White Tail the Deer's Adventures

The rain made White Tail’s difficulties worse, for the logs and stones were so slippery that he stumbled time and again, and to avoid a fall he had to slacken his pace. The dogs on the other hand, kept up their pace, as the slippery things did not seem to bother them, and they began to gain on the fleeing buck very rapidly. Their deep baying drew so near that White Tail became startled.

But all this time the rain was planning to help the buck, although he did not know it at the time. He was feeling very uncomfortable, as well as frightened. The steady downpour soaked him to the skin, and the driving wind splashed the rain-drops in his eyes, half blinding him.

When the dogs drew so near that White Tail felt they would soon see him, he turned abruptly around, and ran at right angles to his former course. He had not tried dodging before, but had kept on a straight course.

To his surprise he heard the barking of the dogs grow suddenly fainter, and then very confused. The fact was the heavy downpour of rain had nearly blotted out his trail, and the dogs could not readily pick it up again. So long as he kept on in straight course, the dogs had followed him.

But now, by dodging, White Tail found he could easily elude them, so faint was the scent he left behind. The rain washed that away, and completely baffled the dogs.

It was a great blessing, for White Tail was badly winded. He was so tired that as soon as he left the dogs far in the rear he sought shelter from the rain. He was almost exhausted with his efforts, and a bed of leaves or grass would be the greatest blessing in the world.

Directly ahead of him, he saw an old deserted open camp standing in a partial clearing. It was built of pine logs, with the bark left on, and a roof and three sides. The front was left open, with an old camp-fire place of stones and rocks a few feet away.

At first White Tail stopped and looked at the camp suspiciously. If the man hunters lived in it, he should avoid it as he would Puma or Timber, but if it were deserted there would be no harm in seeking shelter under its roof. He watched, listened and sniffed for a long time before he dared approach it.

Then by degrees he walked closer until he had a chance to look inside. There was no one there, and it had not been inhabited for a long, long time. White Tail could tell this by the absence of any odor.

“I think it’s safe,” he muttered after another close examination. “I’ll spend the night here. I’m dreadfully tired, and so wet I’m cold and shivery.”

He walked under the sheltering roof, and found a bed of sweet-smelling spruce boughs in one corner. They were perfectly dry, and White Tail gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was a dry shelter, with a soft, dry bed already prepared for him. He dropped down on it with a sigh of intense relief.

It rained hard all night. White Tail could hear the floods of water pouring on the roof of his shelter, but under it the place was dry and warm. Darkness came early in the woods, and it was soon pitchy black.

He felt perfectly safe if none of the night prowlers appeared. The rain, however, was a protection to him, for even Puma and Timber rarely ventured forth in such a storm. They preferred to do their hunting on clear, dry nights when the scent of their prey was clear and distinct.

“I don’t think anybody will disturb me until morning,” White Tail said, “and I can rest here in peace.”

But of course you can never tell what may happen in the wildwoods. Suppose Puma or Timber Wolf should be caught away from home in the rain! If they were, and saw the open camp, they would very naturally seek it for shelter just as White Tail had done.

It was quite early in the evening when White Tail was awakened from slumber by a thump, thump outside. It came nearer and nearer. White Tail was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe. He trembled in every limb. Some animal was coming around the side of the open camp.

Before White Tail could leap to his feet to run, a head was thrust around the corner, and a pair of wonderful eyes looked at him. At the same instant the owner of them caught sight of White Tail’s.

“Hello, Bumper!” White Tail exclaimed, when he recognized Bumper the White Rabbit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m White Tail the Deer.”

“Well, I’m mighty glad of that,” replied Bumper, approaching. “You gave me an awful start at first. I thought you were Mr. Fox or Sneaky the Wolf or Puma.”

“And I thought you were Timber Wolf or the man hunters or their dogs.”

“Seeing that we were both wrong then,” said Bumper, “we might share this camp between us. You have no objection, I hope.”

“No, I’m glad to have company. I’m dreadfully excited and alarmed.”

Then he told the White Rabbit about his adventures, ending up with the pursuit by the dogs, and his escape to the deserted camp.

“You certainly did have a hard time of it,” said Bumper when he had finished. “And you’re a long way from home. I do hope you can get back without accident. What’s that?”

Bumper stopped, and White Tail raised his head in alarm. There was a scream outside, and then a wild commotion in the bushes. The next moment something came rushing in the camp, and flopped down right at White Tail’s feet.

It was Rusty the Blackbird. “Help! Help! Oh, help me!” Rusty cried. “Great Horn the Owl is after me! Here he comes now!”

And out of the darkness swept a shadowy figure that hardly made any noise; but the moment it saw White Tail it stopped and circled around his head. White Tail raised his head, and swung his big antlers threateningly at Great Horn.

“Look out,” he said, “or I’ll hit you! Don’t come any nearer, Great Horn!”

“Is that you, White Tail?” asked Great Horn. “I didn’t know you were here. Well, I won’t disturb you. I’m after Rusty there at your feet. Let me have him, and I will leave at once.”

“You will leave at once without Rusty,” replied White Tail. “He’s a friend of mine, and I’m going to protect him.”

“Hoot! Hoot!” shouted the Owl in laughter. “I’ll take him whether you want me to or not.”

He made a swift dive for poor Rusty, but White Tail’s big antlers swung around and knocked him over. One prong hurt Great Horn so that he flew back to a safe place.

“If you come nearer, I’ll hurt you worse the next time,” warned White Tail.

Great Horn sat there and considered for some time, his great eyes blinking and winking. “What are you doing here, White Tail?” he asked finally. “Don’t you know you’re on Puma’s hunting grounds? Well, if you don’t know it you ought to. I think Puma might be interested in knowing it. Now give me Rusty at once or I’ll fly away, and tell Puma.”

This threat made Rusty tremble, and Bumper shiver in his corner where he was hiding under the boughs; but White Tail did neither. “Go, and tell him, Great Horn,” he replied. “I won’t give up Rusty. I’ll protect my friends.”

And Great Horn flew away. What he did will appear in the next story.