's milk, had only contempt for any mere human who coveted his royal rack of antlers. the second day of the season, giving john wilson ample time to post himself in the white birches, ted had gone to the bed in which they'd seen pythias on the first day. a small buck and two does had gone through, but pythias had not. most deer have favorite runways, or paths, that are as familiar to them as sidewalks are to humans. pythias seldom used one, and he never took the same route twice in succession. hunted hard every day, he hadn't let himself be chased from the top of burned mountain. staying there, he knew what he was doing. sparsely forested, the top of the mountain was given over to a devil's tangle of twining laurel and snarled rhododendron. some of the stems from which the latter evergreen grew were thick as tree trunks, and some of the winding, snaking branches were thirty feet long. it was heartbreaking work just to go through one, and impossible for a man to do so without making as much noise as a running horse. once within the laurel or rhododendron, and some thickets were a combination of both, it was seldom possible to see seven yards in any direction. often, visibility was restricted to seven feet. pythias haunted those thickets that varied from an eighth of an acre to perhaps eighty acres. chased out of one, he entered another, flitting like a gray ghost through the scrub aspen that separated them. then he lingered until the hunters came and entered another thicket. only when going through the aspens, where he knew very well he could be seen, did he run. in the thickets he walked or slunk, and he never made a foolish move. * * * * * every day there'd been snow--and john wilson and ted had had tracking snow for seventeen of the twenty days--they'd found pythias' bed and his fresh tracks. his hoofmarks were big and round, and they indicated him as surely as a robe of ermine or a scepter marks a king. but except for the first day, when he'd been hopelessly out of range, the two hunters hadn't seen him even once. pythias could never conceal the fact that he had walked in the snow. but he could hide himself. methodically, ted continued to tear strips from his bolt of red cloth and lay them on the table. tammie, grown fat and lazy during the three weeks he'd been confined to the house--even though ted had let him out for a run every night--raised his head and blinked solemnly at the fireplace. bone tired, john wilson turned in his chair and grinned. "you have enough of those red ribbons so you could fasten one on half the deer in the mahela. think they'll work?" "i don't know of anything else. we've tried everything." "it's been a good hunt," john wilson said contentedly, "and a most instructive one. i don't have to have a buck." "but you'd like one?" "not unless it's pythias." "we have one more day and i have plans. here, let me show you." ted tore the last of his red cloth into strips, pulled his chair up to the table, took a sheet of paper and a pencil and drew a map. john wilson leaned over his shoulder. "this is the fordham road," ted explained, "the first left-hand fork leading from the lorton road. climb over the mountain and drop down the other side. the first valley you'll see, it's right here, is coon valley. you can't miss it, there's a turnout and hunters have been using it. park the truck and walk up coon valley. in about half a mile, or right here, you'll come to three sycamores near a big boulder. on this slope," ted indicated it with his pencil, "there's a thicket of beech scrub. you can see everything in it from the top of the boulder, glory rock. climb it and wait." "that's all? just wait?" "that's all. if i can put him out of the laurel, there's at least an even chance he'll cross the ridge and try to get back into the thickets at the head of coon valley. if he does, he'll come through the beech scrub." "and if you can't?" "he won't." "what time do you want me there, ted?" "there's no great hurry. he isn't going to leave his thickets easily. it will take you about an hour to reach the mouth of coon valley and maybe another half hour or forty-five minutes to get set on glory rock. if you leave the house by half-past six, you should be there soon after eight. that's time enough." "how long should i wait?" "until i pick you up, and i will pick you up there. i may not come before dark. if i can put him past you, i will." "as you say, general." the tinny clatter of ted's alarm clock awakened him at half-past three the next morning. he reached down to shut it off, reset it for half-past five and stole in to put it near the still sleeping john wilson. ted breakfasted, gave tammie his food and a pat, donned his hunting jacket, put the strips of red cloth into the game pocket and stepped into the black morning. he bent his head against the north wind and started climbing burned mountain. he knew as he climbed that he was pitting himself against a force as old as time. the woodcraft of pythias, or any deer, shamed that of the keenest human. deer could identify every tiny sound, every wind that blew and the many scents those winds carried. they knew everything there was to know about their wilderness and they were all masters of it. no human could hope to equal their senses. but pythias, the greatest and most cunning of all, was still a beast. he knew and could interpret the wilderness, but he couldn't possibly apply reason to that which was not of the wilderness. if his confidence could be shaken.... it was still black night when ted reached the summit of burned mountain, but he had crossed and re-crossed it so many times in the past twenty days that he could do so in the darkness. pythias was there, and possibly he already knew that ted was back on the mountain. but he'd feel secure in the thicket where he was bedded and he would not go out until he was flushed. ted sought the aspen grown aisles between the thickets. he hung a strip of red cloth on a wind whipped branch, walked fifty yards and hung another. the night lifted and daylight came, and an hour later ted tied his last strip of cloth to a twig. carrying no rifle--but pythias couldn't possibly know that--he put his hands in his pockets to warm them. now he had to flush the big buck. he and his guest had left the great animal in one of the larger thickets last night, but it was almost certain that he hadn't passed the whole night there. ted circled the thicket, found pythias' unmistakable tracks and followed to where the big buck had nibbled tender young aspen shoots and pawed the snow to get at the dried grass beneath it. thereafter pythias had done considerable wandering. ted worked out the trail and discovered where his quarry had gone to rest in another thicket. he tracked him in, and he'd done this so many times that he knew almost exactly what to expect. the big buck would wait until he was sure someone was again on his trail, then he'd get up and sneak away. there would be nothing except tracks in the snow to mark his going. a man could not travel silently through the thickets, but a deer could. deep within the thicket, ted found the bed, a depression melted in the snow, to which pythias had retired when his wandering was done. the tracks leading away were fresh and sharp, no more than a couple of minutes old, but they were not the widely spaced ones of a running buck. knowing very well what he was doing, aware of the fact that he could not be seen while there, pythias always walked in the thickets. however, when he decided to leave this thicket, he had leaped through the scrub aspen separating it from the next one. it could have taken him no more than a second or so. if a hunter had been watching, he would have had just a fleeting shot and only a lucky marksman would have connected. ted followed fast. there were no cloth strips in these aspens. but when he came to where pythias had intended to leave the next thicket, he discovered where the big buck had set himself for the first leap then wheeled to slip back into the laurel. ten feet to one side, the strip of cloth that had turned him still whipped in the wind. pythias had tried again to leave the thicket, been turned a second time by another fluttering cloth and leaped wildly out at a place where ted had hung no ribbons. the buck's pattern changed completely. he was safe in the thickets, knew it, and had never deigned to run while sheltered by friendly brush. now he was running, either in great leaps that placed his bunched feet six yards apart or at a nervous trot. ted began to have hopes. pythias had the acute senses of a wild thing plus the cunning of a wise creature that had eluded every danger for years. but the wilderness he knew changed only with the changing seasons. what did the fluttering cloths mean? where had they come from? what peril did they indicate? pythias' tracks showed that he was becoming more nervous. ted pushed him hard. the buck could not reason, but if he passed enough of them safely and discovered for himself that there was no danger in the red ribbons, he would pay no more attention to them. an hour and a half after taking the track ted knew that, at least in part, he had succeeded. unable to decide for himself what the fluttering cloths meant, pythias swung away from the thickets into beech forest. now he ran continuously. in the thickets, knowing very well that he could not be seen, he had walked until the fluttering cloths introduced an unknown and possibly dangerous element. this was beech forest, with visibility of anywhere from fifty up to as much as two hundred and fifty yards. a hunter might be anywhere and well the buck knew it. he was going to offer no one a standing shot. ted followed swiftly, for now the hunt had a definite pattern. a young buck, chased out of the thickets on burned mountain, might linger in the beeches. a wise old one would hurry as fast as possible into the thickets at the head of coon valley, and the nearest route lay through the scrub beech at glory rock. ted was still a quarter of a mile away when he heard the single, sharp crack of a rifle. he left the trail and cut directly toward glory rock. a volley was very picturesque and sounded inspiring, but whoever ripped off half a dozen shots in quick succession was merely shooting, without much regard to aiming. ted murmured an old hunter's adage as he ran, "one shot, one deer. two shots, maybe one deer. three shots, no deer." he ran down the slope into coon valley and found john wilson standing over pythias. the hunter's delighted eyes met ted's, but mingled with his delight was a little sadness, too. "i now," john wilson said, "have lived." "you got him!" "i got him, poor fellow!" "he'll never be a better trophy than he is right now." it was true. at the height of his powers, pythias faced a certain decline. soon he would be old, and the wilderness is not kind to the old and infirm that dwell within it. john wilson laughed. "i know it. look at him! just look at him! i'll bet his base tine is thirteen inches long!" ted said, "ten inches." "are you trying to beat yourself out of seventy-five dollars? i did promise you twenty-five dollars for every inch in its longest tine, if i got a head that satisfied me! this is surely the one!" ted grinned. "i'll dress it for you," he offered. he turned the buck over, made a slit with his hunting knife and pulled the viscera out. at once it became evident that john wilson was the second hunter of whom pythias had run afoul, for he had been wounded before. ted probed interestedly. entering the flank, the bullet had missed the spine by two inches and any vital organs by a half inch. it had lodged in the thick loin, and nature had built a healing scab of tissue around it. ted probed it out with his knife and almost dropped the missile. in his hand lay one of carl thornton's distinctive, unmistakable, hand-loaded bullets. john wilson asked, "he's been wounded before, eh?" "yes!" "ted, i swear that you're more excited than i am!" _ted scarcely heard. he was here, beside glory rock, the day after smoky delbert was shot. damon and pythias, always together, and a deer so badly wounded that it couldn't possibly go on. damon hadn't gone on. only pythias had. hurt but not mortally, he had left enough blood on the leaves to convince ted that there'd been only one deer._ "when do you suppose he picked that one up?" john wilson asked. "i don't know." _carl thornton, who got what he wanted, had decided to get damon and pythias himself._ "he's darn' near as big as a horse," wilson said. "sure is." _a horse, a friendly, easily caught horse, that had gone down coon valley that night with damon on its back, then been released to go back up it._ "you certainly know how to field-dress a buck." "i've done it before." _smoky delbert, happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. thornton couldn't afford to be found out. smoky would blackmail him._ _thornton paying delbert's hospital bills._ "did i hit him square?" "a good neck shot." _factory-loaded ammunition that almost never failed to mushroom. hand-loaded cartridges that might fail._ john wilson fumbled in his pocket. "doggone, i seem to have lost my pipe." _al, forever losing his tobacco pouch, had gone to see carl thornton the day thornton fired ted._ ted wiped his knife blade on the snow, stood up and sheathed his knife. he looped a length of rope around the great buck's antlers. "he'll be easy to get out of here," he said. 12 al's betrayal deer season was ended and the village of lorton brooded moodily between the snowclad hills that flanked it. from now until arriving fishermen brought new excitement, lorton would know only that which arose from within itself. ted, who had put john wilson and his great buck on yesterday's outgoing train, steered his pickup down the street with its plow-thrown heaps of snow on either side and drew up in front of loring blade's house. he said, "stay here, tammie." the collie settled back into the seat. ted walked to the front door, knocked and was admitted by the game warden's attractive wife. "hello, ted." "hello, helen. is loring home?" "yes, he is. come on in." she escorted the boy into the living room, where, pajama-clad and with a pile of magazines beside him, loring blade lay on a davenport and sipped lazily from a cup of coffee. he looked up and grimaced. "whatever you want, i'm ag'in' it. i aim to stay here for the next nineteen years." ted grinned. "have they been pushing you pretty hard, loring?" "i've been on the go forty-seven hours a day and, at a conservative estimate, i've walked nine million miles since deer season opened." "was it bad?" "no worse than usual. most of the hunters who came in were a pretty decent lot. but there always is--and i suppose always will be--the wise guy who thinks he can get away with anything. i caught one joker with nine deer." "wow!" "he was fined," loring said happily, "a hundred dollars for each one and suspension of hunting privileges for five years." "smoky delbert give you any trouble?" "you know better than that. smoky can't walk a hundred yards from his house and won't be able to for a long while to come." "i feel kind of sorry for the poor cuss," ted murmured. loring blade looked at him sharply. "you didn't come here to ask me about smoky." "oh, yes i did. who talked with him after he was shot?" "i did, for one. why?" "what did he tell you?" the warden shrugged. "you know that as well as i do. smoky was walking up coon valley when your dad rose from behind glory rock and shot him." "can you tell me the exact story?" loring blade looked puzzled. "what do you want to know, ted?" "did smoky hear any shooting?" "come to think of it, a half minute or so before he got to glory rock he heard two shots." ted's heart pounded excitedly. the two shots had been for damon and pythias. smoky wouldn't have heard the one that got him. ted continued his questioning. "did smoky have any idea as to who was shooting at what?" "he thought your dad was banging away at a varmint." "then he did know dad had gone up coon valley ahead of him?" "why yes, he saw his boot track in the mud. but you knew that." "was smoky afraid to go on?" "why should he have been afraid? who expects to get shot?" "tell me exactly how he said he saw dad shoot him." "smoky was near the three sycamores when he thought he saw something move. a second later, your dad rose from behind glory rock and shot him." "smoky's very sure of that? it was dad that rose from behind the rock?" "he told the same story at least a dozen times that i know of. it never varied." "dad didn't step out from beside the rock, or anything like that?" "no, he rose from behind it." "loring, has it occurred to anybody, except me, that the back of glory rock is a sheer drop? anyone who could rise from _behind_ and shoot over it would have to be at least nine feet tall!" "i--by gosh, you're right! i knew al never bush-whacked him! he must have been standing in plain sight when smoky came up the valley!" "smoky never saw who shot him." "that's not the way he told it." "think!" ted urged. "think of the sort of man smoky is. there was bad blood between him and dad and had been for some time. you were there when dad dressed him down for setting traps before fur was prime. there was, as you'll remember, talk of shooting even then. smoky knew dad had gone up coon valley ahead of him; probably he even _thinks_ dad shot him. he said he saw him because he wanted to be sure of revenge. smoky would do that." "yes, he would. but it seems to me that you're doing a lot of guessing." "maybe. you brought smoky's rifle out?" "yes." "had it been fired?" "no, the bore was mirror slick." "what would you do if you ran across dad?" "i'd bring him in, if i had to do it at gun point." "loring, i am going to do something that neither you nor i thought i would ever do. i am going to betray my dad into your hands." "then you do know where he is?" "no, i haven't seen him since the night he left." "cut it out, ted. we all know you've been taking him supplies and we've tried a dozen times to catch you at it. you do know where he is?" "i don't, but tammie does." "so!" the warden exploded. "callahan was right! he thought he saw tammie leave your house that night with a pack on his back. but when you whistled him in, and he didn't have any pack, callahan figured he'd made a mistake. how'd you manage that?" "dad was coming to see me and he saw callahan, too. he met tammie within yards of the house and took his pack off. loring, if this is to be done, it's to be done my way." "what's your way?" "you do exactly as i say." "i'm listening." "meet me at my house two hours after midnight. we'll cross the hills to glory rock; we won't be able to walk up coon valley. then you're to hide behind or beside the rock, any place you can listen without being seen, until i say you can come out." "now look here, ted, i like you and i like your dad, but i'm not sticking my neck out for anybody." "i promise you won't, and i also promise that you will get a chance to bring dad in." the game warden pondered. finally he agreed, "all right, ted, it'll be your way. but if there are any tricks, somebody's going to get hurt." "o.k. meet me at two?" "at two." ted drove happily to nels anderson's modest house and found his friend chopping wood. nels greeted him with a broad smile. "hi, ted! come in an' have a cup of coffee?" "i can't stay, nels. how are you doing?" "goot, goot for now. them deer hunters what stayed in your camp, they paid me nice an' i get another yob soon." "crestwood's changing hands and the new owners are taking over next week. you might go ask them for your old job back." "yah! i do that." "if you don't get one there," ted said recklessly, "i myself will be able to offer you something that'll tide you over until you get another job. i'm going to build more camps." "py golly, ted, i yoost don't know how to thank you!" "will you do me a favor?" "for you i do anything!" "then listen carefully. at seven o'clock tomorrow morning i want you to go to crestwood and see thornton; he'll be out of bed. tell him that there's something near those three sycamores in coon valley that he'd better take care of." nels scratched his head and let the instructions sink in. "at seven tomorrow mornin' i see thornton. i tell him, 'there's somethin' near them three sycamores in coon valley you better take care of.'" "that's it." "yah, ted, i do it yoost that way." * * * * * ted's alarm awakened him at a quarter past one. he reached down in the darkness to shut it off, and as he lay there he knew a cold foreboding. until now, the day to put his plan into execution, he had been very sure he was right. but suppose he was wrong? al would be in loring blade's hands, delivered there by his own son! ted got up and almost grimly clothed himself. his father couldn't stay in the mahela much longer anyhow, and ted knew he was right. when he was dressed, he sat down and wrote a note: dad; meet me at the three sycamores near glory rock and bring tammie with you. it's very important. when you get there, hide in the beech scrub until you think it's time to come out. you'll know what it's about after you arrive. love, ted he put the note in a pliofilm bag and was just on the point of handing it to tammie when he hesitated. timing was very important, and certainly al harkness was never going to show himself at the three sycamores if he saw loring blade anywhere near them. ted put his doubts behind him. his note said plainly that something was stirring and his father wasn't going to show himself anyway until he knew what it was. ted opened the back door, gave the pliofilm bag to tammie and said, "take it to al. go find al." tammie streaked away in the darkness and ted turned back to the kitchen. he set coffee to perking, laid strips of bacon in a skillet and arranged half a dozen eggs nearby. at seven o'clock--and because he was who he was it would be exactly seven o'clock--nels would go to carl thornton and deliver ted's message. if thornton was innocent, he'd probably think nels had gone crazy. but if ted was right and he was guilty, thornton would come up coon valley as soon as possible, to find and destroy any incriminating evidence that lay there. he would get the message at seven. give him ten minutes to get ready, forty minutes--crestwood was nearer than the harkness house--to reach the mouth of coon valley and another twenty minutes to reach the sycamores. if he was not there by nine o'clock, he would not come. there was a knock on the door and ted opened it to admit loring blade. "hi!" "hi!" the warden grumped. "i've made all arrangements." "for taking dad to jail?" "for having my head examined!" the warden snapped. "who in his right mind would let himself in for this sort of thing?" "in about three minutes," ted promised, "i'll have hot coffee and bacon and eggs. you'll feel better then." they ate, the warden maintaining a sour silence and ted again filled with doubt. all he really knew was that carl thornton had killed damon and wounded pythias before the season opened. the wounded deer in the beech scrub could have been shot by anyone at all and-no, they couldn't. al and smoky delbert, as far as anyone knew, had been the only two people in coon valley that day. al wouldn't shoot an illegal deer and ted had loring blade's word for it that smoky's rifle had never been fired. there had been a third party, and after ted chased him out of the thickets on burned mountain, pythias had cut through the beech scrub. obviously, he knew the route and he wouldn't have remembered that, a couple of months ago, he had almost come to disaster on it. a deer's memory isn't that long. when the two had finished eating, ted asked, "shall we go?" "i'm ready. but if we're going to glory rock, why can't we drive to the mouth of coon valley?" "you promised to do this my way." there must be nothing to warn carl thornton away--if he came--and fresh tracks leading up coon valley might do just that. loring blade said, "i suppose i might as well be a complete jackass as a partial one. we'll walk." they went out into the cold night, while the north wind fanned their cheeks and trees sighed around them. a deer snorted and bounded away, and there came an angry hiss from a weasel that, having all but cornered the rabbit it was hunting, expressed its hatred for humans before it fled from them. ted asked, "you tired?" "lead on." the wan, gray light of an overcast morning fell sadly on the wilderness when the pair came again to the three sycamores and glory rock. ted's watch read seven-thirty. carl thornton had his message and, if he was guilty, even now he was on his way. loring blade asked, "what now?" "you'd better hide." "oh, for pete's sake--" "dad isn't going to walk into your open arms." the warden said grimly, "all right. but if he doesn't come, there'll be one harkness hide tacked to the old barn door and it won't be your dad's." he slipped in behind glory rock and it was as though he'd never been. ted was left alone with the keening breeze, the murmuring trees and the mahela. he looked across at the beech scrub where al was supposed to hide, where he might even now be hiding, and saw nothing. he shivered slightly--and knew that he was lost if thornton didn't come. then he was sure that thornton was not coming ... but when he looked at his watch it was only five minutes to eight. there simply hadn't been time.... mentally ted ticked another hour off. however, his watch said that only seven minutes had passed and he stopped looking at it. forty-eight hours later, which his faulty watch said was only forty-eight minutes, he looked down the valley and saw motion. ted stood very still in front of glory rock, and a prayer went up from his heart.... when the approaching man was very near he said, "hello, thornton." carl thornton stopped, and for a moment shocked surprise ruled his face. but it was only for a moment. he replied coolly, "hello, harkness." "i see," ted observed, "that you got my message?" "message?" "the one nels anderson gave you at seven o'clock this morning. the one that sent you up here." "what are you talking about?" "this--and i found it within six feet of where you're standing. now do you think it could be the bullet that went through smoky delbert?" ted took from his pocket the bullet he had dug out of pythias and held it up between thumb and forefinger. again, but only for an almost imperceptible part of a second, carl thornton's composure deserted him. then, once more, he was the master of crestwood and as such he had no association with ordinary residents of the mahela. he said scornfully, "give me that bullet." "well now, i just don't think i will. the sheriff, the state police--and maybe others--will sure be interested as all get out. you'll have some explaining to do, thornton, and _can you explain_?" "i want that bullet!" "why do you want it, thornton?" "give me that bullet!" "not so fast. i might _sell_ it to you. what's it worth for you to have it?" carl thornton's laugh carried an audible sneer. "you slob! you hill monkey! you're even lower than i thought! sell the evidence that would clear your own father for money!" "then you _did_ shoot smoky!" "i want that bullet!" "come take it." "i'll do just that." ted balanced on the balls of his feet, a grin of sheerest delight on his face. thornton was bigger than he--and heavier--and he was moving like a trained boxer. but because his back was turned, he did not see tammie burst from the scrub beech and race him down. tammie went into the air. his flying body struck squarely and carl thornton took two involuntary forward steps. he fell face downwards and rolled over to shield his throat with his right arm. tammie's bared fangs gleamed an inch away and thornton's voice was muffled. "call him off! i'll give you a thousand dollars for the bullet!" "no, thanks," ted said evenly, "and i wouldn't move if i were you. anyway, i wouldn't move too far or fast. tammie might get nervous." he raised his voice. "all right, loring, i think he'll tell you the rest now." ted scarcely noticed when loring blade came out from behind glory rock because his whole attention was centered on the man who emerged from the beech scrub. al harkness was lean as a wolf. his ragged hair had been hacked as short as possible with a hunting knife and his beard was bushy. his tattered clothing was held together with strips of deerskin, fox pelt, wildcat fur and fishing line. but his step was lithe and his eyes were clear and happy. "hi, ted!" "hello, dad!" they came very close and looked at each other, saying with their eyes all that which, for the moment, they could find no words to express.... then al asked, "how you been, son?" "fine! had a swell season! as soon as you get squared around again--and used to living like a civilized man--we can start two more camps." "right glad to hear it. you'll have your lodge yet." "might at that. how have you been?" "not too bad." al grinned his old grin. "not too bad at all." "hey!" loring blade called plaintively. "call your dog, will you? i've told him six times to get away so i can start taking this guy to jail and all he does is growl louder!" ted turned and snapped his fingers. "come on, tammie. come on up here and join your family." jim kjelgaard was born in new york city. happily enough, he was still in the pre-school age when his father decided to move the family to the pennsylvania mountains. there young jim grew up among some of the best hunting and fishing in the united states. he says: "if i had pursued my scholastic duties as diligently as i did deer, trout, grouse, squirrels, etc., i might have had better report cards!" jim kjelgaard has worked at various jobs--trapper, teamster, guide, surveyor, factory worker and laborer. when he was in the late twenties he decided to become a full-time writer. he has succeeded in his wish. he has published several hundred short stories and articles and quite a few books for young people. his hobbies are hunting, fishing, dogs, and questing for new stories. he tells us: "story hunts have led me from the atlantic to the pacific and from the arctic circle to mexico city. stories, like gold, are where you find them. you may discover one three thousand miles from home or, as in _the spell of the white sturgeon_, right on your own doorstep." and he adds: "i am married to a very beautiful girl and have a teen-age daughter. both of them order me around in a shameful fashion, but i can still boss the dog! we live in phoenix, arizona." 