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author: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-03-03 04:57:20 -0800
committer: nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> 2025-03-03 04:57:20 -0800
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+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35749 ***</div>
+<div class="document" id="the-adventures-of-fleetfoot-and-her-fawns">
+<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">The Adventures of Fleetfoot and Her Fawns</h1>
+</div>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em">
+</div>
+<div class="container" id="pg-produced-by">
+<p class="noindent pfirst">Produced by Roger Frank.</p>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em">
+</div>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="center line-block noindent outermost">
+<div class="line"><span class="x-large">THE ADVENTURES OF</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span class="x-large">FLEET FOOT</span></div>
+<div class="line"><span class="x-large">AND HER FAWNS</span></div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">A True-to-Nature Story for</div>
+<div class="line">Children and Their Elders</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">BY</div>
+<div class="line">ALLEN CHAFFEE</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">Author of</div>
+<div class="line">“Twinkly Eyes,” “The Little Black Bear,” “Trail and</div>
+<div class="line">Tree Top,” and “Lost River, or The Adventures</div>
+<div class="line">of Two Boys in the Big Woods”</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">ILLUSTRATED</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY</div>
+<div class="line">SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="center line-block noindent outermost">
+<div class="line">Copyright 1920, by</div>
+<div class="line">MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">SPRINGFIELD, MASS.</div>
+<div class="line"> </div>
+<div class="line">Adventures of Fleet Foot</div>
+<div class="line">Bradley Quality Books for Children</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 36%; width: 27%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/004.jpg" src="images/004.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<div class="center line-block noindent outermost">
+<div class="line">TO</div>
+<div class="line">POLLY</div>
+<div class="line">WHO IS A DEAR</div>
+<div class="line">HERSELF</div>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="contents level-2 section" id="id1">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS</h2>
+<ul class="toc-list">
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-i-the-spotted-fawns" id="id2">CHAPTER I.—THE SPOTTED FAWNS.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ii-a-foxy-trick" id="id3">CHAPTER II.—A FOXY TRICK.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iii-at-the-valley-farm" id="id4">CHAPTER III.—AT THE VALLEY FARM.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iv-the-round-up" id="id5">CHAPTER IV.—THE ROUND-UP.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-v-a-son-of-the-wild" id="id6">CHAPTER V.—A SON OF THE WILD.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vi-a-strange-friendship" id="id7">CHAPTER VI.—A STRANGE FRIENDSHIP.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vii-a-wit-out-witted" id="id8">CHAPTER VII.—A WIT OUT-WITTED.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viii-steep-trails" id="id9">CHAPTER VIII.—STEEP TRAILS.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ixthe-ogre-of-the-air" id="id10">CHAPTER IX—THE OGRE OF THE AIR.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-x-wild-grapes" id="id11">CHAPTER X.—WILD GRAPES.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xi-speckled-trout" id="id12">CHAPTER XI.—SPECKLED TROUT.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xii-the-victor" id="id13">CHAPTER XII.—THE VICTOR.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiii-the-queer-feathers" id="id14">CHAPTER XIII.—THE QUEER FEATHERS.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xivstarvation-time" id="id15">CHAPTER XIV—STARVATION TIME</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xv-the-gray-wolves" id="id16">CHAPTER XV.—THE GRAY WOLVES.</a></span></li>
+<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvi-the-farmers-plan" id="id17">CHAPTER XVI.—THE FARMER’S PLAN.</a></span></li>
+</ul>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/008.jpg" src="images/008.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">THE ADVENTURES OF FLEET FOOT AND HER FAWNS</span></p>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-i-the-spotted-fawns">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id2">CHAPTER I.—THE SPOTTED FAWNS.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">“Me-o-ow!” screamed Old Man Lynx,
+from the heart of the woods. The two spotted
+fawns heard the cry from their laurel copse
+on the rim of Lone Lake. But, though their
+big, soft eyes were round with terror, so perfectly
+had they been trained, they never so
+much as twitched an ear. Well did they
+know that the slightest movement might
+show to some prowler of the night just
+where they lay hidden.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Next morning, no sooner had the birds
+begun to chirp themselves awake, than
+Mother Fleet Foot fed the fawns as usual
+and ate her own light breakfast of lily pads,
+Then she lined up the two fawns before her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Children,” she said, in deer language,
+“you have a great deal to learn before ever
+you can take care of yourselves in these
+woods. From now on we are going to have
+lessons.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Yes, Mother,” bleated the little ones,
+“but what are lessons.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“They are going to be as much like play
+as we can make them,” said Fleet Foot.
+“You need practice in running, and we must
+play ‘Follow the Leader’ every day.
+Mother, of course, will be the leader. It will
+be lots of fun.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns waggled their ears in delight.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Now listen, both of you,” said Fleet
+Foot. “<em class="italics">This</em> means danger! Follow me!”
+And she stamped her foot three times and
+whistled, as she leaped away through the
+bushes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Just watch my white flag, and you’ll
+know where to follow,” she called; and she
+showed them how, when she ran, she held
+the white lining of her tail straight up to
+show which way she had gone. This was
+because her brown back might not show between
+the tree-trunks.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“And when I give the danger signal, you
+must give it, too, to warn the others,” she
+added, leaping back to their side.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What others?” asked the tinier fawn.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Any deer within ear-shot. That is how
+we help each other. And remember—obey
+on the instant! It is the only safe way!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">Suddenly she gave the danger signal!</p>
+<p class="pnext">This time it was in real alarm, for she had
+spied a black snake wiggling toward them.
+The fawns bounded after her, just in time
+to escape the ugly fellow. And, because
+woods babies learn quickly they remembered
+to give their own tiny stamp and whistle,
+their own wee white flags wig-wagging behind
+them. Fleet Foot could have killed the
+snake with her sharp fore-hoof, but a deer’s
+long legs are better suited to running away
+when danger is near.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next day she taught them to leap exactly
+in her footprints. She took short
+steps, so that it would be easy for them.
+Great skill and experience is needed for a
+deer to know where and how to put his feet
+down when he makes those great leaps of his.
+He may land, now among the rocks, now in
+marshy ground, slipping over mosses and
+scrambling over tree-trunks. It would be
+only too easy to break one of those slender
+legs, and be at the mercy of his enemies.</p>
+<p class="pnext">By the time the fawns were six weeks old,
+they had learned just how to land without
+stumbling and hurting their frail ankles.
+Then, one day, young Frisky Fox, hiding at
+the edge of the clearing, saw a strange sight.
+In fact, he thought he had never seen anything
+quite so odd in all his life.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Down four little trails from the hill-top
+came four does, Fleet Foot among the number.
+And close behind each doe came her
+two fawns. Then a fifth mother came from
+the other side of the meadow. She had only
+one baby with her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was to be a sort of party. But the fawns
+were most unwilling to get acquainted, as
+their mothers intended them to do. The
+baby bucks made at each other with heads
+lowered, ready to fight. The infant does
+backed timidly away to the edge of the
+meadow. But their mothers insisted, with
+gentle shakings of their heads and shovings
+of their velvet noses.</p>
+<p class="pnext">They were pretty creatures, these baby
+deer, with their soft orange-brown coats
+spotted with white, and their great innocent
+brown eyes! Everything about them, from
+their slender legs to their swinging stride,
+was graceful.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the mothers formed in line, the little
+ones trailing along behind them. “Ah!”
+thought Frisky Fox, “a game of ‘Follow the
+Leader’.” He and his brothers had often
+played it with Father and Mother Red Fox.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At first the does ran slowly around the
+clearing, then they quickened their pace, the
+little ones trying their best to keep up.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Suddenly Fleet Foot, who was in the lead,
+leaped over a fallen log at the edge of the
+glade and off into the woodland. The other
+does followed. Then came Fleet Foot’s
+youngest. This little scamp only ran around
+the log, while her brother crawled under.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But that was not what Fleet Foot wanted.
+She came back, stamping her foot for attention.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Do just as I do!” she insisted. “Now
+come back and try it over again.” And she
+trotted out into the glade, and circled around
+it, the tinier fawn close at her heels, till she
+came to the log again.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Now!” she stamped, taking the leap once
+more. The fawn followed till she came to
+the log, then stopped short, with her nose
+against it. Fleet Foot hurdled back, and
+coming up behind, butted the youngster
+with her head till the fawn tried to jump.
+This time the little creature went over, as
+light as a bit of thistle-down—probably
+much to her own surprise.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot turned to the larger
+fawn. “Come, now, there’s nothing like trying,”
+she urged. But he only gave a ba-a-ah!
+and wriggled under the tree-trunk again.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Follow me,” his mother bade him. First
+she led him several times around the glade.
+“Now!” she stamped, leaping the log once
+more. This time he followed without stopping
+to think about it.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The other fawns behaved much the same
+way, but at last their mothers had them all
+in line. Then what a race they had! First
+around and around the opening, faster and
+faster and faster. Then, without warning,
+across the log and back again, till every infant
+buck and doe of them could do it perfectly.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Um!” sniffed Frisky Fox. “Wouldn’t
+one of those little fellows make good eating?
+I’d certainly like to try it!” For the smell
+of venison that blew to his nostrils on the
+breeze fairly made his mouth water.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Frisky was too wise a pup to think
+for an instant he could catch one. And so he
+finally trotted off to stay his appetite with
+field mice. But he told Father Red Fox
+about it that night in the den on the hillside,
+and the older fox made up his mind that next
+day he would be the one to watch when the
+fawns came to the meadow. If he couldn’t
+catch one, at least he liked to know all that
+went on in the woods. One never knew when
+an odd bit of knowledge might come in handy
+to a fellow that lives by his wits.</p>
+<p class="pnext">That day the fawns were being drilled to
+run around and around in circles. They
+made a track like a figure 8, only with three
+loops instead of two. Sometimes one of the
+little fellows would slip and stumble.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“I have it,” Father Red Fox told himself.
+“The fawns are learning to make a quick
+turn. Because they’d break their legs if
+they were to stumble that way in the underbrush.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">The old fox knew that he could never
+catch one by the usual methods. He did
+wonder, though, if he might not corner one
+by trickery. So, gliding from tree-trunk to
+tree-trunk, he crept nearer the unsuspecting
+little school, keeping always on the side
+where the wind could tell no tales!</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/016.jpg" src="images/016.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ii-a-foxy-trick">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id3">CHAPTER II.—A FOXY TRICK.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Now it was chiefly in a spirit of mischief
+that Father Red Fox decided to chase the
+fawns. To tell the truth, the old fellow was
+proud of his wits; and though he knew he
+could not hope to catch them and bring them
+down by a straightaway race, he thought he
+might use some trickery on them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">So, he watched and waited till he should
+find them alone. After an hour or more in
+the racing meadow, Fleet Foot called to her
+little ones with a “He-eu” and a stamp of
+her little fore-hoof, and led them back to
+Lone Lake, where they all waded out after
+their supper of lily pads. Every minute of
+the time Father Red Fox was right behind,
+but always with the wind in his face, so that
+she wouldn’t catch his musky scent on the
+breeze with that wonderful nose of hers.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now Father Red Fox knew one thing
+about Fleet Foot, the doe. He knew that
+when she heard a sound that alarmed her,
+she always ran straight away from the
+sound, without once stopping to see what
+made it. No sooner, therefore, was she neck-deep
+in Lone Lake, with her back to the
+shore, than he cracked a twig behind
+her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The doe, hearing that, supposed of course
+it must be Old Man Lynx, at least, or perhaps
+a big black bear, as nothing so small
+and dainty as a fox ever made a sound like
+that.</p>
+<p class="pnext">She was terribly frightened, and whistling
+the fawns to follow, she swam straight
+across the Lake, never once stopping for
+breath till they scrambled up the opposite
+bank.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Father Red Fox had raced around
+the upper end of the Lake, just far enough
+back in the woods so that she couldn’t see
+him. And the instant the tired little family
+planted their hoofs on dry ground, Red Fox,
+hiding behind a boulder, cracked an even
+larger twig, and made them think there was
+another bear on that side of the Lake.</p>
+<p class="pnext">So she had to lead them back across the
+Lake again, to the third line of shore. But
+Father Red Fox was there before her and
+cracked another twig to make her think
+there was a bear on that side, too.</p>
+<p class="pnext">This time the fawns were fairly gasping
+for breath, their little spotted sides heaving
+painfully and their big eyes round with
+fright. But there was no help for it; Fleet
+Foot had to make them swim back across the
+Lake to the fourth bank, where she hoped to
+get into the woods before the three bears
+could catch her. She was quite worn out,
+herself, by now, and it was only the fear of
+death that kept her in the race at all. But
+finally up the bank she stumbled, and on
+down a forest trail, her fawns following
+desperately.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Father Red Fox laughed as he ran
+around the Lake. They were all so worn
+out that it should be an easy matter to
+corner them. In fact, that wicked fellow
+had one of the meanest plans in his black
+heart that ever deserved the name of a foxy
+trick. And so far it had worked.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot, believing she had nothing less
+than a bear on her trail, raced on and on till
+her flanks dripped foam and her legs felt
+weak and wobbly—which was just what the
+old fox intended. On he raced after her,
+knowing she wouldn’t stop even to turn her
+head.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, he made a short cut in
+the trail and headed her straight toward a
+brush heap. The tired doe drew her trembling
+legs together for the leap that would
+carry her over in safety. But there was not
+quite enough spring left in those delicate
+hind quarters. She came down too soon,
+catching one of her slim feet in the brush.
+It broke her leg.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Ah, but Red Fox had hoped it would be
+one of the fawns. Fleet Foot he dared not
+approach, because she could strike him with
+her sharp fore-hoofs, and punish him severely.
+In fact, had she known it was only
+a fox behind her, she would have stopped to
+face him long ago.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns—little rascals that they were—had
+not tried to leap the brush heap; they
+had left the trail and gone around it, hiding—when
+their mother fell—by crawling under
+a juniper bush. And there they waited,
+without so much as waggling an ear, till Red
+Fox had given up his quest in disgust and
+trotted away home.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But their troubles were not ended. For
+one thing, they were hungry. Besides, what
+was Fleet Foot to do, helpless there where a
+real bear might find her?</p>
+<p class="pnext">Just then they heard a cowbell.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Clover Blossom, the soft-eyed Jersey at
+the Valley Farm, must have found a broken
+place in the pasture fence, and wandered into
+the woods again. She loved to go exploring.</p>
+<p class="pnext">This time she gave the Boy a chase. Here
+it was, nearly dark! Straining his ears to
+catch the sound, he decided he must creep
+very softly upon her, or she would never let
+him catch her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Boy, however, was not the only one
+to hear the tinkle of the cowbell. Though
+Clover Blossom grazed quite unaware that
+she was being watched, as an actual fact she
+had quite an audience of wood folk around
+her, peering and sniffing and studying the
+situation. Softly, silently, creeping through
+the hazel copse, came Frisky, the fox pup,
+as curious as his nose was long. Then came
+Bobby, Madame Lynx’s kitten, to whose nostrils
+the odor was most tempting, though he
+did not dare attack an animal so large.
+Crouched flat along a low-hanging branch, he
+peered and peered with his narrow gold-green
+eyes, his claws working nervously into
+the bark.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Came also Unk-Wunk, the Porcupine, rattling
+his slow way up a beech tree from
+whose top he could see all that was going
+on. He, too, watched curiously as the Jersey
+wandered from one huckleberry bush to
+another, lowing faintly now and then as she
+realized that she needed to be milked.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But the two who were most interested as
+she came their way were the hungry fawns.
+They had waited hours for the familiar
+stamp of their mother’s foot that should
+call them to her, and for the warm milk that
+had never failed them when they needed it,
+and their little stomachs ached worse and
+worse.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The hot sun had crept across the sky, and
+the birds who had chirped and warbled over
+their breakfast had come out again for the
+cool of the late afternoon to chatter over
+their worms. Then the sun had grown large
+and red in the west, and the crickets had
+begun to chirp, and the white-footed deer
+mice to scuttle through the leaves in search
+of beetles. Finally the shadows had grown
+long and black, and the woods full of a
+breathing silence, and still they waited for
+their mother to come and feed them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then, at last, they crept to where Clover
+Blossom mooed her invitation for some
+one to relieve her udders of their creamy
+burden. And when the Boy finally peered
+through the bushes beyond which she stood,
+he stopped amazed. For there on either side
+of her a tiny fawn stood nursing!</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Something must have happened to their
+mother,” he told himself. “I wonder if I
+could coax them to go home with Clover
+Blossom?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then he heard a rustle behind him. Bobby
+Lynx was slinking home. (He was ever a
+coward where human beings were concerned.)
+The next instant the boy spied
+Fleet Foot, lying helpless in the brush heap.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In her exhaustion after the chase, the pain
+of her broken leg, and her terror, as she listened,
+hour after hour, for the coming of
+stealthy padded feet, she had been too weak
+to struggle. Then had come a kindly stupor.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Boy set about applying such first aid
+as he had at his command. First knotting
+her fore feet together with his handkerchief
+so that she could not struggle, he searched
+until he found a cedar sapling very nearly
+the size of the leg that was broken. With his
+jack-knife he made two length-wise slits and
+removed the bark in two pieces, as nearly the
+same size as he could make them. They were
+just long enough to reach below the foot of
+the deer and above the knee.</p>
+<p class="pnext">These he lined comfortably with dry moss
+and crumpled grass, for he was going to be
+as tender of the doe as he would be of a person.
+Next he tore his shirt, which was an
+old one, into bandages the width of his wrist,
+knotting their ends together. For splints he
+went down to Lone Lake and gathered a
+bundle of good strong rushes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But when he tried to set the bone, Fleet
+Foot struggled so that he had to run home
+for his father.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Valley Farmer was a man who could
+not see any creature suffer, so he came
+straight back with his son. Lifting her to
+the ground, the farmer braced himself and
+held the injured leg while the Boy gently
+but firmly grasped it with one hand above
+the fracture and one below. My! How it
+must have hurt! But his practised fingers
+pulled the two pieces of bone in opposite
+directions till he got them end to end! Fleet
+Foot tried hard to struggle free, for of
+course she did not understand. But she was
+helpless. Then the Boy worked the bones,
+ever so gently, till a slight thud announced
+to his listening ear that they had fitted
+together right. Next, he applied the padded
+halves of the cedar bark, which—as he had
+intended—did not reach quite around the
+leg. For, in this way, he could tie them more
+firmly, as he bandaged them immovably in
+place with the strips of his torn shirt.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“There!” the Farmer sighed at last.
+“That ought to heal. I don’t see why a few
+weeks of rest and good feeding ought not
+to set her on her feet again. But we’ll have
+to make a litter to take her home.”</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/025.jpg" src="images/025.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iii-at-the-valley-farm">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id4">CHAPTER III.—AT THE VALLEY FARM.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Now that her broken leg had been set so
+skillfully, Fleet Foot felt better. And the
+fawns were content to get their supper of
+the Jersey cow.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But the Boy and his father had to face
+the problem of getting them all back to the
+Valley Farm.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“How can we make a litter?” asked the
+Boy, who was not so skilled in wood-craft
+as the Farmer.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“First, find two good long poles,” his
+father directed. “I wish we’d brought an
+axe, but perhaps you can manage with your
+jack-knife.” And under his direction the
+Boy found what he needed. Next they
+peeled the bark from a chestnut tree, and on
+this they arranged a mattress of dried moss,
+then tied it firmly between the two long
+poles. Stretching this flat on the ground,
+they laid Fleet Foot on it and carried her
+home in state, one of them shouldering either
+end of the litter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“She ought to ride easy on that,” said the
+backwoodsman. But the doe shrank back
+in fear when the Boy tried laying his hand
+caressingly on her velvet throat. For every
+moment she expected they would kill her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns followed Clover Blossom, and
+finally they came out into the star-lit
+meadow, where Fleet Foot caught the odor
+of cows and sheep from the big red barn.
+The next thing she knew, she was lying on a
+mound of sweet-smelling dried clover, in a
+clean stall of that same barn, and there was
+a pail of water beside her. She roused herself
+to drink feverishly, standing on three
+legs, but she could not eat. Then followed
+a few hours when she slept despite her fears,
+because she was too tired to keep awake.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In the pink dawn she awoke at the sound
+of the milk-pails, and her first thought was
+of the fawns. The Boy brought her a hatful
+of grass; but her great eyes only searched
+wistfully through the woodland and meadow
+before the open door, and on to the dew-wet
+forest where she thought they waited, and
+she struggled weakly to get to her feet and
+go to them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“She’s worrying about her babies,” said
+the Boy. “Can’t we show them to her?” he
+begged his father.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“The only trouble with that,” the farmer
+replied, “is that, once they get a sight of
+her, they won’t have anything more to do
+with Clover Blossom, and she’s got to take
+care of them till their own mother is well
+again. But that leg will heal quickly. The
+bone was broken in only one place. We’ve
+got to keep her quiet, though,—and the
+fawns are better off where they are.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">Thus several weeks went by, till at last
+Fleet Foot was able to trip daintily into the
+pasture lot. But still she worried about the
+fawns. She was comfortable and well fed,
+and was even becoming used to the Boy, who
+brought her food and water every morning
+and sometimes a few grains of rock salt.
+Through the bars of the open doorway she
+could gaze straight into the cool green woods
+all day. Had it not been for her longing for
+the fawns, she would have been quite content
+to lie still and get well.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The bone had set quickly, for her life in
+the open had given her pure blood and much
+reserve strength. But she was anxious to
+make her escape and search for her babies.
+Little did she dream, in the confusion of
+sounds and smells that filled the barn every
+day, that the pair actually came to Clover
+Blossom’s stall.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Meantime, the fawns throve on the Jersey
+milk. Though too shy to mingle with the
+cows and sheep in the pasture lot, they
+spent their days in a clump of alders down
+by the brook.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Won’t they be happy when they get their
+own mother back?” the Boy exclaimed to his
+father one evening.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Father looked at his son in a puzzled
+way.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“The doe has disappeared,” he
+announced. “I had just taken the splints off
+her leg. It was healed as good as new.
+Thought I’d turn her loose in the pasture to
+limber up a bit, when—would you believe
+it?—she leaped clean over that fence, and
+off into the woods out of sight.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Honestly?” exclaimed the Boy. “Without
+so much as a thank you! And what will
+become of her now?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Oh, she’ll be all right. But isn’t it a
+shame now we didn’t let her have her
+fawns?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Perhaps we can keep them ourselves,”
+ventured the Boy wistfully, for he loved
+pets. “We could tame them and let them
+grow up with the cows. They’re half tame
+already.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“I don’t believe a wild thing is ever really
+happy that way,” mused the Farmer. “Do
+you?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“No, perhaps not,” decided the Boy.
+“And besides, their mother will break her
+heart if she never finds them again.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“She’ll feel badly, of course. But don’t
+you see, the fawns will take to the woods
+again, sooner or later, unless we keep them
+tied all the time. And then do you know
+what would happen? They wouldn’t know
+how to take care of themselves, without their
+mother’s training.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Oh,” said the Boy. “And some hungry
+animal might catch them for its dinner!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“I’m afraid so,” agreed the Farmer. “It
+is always the young animals that have lost
+their mothers that get caught.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Say, I’ve noticed a funny thing,” said
+the Boy, a few days later. “Clover Blossom
+has been giving more milk lately, and yet
+the fawns aren’t weaned.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“You didn’t see what I saw last night,”
+said the Farmer, smiling. And he told the
+Boy where to watch.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Meantime what had become of Fleet Foot?
+First she leaped the fence, and took to the
+trail down which Clover Blossom had wandered—here
+over the smooth pine needles,
+there through the crackling oak leaves, and
+yonder over a fallen log. And as she went,
+she nibbled course after course of the
+dainties of the woodland.</p>
+<p class="pnext">How fit she felt, after her long imprisonment!
+How swift her slender hoofs, how
+strong her long hind legs that could send
+her over a hazel copse like steel springs!
+And how good it was to be alive in a world
+all sunshine and dancing butterflies and
+tinkling streams!</p>
+<p class="pnext">But where were her fawns? She searched
+and searched for some sign of the little fellows.
+But she searched in vain. And all
+the joy went out of life again.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then, one evening, as she stood on a hill-top
+watching the Boy drive the cows home
+from pasture, she saw something that made
+her lonely heart beat high with hope. She
+couldn’t make out the little spotted coats so
+far away, but she did see their red-brown
+outlines, so tiny beside the cows, and the
+furtive way they shied along, as if they
+never could get used to coming right out in
+the open. And her anxious mother-heart
+assured her that they were worth a closer
+view.</p>
+<p class="pnext">So, the next night, before they turned off
+the lane to the pasture lot, the fawns heard
+the little stamp that had always been their
+mother’s signal. “Wait where you are—and
+hide!” she bade them with her whistled
+“Hiew!” “I will come to you.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">And they obeyed, thrilling with a great
+wave of homesick longing for the mother
+they had thought lost to them. The Boy,
+tip-toeing back to see what had become of
+his pets, found the doe in the pasture lot,
+nursing her fawns.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And though he did not know it, she stayed
+with them until the first gray light in the
+east warned her that she must leave them
+for the day. For the fence was too high for
+the fawns to leap.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next night the Boy watched again,
+from the cover of the hay-stack. Before
+long the doe leaped smoothly into the pasture,
+stamping for the fawns. Then he saw
+the flash of her white tail signaling for them
+to follow, and after that, two tinier tails wig-wagging
+through the dusk as they disappeared
+in the alders down by the brook that
+ran through the lower end of the pasture.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Boy stared after them awhile, a smile
+of sympathy in his eyes. Then—ever so
+softly, so as not to alarm them—he slipped
+across to where she had leaped the fence,
+and lifted the top bars away.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next morning the fawns were gone!</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/034.jpg" src="images/034.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/035.jpg" src="images/035.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iv-the-round-up">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id5">CHAPTER IV.—THE ROUND-UP.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Once back in the good green woods, both
+Fleet Foot and the fawns capered joyously.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was good just to be alive.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Up and down through the forest trails
+they galloped,—down to Lone Lake, then
+back to Pollywog Pond and along the
+familiar trails on the slopes of Mt. Olaf.
+Summer was even riper and lovelier than
+when they had been taken to the Valley
+Farm,—and to the fawns, remember, it was
+their first taste of mid-summer in the Maine
+woods.</p>
+<p class="pnext">These tiny fellows leaped and gamboled
+hide-and-seek, till you would have thought they
+would have broken their fragile legs among
+the boulders and fallen tree-trunks. But
+their mother knew her training had been
+thorough, and they would know just how to
+leap and land with safety.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Hello, there!—Chick-a-dee-dee, Chick-a-dee-dee,”
+a little gray bird in a black cap
+kept calling, as he followed from tree to
+tree.</p>
+<p class="pnext">When at last they had had their dinner
+of warm milk, and Fleet Foot had cropped
+her fill of the tender green things that lay
+like a banquet table everywhere about them,
+she led them to a little rocky ledge that over-looked
+Lone Lake, where they could lie
+under the partial shade of a clump of yellow
+birch trees and rest, while she chewed her
+cud. The black fly season was well past, and
+there was nothing to disturb them save a
+passing swarm of midges that couldn’t
+begin to bite through their thick fur.</p>
+<p class="pnext">(They little dreamed that Frisky, the Red
+Fox Pup, was peering down on them from
+a higher crag, where he, too, crouched on the
+red-brown soil that proved such a perfect
+cam-ou-flage.)</p>
+<p class="pnext">No one save a fox could have seen the
+fawns, so long as they lay still, their tawny
+orange-brown coats blended so perfectly
+with the ground. And if anyone had noticed
+the white spots on their sides, he would have
+taken them for a glint of the creamy birch-bark.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At first the 'two youngsters watched a
+yellow-jacketed bumble-bee, who bumbled
+and tumbled among the perfumed spikes of
+the Solomon’s seals. Then their ears
+pricked to a new voice.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Greetings, my friends!” called a cheery
+red-brown coated bird who had been rustling
+about among the dead leaves just behind
+them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He was as large as a robin, with even
+longer beak and tail, and his creamy breast
+was streaked with darker brown.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Hello, Thrush,” bleated the fawns in
+shy friendliness.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“You mustn’t look for any nest in the
+bushes around here, because you won’t find
+it,” twittered Thrush, in a tone Old Man
+Red Fox would have been suspicious of.
+“Listen! I am going to give you a concert!”
+And he flew to the birch tree over their
+heads.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There followed a program of the most
+varied trills and whistles the fawns had ever
+heard; and though his voice was not so sweet
+toned as some of the tinier birds’, his throaty
+trills and liquid, low-pitched chirps and
+whistles were just as delightful as they
+could be.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There were bird calls all around them,
+“Pee-wees” and “Chip-chip-chips” and
+“Wee-wee-wee-wees” and all sorts of soft
+little calls and answers.</p>
+<p class="pnext">They none of them minded the fawns in
+the least, except those who had nests on the
+ground. They always watched nervously
+when the frisky fellows capered too near,
+with their sharp little hoofs, though they
+knew the fawns wouldn’t hurt an ant if they
+knew it.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Every now and again the singers would
+cease, when one of the soft patches of white
+cloud got in front of the sun; for instantly
+the air grew chilly, and a breeze started all
+the tree-tops to waving till the birds had to
+hang on hard.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then the Lake would ruffle into tiny wave-lets
+and grow dark green like the woods
+along the shore-line. For before, the water
+had lain as still as a silver mirror, reflecting
+the pale blue of the warm sky.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In weather like this, it was good just to
+lie still and watch and listen, or drowse off
+with the sun warm on one’s fur and the spicy
+earth smells in one’s nostrils. The green
+world was so interesting.</p>
+<p class="pnext">When a passing cloud of a darker gray
+brought the big drops pattering about them
+for a few minutes, they merely scampered
+under an over-hanging boulder, where they
+huddled together on a drift of leaves, and
+watched it all.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Later, when the bull-frogs began their
+“Ke-dunk, ke-dunk,” down under the banks
+of Lone Lake, where the ducks were feeding
+their nestlings, and the sun began to
+send long red beams slanting through the
+tree-trunks, Fleet Foot led them down to a
+shallow cove for a taste of lily pads, and
+they waded in and tried a nibble of everything
+she tasted.</p>
+<p class="pnext">After that came a night under a drooping
+pine tree, whose lowest branch roofed over
+a boulder in the most inviting way, and the
+wind droned through the branches and blew
+the mosquitoes all away, and they lay
+snuggled warmly together on the fragrant
+needles, and watched the stars come out.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In the morning they were just starting
+out on an exploring tour when they were
+alarmed by the baying of a hound.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now Lop Ear had always had an important
+duty at the Valley Farm. It had been
+his part to round up the cows when night
+came, or when any of them went astray in
+the woods. And all day yesterday he had
+missed Fleet Foot from her stall in the hay-barn.</p>
+<p class="pnext">True, she had always seemed different
+from the regular cows. Until she came there
+with her broken leg, he had always supposed
+she belonged in the woods. But surely,
+surely the Farmer would not have kept her
+there unless she belonged there, reasoned the,
+faithful dog. And now she was gone!</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was but one thing to do: he must go
+in search of her and bring her home.</p>
+<p class="pnext">All that day he tried in vain to find her
+trail. The next morning he was up with the
+sun. This time he would search farther
+afield. “Wow! Bow-wow! Wow-wow-wow!”
+Here was a footprint, unless his
+nose deceived him! What’s more, they had
+passed that way not ten minutes since! It
+was but a matter of following the trail, and
+he would be nipping at their heels and driving
+them back to the Farm.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Wow-wow-wow!” he bayed; and Frisky,
+the Red Fox Pup, heard and came trotting
+to peek at him and see what it was all about.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The sound filled the fawns with uneasiness.
+They had always been afraid of Lop Ear,
+with his nipping and yapping around the
+cattle.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Children,” bade Fleet Foot sternly,
+“hurry to that clump of bracken and lie
+down. Stretch your heads and fore legs out
+straight in front of you and lie there as flat
+as you can make yourselves,—while I lead
+this hound off somewhere where he’ll lose
+your scent.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns obeyed instantly.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot then doubled back on her trail,
+and with a stamp and a snort to call the
+hound’s attention, she soon had him following
+her great bounds in quite the opposite
+direction. She kept just far enough ahead
+of him to make sure he wouldn’t give up
+the chase—though she could easily have out-distanced
+him.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/042.jpg" src="images/042.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/043.jpg" src="images/043.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-v-a-son-of-the-wild">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id6">CHAPTER V.—A SON OF THE WILD.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Now Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, admired
+no one so much as he did his father. And
+he had heard his father tell how he had
+chased the doe and her fawns that dreadful
+day when Fleet Foot broke her leg.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Not that the little rascal really wanted to
+hurt those gentle soft-eyed babies. He
+wasn’t hungry, and besides, he couldn’t have
+killed them had he wanted to. He just
+thought it would be fun to play that he was
+Father Red Fox and give them a good scare.
+(But how were the fawns to know that?)
+In other words, like a great many very
+young persons, he didn’t stop to think of
+the other fellow’s point of view in the
+matter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Thus, no sooner had he seen Fleet Foot
+headed in the other direction, leaving the
+fawns unprotected, than he pranced merrily
+up to them, his yellow eyes gleaming with
+mischief.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Yip, yip!” he yelled at them in his high-pitched
+little voice.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had been told to lie still.
+But how could they, when danger was almost
+upon them? They were certainly not going
+to lie there and let this little wild dog bite
+them!</p>
+<p class="pnext">With a bleat of alarm they sprang to their
+feet and raced through the brush, leaping
+over bush and brier and boulder as if their
+very lives depended on it.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Frisky Fox could also leap bush and
+brier and boulder. And he came leaping
+after, just two jumps behind them!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now around a clump of greenbriar, down
+a trail of dainty pointed hoof prints that led
+through brush head high,—up hill, down hill
+the trio sped, startling the pheasants and
+sending them into the air with a whirr.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Here the trail turned abruptly down the
+side of a precipice, and the fawns followed,
+while Frisky, having paused for a moment
+when his tail got caught in a bramble, had
+to come trotting after with his nose to the
+ground, as he could no longer see them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had never been taught that
+water carries no scent. They just happened
+to go splashing across a bit of a frog pond
+that lay cupped among hillocks of seedling
+pines. But looking back at every seventh
+leap or so, they could see that the fox pup
+followed his nose to the water’s edge, and
+there stopped and sniffed all about uncertainly,
+before again catching a glimpse of
+them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But though the chase went merrily on
+(that is, merrily on the fox’s part), the
+fawns had learned a valuable lesson.</p>
+<p class="pnext">They now made straight for Lone Lake,
+and my! You should have seen the ducks
+take flight as these two alarming little fellows
+came splashing in among them!</p>
+<p class="pnext">A deer, when pursued by hounds, will
+always take to water when he can, and the
+hounds have no scent to follow. Then, unless
+there is a hunter along, and he catches sight
+of his quarry, and fires, the deer are safe.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Red Fox Pup uses his eyes, as
+well as his nose, and he was so close behind,
+and understood so well this trick of taking
+to water, (for he escaped the hounds that
+way himself), that he wasn’t fooled the least
+little bit in the world. Not he!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Only once they had taken the plunge, the
+little fellows decided to swim out to a reedy
+islet where they could rest. And the fox pup
+didn’t think it worth while to get his fur
+wet. For when his great brush of a tail gets
+wet, it is so heavy that it weighs him down,
+and he can’t run nearly so fast, so the mice
+all get away.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Of course the fawns thought it was all
+their own cleverness, and you should have
+heard them telling Fleet Foot about it when
+she found them there!</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns never tired of watching the life
+that stirred everywhere about them, their
+great soft eyes filled with pleasant wonder.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One day it would be the one soft cluck
+of Mother Grouse Hen, calling to her chicks
+to hide before Frisky Fox should pass that
+way.</p>
+<p class="pnext">When he had passed, looking so wise and
+knowing, (with his bright eyes peering into
+every nook and corner, and his pointed little
+nose testing the air for a taint), Mother
+Grouse Hen would give a different sort of
+cluck; and back the frightened chicks would
+come to her, and she would gather them comfortingly
+under her wings, pressing each
+wee brown baby to her down-covered breast
+to reassure him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then she would utter a soft, brooding
+cluck that told them how she loved them, and
+how safe they were with Mother to look out
+for them.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/047.jpg" src="images/047.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/048.jpg" src="images/048.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vi-a-strange-friendship">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id7">CHAPTER VI.—A STRANGE FRIENDSHIP.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">What was the matter with the hen-roost
+at the Valley Farm, the fox pup asked himself?
+He had killed so many field mice in the
+course of the summer that he felt he was
+really entitled to one of the farmer’s nice fat
+hens,—because the mice might have destroyed
+the farmer’s crops, had Frisky not
+prevented.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At the same time he knew that Lop Ear,
+the hound at the Valley Farm, would have
+another opinion in the matter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Frisky sat up and thought.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Lop Ear would give the alarm, and then,
+even if he threw the hound off the scent,
+there would be men with guns, and more
+dodging of bullets than he cared to risk.
+He had often seen it, watching from his hill-top
+in the woods. And he always tried to
+profit by other people’s experience.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Suddenly his bright eyes began to snap.
+The very idea! He would make friends with
+Lop Ear.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then Lop Ear might try to be sound
+asleep on the night when Frisky visited the
+chicken coop; and should the Hired Man get
+out his gun, the hound would surely lose
+his trail.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Thereafter, for days on end, Frisky made
+the strangest advances to the dignified old
+hound, whenever the latter fared forth into
+the woods to catch him a mouse for supper.
+It was very much like a puppy trying to
+coax an old dog to play.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Come chase me!” Frisky would invite,
+dancing ahead just out of Lop Ear’s reach.
+Then, “I’ll chase you,” he would vary the
+program. And Lop Ear (half unwillingly)
+played the role assigned him, till at last he
+came to look on his evening ramble in the
+woods with Frisky as a distinct part of his
+day’s pleasuring.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Not that Frisky ever came within reach
+of Lop Ear’s jaws. No, indeed! That was
+carrying the thing a bit too far. But he
+did finally get the hound to the point where
+he no longer considered it his duty to try to
+make an end of the young fox. And he
+really enjoyed their games of hide and seek.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Boy from the Valley Farm did not
+know what to make of Lop Ear’s growing
+fondness for solitary rambles.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One night, when the October moon
+gleamed cool and sparkling through the
+fringe of fir trees, young Frisky Fox might
+have been seen loping softly through the
+corn-field.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Who goes there?” bayed Lop Ear, as he
+leaped the barn-yard fence.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Come and play,” coaxed Frisky. “You
+can’t catch me!” and leaping up the sloping
+roof of the hen-house, he squeezed gracefully
+through the barred window. A
+moment more and there was a stifled squawk
+and Frisky squeezed his way back through
+the bars, dragging a hen behind him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But alas for the best laid plans.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Bow-wow-wow! You can’t do that, you
+know!” suddenly bayed Lop Ear. “That’s
+carrying the game a little too far. After
+all, I have my duty to perform.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What is it?” yelled the Hired Man, poking
+his head from his sleeping-room in the
+barn-loft. “A fox, eh?” and he grabbed for
+his gun, leaning far out to scan the moonlit
+fields.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Frisky Fox, by keeping the shed between
+himself and the gun, made off through the
+corn-field with the hen across his shoulder.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Lop Ear, his warning uttered, now dashed
+madly in quite the wrong direction,—for the
+memory of the fox pup’s friendship was
+strong upon him. But the Hired Man was
+not to be fooled.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In less time than it takes to tell it, he was
+out circling the field, gun in hand. And the
+bright moonlight soon showed him where the
+cornstalks rustled with Frisky’s passing.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Hi, there!” yelled the Hired Man, gun
+in hand, as he raced around the corn-field.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Frisky was an excellent judge of distance,
+and he knew to a certainty that he
+was out of gun range.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He therefore deliberately stopped where
+he was and snatched a bite of his hen.</p>
+<p class="pnext">As the Hired Man came nearer, the fox
+pup ran farther, always keeping just about
+so much distance between himself and the
+gun. He could easily have out-distanced his
+pursuer. But he was in a mischievous mood
+to-night, and it pleased him to see how far he
+could go toward devouring the entire hen
+while the angry man looked on.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He did it, too, saucily enough, gobbling a
+bite here and a bite there, looking back over
+his shoulder the while at the man with the
+gun. One or two shots did ring out on the
+crisp night air, kicking up the dirt a few
+rods behind him, but Frisky Fox ate on,
+secure by those few rods of space, as well
+he knew.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Only once did he miscalculate, the shot
+landing so near him that he knew the next
+one would surely get him if the Hired Man
+tried again.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Quick as a flash the clever rascal toppled
+over on his side, playing dead. The ruse
+worked, for the Hired Man did not shoot
+again. And while he was fumbling his way
+through the corn-field to where he believed
+the fox lay waiting, Frisky was making for
+the woods with his nimble black feet fairly
+twinkling over the ground.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Throwing himself at last on the soft pine
+needles on a little hill-top, he peered through
+the moonlight to where the Hired Man was
+staring helplessly about him wondering
+where the dead fox lay. Frisky laughed
+silently at the success of his ruse,—the first
+time he had ever played ’possum himself,
+though he had seen it done once before, when
+his mother had been hard pressed. In her
+case she had actually let the boy pick her
+up, when he found her with one foot in a
+trap. But to her surprise he had only
+released her with pitying words and a caress
+on her silky red head.</p>
+<p class="pnext">No such treatment could be expected of
+the Hired Man, Frisky knew.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Lop Ear, slinking back to the barn-yard
+with tail between his legs, was just unlucky
+enough to catch the Hired Man’s notice as
+the latter was returning foxless.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Here,” he ordered threateningly. “Put
+your nose to that trail and follow it, or I’ll
+show you what’s what!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next thing Frisky knew, he heard the
+baying of his one-time friend close on his
+trail. With a yawn and a lick at his jaws,
+where a feather still clung, he struck off as
+easily as if he had just arisen from a sound
+night’s sleep.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He didn’t even bother to keep very far
+ahead of the dog.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/054.jpg" src="images/054.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/055.jpg" src="images/055.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vii-a-wit-out-witted">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id8">CHAPTER VII.—A WIT OUT-WITTED.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Not that Frisky Fox believed greatly in
+Lop Ear’s friendship.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Not after the way the hound had given
+the alarm at the chicken coop!</p>
+<p class="pnext">But he knew that at any moment he could
+so far outdistance that doubtful ally that he
+wasn’t in the slightest danger. The ground
+was firm and dry, and he had all the advantage
+of his lighter weight and nimbler feet.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Had there been soft snow on the ground
+it might have been different. But the first
+frost had not yet ripened the hazel nuts
+in the woods around Mt. Olaf.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Once, just to punish him, Frisky turned
+back and bared his teeth so viciously at Lop
+Ear that the hound was driven back—to the
+Hired Man’s amazement.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then Frisky tripped his way down to
+Rapid River and crossed on the wet brook
+stones, leaving no scent for Lop Ear to
+follow.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The hound well off the trail, Frisky again
+crossed the stream farther up on a fallen
+log. And circling around through the
+shadows, he was soon following the Hired
+Man, slipping behind trees and boulders and
+smiling from ear to ear as the latter stumbled
+along with his useless gun.</p>
+<p class="pnext">When at last the hound stopped short at
+the river bank, where he lost the scent, the
+Hired Man gave it up in disgust, and went
+back home to his bed.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And Frisky, the handsome little scoundrel,
+calmly sought out the dry south side
+of a hill which would shelter him from the
+wind and slept with his black legs doubled
+under him and his white-tipped brush of
+a tail curled comfortably around him to
+keep out the draft.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Shrewd, cautious, daring, the Red Fox
+Pup bade fair at this stage of his career to
+develop the best set of brains in all the
+North Woods.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Yet there was one at the Valley Farm that
+could out-wit him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Frisky was sitting on his haunches a few
+days later in the midst of the now deserted
+hay field, listening for the squeak of a
+meadow mouse, when something made him
+prick up his ears.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was something about that squeak
+that sounded just a wee bit different from
+any squeak he had ever heard before.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But no, there it was again, unmistakably
+the tiny voice of a mouse on the other side
+of the field. The fox pup had such needle-sharp
+ears that he could hear fainter
+sounds than any human being ever could
+have.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But though Frisky Fox was clever, the
+Boy at the Valley Farm was more so. And
+the Boy sat behind a bush at the farther
+end of the field, as motionless as the gray
+stump that Frisky thought he was. This
+time the joke was on the Red Fox Pup, for
+the squeaks he heard issued from the Boy’s
+pursed lips. It was an excellent imitation.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He tip-toed nearer and nearer the
+tiny squeaks, while the Boy gazed at the
+graceful fellow through his new field
+glasses.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He was a handsome fellow, was Frisky
+Fox, with his yellow-red coat shining sleek
+in the sunlight. And my! How his great
+plume of a tail fluffed out behind him! His
+tail was nearly as long as the rest of his
+body put together, and it fluffed out nearly
+as broadly. Mother Red Fox certainly had
+a son to be proud of!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Of a sudden a little breeze shifted around
+to where it brought the foxy one a faint
+scent. It told his keen black nose there was
+something down there besides the bush.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It wasn’t a mouse, either!</p>
+<p class="pnext">“No, sir, that’s no field mouse,” said
+Frisky’s nose, as the Red Fox Pup circled
+to windward of the tiny squeaking sounds.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“That’s the Boy at the Valley Farm!
+That’s what that is! Now I’ll just pretend
+not to see him at all till I get behind that
+rock, then I’ll race for the woods.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">For Frisky didn’t know that the thing the
+Boy was pointing at him was only a pair of
+field glasses. And it wouldn’t have made
+much difference even had he known. Frisky
+did not like to be watched. He therefore did
+exactly as he had planned, crossing the field
+with seeming lack of interest in anything
+save the purple and yellow of asters and
+golden-rod and the scarlet of woodbine, and
+the blue of the Indian summer sky, till he
+felt himself out of range.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At the instant of his discovery that it was
+one of those dangerous human creatures that
+sat there like a stump he had cocked his ears
+sharply and leaped fully two feet into the
+air in his surprise.</p>
+<p class="pnext">That was the only sign he made, however,
+of the extreme anxiety that set his heart to
+thumping, till he was just on the edge of
+the woods; then he suddenly looked back
+with one of his thin, husky barks, to know
+why the Boy should have tried to fool him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But afterwards, from the shelter of the
+barberry vines that fringed the old stone
+wall, he peered and peeked and wondered
+about it all as long as the Boy remained.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/060.jpg" src="images/060.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/061.jpg" src="images/061.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viii-steep-trails">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id9">CHAPTER VIII.—STEEP TRAILS.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">These hot days in August, when the trout
+took to the very deepest, coldest pools they
+could find, and hid themselves all day under
+the over-hanging rocks, and every creature
+that couldn’t take to the water longed for
+rain, Fleet Foot used to lead her little family
+up the steep trails to the top of Mount
+Olaf or some near-by mountain-top, where
+the wind blew cool night and day.</p>
+<p class="pnext">These trips were full of much joy for the
+fawns, for there was all the spice of adventure
+in following a winding hoof-path that
+led—they knew not where. For one never
+knew what might be just around the next
+turn.</p>
+<p class="pnext">How their hearts thumped when they came
+suddenly to the edge of a precipice, where
+they could look down at Beaver Brook tumbling
+over the rocks away, ’way down below I
+Or perhaps they could get just a glimpse of
+Lone Lake lying gleaming in the hollow of
+the hills.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Not that there was any trail in the real
+sense of the word.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Left to themselves, they could not have
+told one rock from another, save here and
+there where a bit of mica gleamed silver
+against the gray, or a scraggly pine leaned
+too far out over a ledge to look safe.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But to their mother their trail was as
+plain as the nose on your face. It was just
+a matter of turning and twisting, here to
+pass between those two queer-shaped boulders,
+and there to go around that flat rock
+which teetered alarmingly beneath one’s
+feet. She had been over it all so many times
+that she had learned the look of each new
+turn of the pathway. Had so much as one
+pinnacle been out of place, she would have
+known,—and wondered why.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One still, sunshiny morning, after they
+had drunk their fill at a cool green pool of
+Beaver Brook, they started up the mountain-side
+for a day under the shade of the
+last fringe of evergreens before one came
+to the bare, rocky ridges, where it got too
+cold for anything to grow, except in sheltered
+crevices.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns danced and capered to the
+music of the bird song that filled the woods,
+while Fleet Foot cropped all sorts of delicious
+tid-bits,—now a clump of oyster mushrooms
+growing shelf-like on a fallen log,
+and now a bunch of blue-berries, plump and
+juicy and sun-sweet. Life was one long
+holiday.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One misty morning, as Fleet Foot was
+leading them in great bounds through the
+tall meadow grass, the fawns came to a sudden
+stand-still, their eyes popping with surprise.
+For they had just barely escaped
+stepping on the writhing coils of a great long
+snake.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their bleat of fear brought Fleet Foot
+instantly.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Pouf! That’s only a garter snake,” she
+reassured them, with one glance at the
+length-wise stripes (yellow and dark gray).
+“That’s nothing to be afraid of. The only
+kind you want to look out for is the kind
+with cross-wisp stripes. I don’t believe there
+is more than one snake in all the North
+Woods that is poisonous,—and there are at
+least a dozen that are perfectly harmless.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What is the poisonous one?” bleated the
+trembling fawns.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“The rattler. But you won’t see one of
+those in a year’s time,—not in these woods,
+where it gets so cold in winter. They love
+it hot and dry, and so of course they live
+mostly out West, though you do find a few
+sometimes among the rocks on the warm
+south side of a mountain.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Oo! What if we’d meet a rattler?”
+shivered the fawns.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Well, he’d warn you before you went
+too near.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Warn us?—How?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“He’d rattle, of course. He has a little
+set of bones on his tail that he can rattle, and
+when you hear that, you need to look out,
+and get away quickly.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Are the others really harmless, Mother?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Harmless to fawns. That is, they have
+no poison bite. Snakes do a lot of good, eating
+pests.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“But I don’t like snakes,” insisted the
+tinier fawn.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Well, neither does Mother. But it’s so
+silly, children, to be afraid. Where is that
+garter snake? Gone, to be sure! And even
+the rattler only strikes because he thinks
+you are going to kill him.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns were very thoughtful after
+that. “Mother,” they finally bleated,
+“Seems as if even the meanest creatures in
+the woods had <em class="italics">some</em> use.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“That’s right,” their mother answered
+them.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/065.jpg" src="images/065.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/066.jpg" src="images/066.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ixthe-ogre-of-the-air">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id10">CHAPTER IX—THE OGRE OF THE AIR.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">It was one of those breezy days when
+white wind clouds piled up against the sky,
+and patches of shadow traveled across the
+mountain-sides.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot had decided to take the fawns
+to Mountain Pond, in the pass between
+Mount Olaf and Old Bald-face, a peak that
+had been burned bare of trees by a forest
+fire, and now grew nothing much save blue-berries
+for the bears to feast on.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot wasn’t a bit afraid of bears
+at this time of year, knowing how greatly
+they prefer a vegetarian diet, though, at
+that, she didn’t intend to go too near. (After
+all, the steep gulch of Beaver Brook Bed lay
+between the two mountain-sides.)</p>
+<p class="pnext">They had a lovely time at the Pond, where
+they met several other does, with their
+fawns, and the youngsters played together
+while their mothers gossiped over their cuds.
+The cool breeze ruffled their fur delightfully,
+and they found enough shade in the patch
+of woods that huddled in the head of the
+gulch.</p>
+<p class="pnext">As the sun neared the tops of the purple
+peaks that faded away to the west, the little
+group started back down the trail to where
+there was more herbage to browse upon,
+Fleet Foot lingering along to allow the
+fawns plenty of time to pick out a sure footing.
+For it was their first trip over this
+particular trail.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Carefully they wound over a great over-hanging
+boulder, on the edge of which they
+paused to peer, with braced hoofs, over the
+precipice, which here dropped sheer to the
+rocks below. Just beyond, the first falls of
+Beaver Brook dashed green-white over the
+ledges.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot hurried on to the foot
+of the falls, where one might take a shower
+bath in the spray.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Come on, children,” she whistled over
+her shoulder, her eyes on the path ahead.
+And the tinkle of the falling water filled her
+ears till she could not have heard their foot-steps
+following, had she tried.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But fawns will be fawns. And the
+youngsters stopped to watch a queer shadow
+that now danced across their path. Cloud
+shadows they had watched all day, but this
+one was different. In the first place, it was
+such a tiny thing,—for a cloud. And it
+danced about in the most amusing manner,—much
+faster than any cloud shadow they had
+seen before. In fact, it seemed to be going
+around and around them in big circles. And
+it looked exactly as if the little cloud had
+wings like a bird.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Alas for two such little helpless ones!—Had
+they but looked above their heads,
+instead of at the circling shadow, they
+would have discovered that it was a giant
+bird that made it. In short, it was Baldy
+the Eagle, the ogre of the air,—and an ogre
+that especially delighted in having fawn for
+supper!</p>
+<p class="pnext">An ugly fellow was Baldy, with his great
+curved beak and his great yellow claws. His
+body alone was bigger than that of the
+fawns, and his wings spread out like the
+wings of an aeroplane. He was mostly a
+muddy brown, with white head and fan-spread
+tail, and he smelled horribly fishy,
+for he isn’t a bit particular about what he
+eats, and frequently stuffs himself so full
+of the spoiled fish he finds on the shore that
+he can’t even fly.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The air hissed to his wings.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He waited now till he felt that Fleet Foot
+was surely too far away to come to their
+rescue, should he attack the fawns. For he
+knew from experience that with her sharp
+hoofs she could put up a fight he would
+rather not face.</p>
+<p class="pnext">For a while he wandered if he should just
+simply drop down upon one of the little fellows
+and pin his talons into his back, and
+fly away to his nest. But it would be awfully
+heavy to carry and of course it would kick
+and wriggle, ’till like enough he would be
+unable to manage his feathered aeroplane,
+and they would run into some jagged rock.</p>
+<p class="pnext">If the fawns had been orphans, he might
+have killed one right there, and no one would
+have interfered.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But they were not orphans, and their
+mother would come racing back and cut him
+to pieces with those knife-edged fore-hoofs.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Ha! An idea popped into his ugly old
+head.—He would scare one of the fawns off
+the edge of the precipice, and it would leap
+to its death on the rocks below; and then he
+could wait till Fleet Foot had gone, for his
+feast.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Swooping lower and lower, while still the
+foolish fawns stared innocently at the dancing
+shadow, he suddenly flapped his wings
+about the tinier fawn, startling him terribly,
+but not enough to make him back off the cliff.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Stronger measures must be tried,—and
+there was no time to waste; for at the fawn’s
+first bleat of terror, Fleet Foot heard and
+was now leaping like the wind, back the trail
+to his rescue.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Swooping again, Baldy began beating the
+little fellow with great heavy blows of his
+middle wing joints. It hurt dreadfully, and
+the frightened fawn turned first this way,
+then that, in his endeavor to get away.
+Nearer and nearer the edge of the precipice
+he crowded. Now one hind foot had actually
+slipped off the rock face, and he had to
+struggle to regain his balance.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then the one thing happened that could
+have saved him. Fleet Foot reached the
+spot. Rearing furiously on her hind legs,
+she struck at Baldy’s head with her
+sharp hoofs, tearing great wounds in
+his scalp. Then, with a scream of rage and
+pain, he raised his wings and slanted swiftly
+upward, wings hissing, to his granite peak.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawn was not seriously hurt,—only
+terribly frightened. His back was bruised,
+but that would heal, and he would be none
+the worse for his experience.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But where was the other fawn?—They
+found him wedged in between the boulders,—the
+one place where he could ever have
+escaped the beat of those wings. Fleet Foot
+praised him mightily for having so much
+sense, and he felt quite cocky,—though of
+course his brother was the real hero of
+the day.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One other danger marred their summer.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Every now and again, as they were passing
+beneath some low-hanging branch, they
+would catch a glimpse of a tawny form flattened
+along the limb, watching them with
+pale yellow eyes that gleamed through narrowed
+lids.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Perhaps it would be in a deep, dark hemlock
+thicket, or a cedar swamp, that they
+would meet the giant cat.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He was a ferocious-looking fellow, was
+Old Man Lynx, with his great, square, whiskered
+face, and his ears with their black
+tassels and the black stripe down the middle
+of his back. And my, how his claws
+crunched the bark as he sharpened them!
+How his whiskers twitched and his mouth
+watered as the fawns passed beneath him!
+He seemed all teeth and claws.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Perhaps the little family would be drowsing
+peacefully in the shade of a long
+September afternoon when suddenly some spirit
+of their ancestors, (or was it some guardian
+angel of their antlered tribe?) would whisper
+“Danger!” and set their fur to rising
+along their spines in a cold shiver of nameless
+fear.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Had Old Man Lynx ever really put
+it to the test, he could have won out with
+Fleet Foot. But he knew the sharp drive
+of her little hoofs, and he was terribly afraid
+of pain. (Did he not wear a great scar in
+his side, due to an adventure of his rash
+young days, when a fat buck had given him
+a rip with his antlers?)</p>
+<p class="pnext">Perhaps that was why Fleet Foot always
+raced away in a wide curve that presently
+brought her back to where she could peer
+curiously at the invader of her solitude,
+without herself being seen.</p>
+<p class="pnext">She used to spy in the same way on Old
+Man Red Fox, and Frisky, his promising
+young hopeful.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In fact, what with Frisky spying on the
+fawns, and the fawns watching Frisky, these
+children of hostile tribes kept pretty close
+track of one another.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The summer passed on the whole, however,
+with no more adventure than the sound
+of the lonely “Hoo-woo-o-o-o” of a loon at
+twilight, or the sudden whirr of a startled
+pheasant’s wings, or a quarrel between some
+wicked red squirrel caught robbing a crow’s
+nest. (Or was it a crow that had robbed the
+squirrel’s little hoard, and was getting handsomely
+scolded for his villainy?).</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/074.jpg" src="images/074.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/075.jpg" src="images/075.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-x-wild-grapes">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id11">CHAPTER X.—WILD GRAPES.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">It had been one of those cool, crisp days
+when the sun shone just warm enough to
+feel good to the furred and feathered folk.
+Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, had been creeping
+up on a flying squirrel, who sat nibbling
+the ripe berries of the Solomon’s Seal with
+her three little ones beside her, when the
+entire family took alarm and went leaping
+back to the beech-nut tree.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now Frisky had not reached the age of
+six whole months in vain. He had sharp
+eyes, and he used them. And he had never
+seen a squirrel that could spread sail like
+that. He felt that his eyes must have
+deceived him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He forgot his surprise at the very next
+turn of the trail, when he suddenly spied a
+tangle of wild grape vine that hung in a
+canopy of the luscious purple clusters over
+the stag-horn sumac.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Frisky Fox had never seen wild grapes
+before, though he had often passed the vines
+when the fruit was green. Now his keen
+little nose told him enough to make him
+eager for a taste.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But the fruit hung just too high. Leaping
+into the air, he occasionally got a nibble
+from the low-hanging bunches. But these
+only served to whet his appetite for more.</p>
+<p class="pnext">To add to his discontent, Fairy the Flying
+Squirrel suddenly sailed down from a tree-top,
+alighting on the very top of the grapevine
+canopy. And there she perched saucily
+and munched and sucked at grape after
+grape before his very eyes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">This was too much for Frisky. Around
+and around the vines he circled, screwing up
+his courage for a leap.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He finally discovered a place where the
+vine hugged a slanting tree trunk, and he
+climbed as far as he could.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next instant Fairy had sailed back to
+her branch as easily as if she had been
+laughing at him. But Frisky didn’t mind
+that. It would take just a stretch of his
+neck and his jaws would close on a great
+cluster of the fragrant fruit.</p>
+<p class="pnext">If young Frisky Fox had only been content
+with that one taste, all might have been
+well. But just beyond was a larger bunch.
+Frisky gave a leap, landing on his tip-toes
+on crossed vines. But the vines parted
+beneath his weight, and down he plunged—almost
+to the ground, but not quite. Not
+far enough for a foot-hold.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And there he hung, head downward, hind
+legs tangled in the vines, unable to better
+his position!</p>
+<p class="pnext">My, how he writhed and squirmed, and bit
+at the vine that shackled him! But to no
+avail! He was a prisoner, just as surely as
+if he had been tied with a rope. Little his
+brains availed him now.</p>
+<p class="pnext">If any one had asked young Frisky Fox,
+as he hung head downward from that
+grapevine, what he thought of the
+situation, he would have said it couldn’t be worse.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Yet it speedily became worse,—so much
+worse, indeed, that Frisky redoubled his
+efforts to free himself,—though he had an
+awful feeling that it was no use.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was Tattle-tale the Jay who warned
+him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Tattle-tale kept pretty close track of all
+that went on in the forest, and then told all
+he knew.</p>
+<p class="pnext">So many times had he flown ahead of
+Frisky Fox, screaming at the top of his
+lungs: “A Fox! A Fox! Beware!” that
+Frisky had come to dread the sound of his
+voice.</p>
+<p class="pnext">This time Tattle-tale, who played no
+favorites, was doing Frisky a good turn, but
+the little fox was in no position to appreciate
+the fact.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Look out, there! Look out, everybody,”
+Tattle-tale was screaming. “Old Man
+Lynx is coming!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” squeaked Shadow Tail,
+the Red Squirrel, making for his hole in the
+oak tree.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“OLD MAN LYNX, Mammy, Old Man
+Lynx!” squealed Timothy Cottontail, hopping
+madly for a hollow log.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” grunted Unk-Wunk,
+the Porcupine. “A lot I care!” And he
+rolled himself up into a prickly ball in the
+top of a swaying birch tree.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Old Man Lynx!” thought Frisky Fox,
+fairly beside himself with frenzy. Hanging
+there heels uppermost in the grapevine, he
+was as helpless as a mouse in a trap. And
+here was the great cat, his ancient enemy,
+creeping, creeping, creeping through the
+shadows, his nose sniffing this way and that
+for the scent that would tell him where to
+find a good supper.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Another moment and out of the tail of his
+eye he saw the great, heavy, bob-tailed cat,
+with his cruel face, squared off with a fringe
+of whiskers that framed his chin, and sharp
+ears tasseled with little tufts of fur at
+their tips.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The yellow eyes gleamed evilly as Old Man
+Lynx caught sight of Frisky hanging there
+so helplessly, and his grizzled gray-brown
+fur rose along his spine.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now he was wriggling along the ground
+flattened out like a snake. Now he was
+creeping up the tree trunk as silently as a
+shadow, and now he was gathering his legs
+beneath him for the leap that would land
+him squarely on Frisky Fox.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Frisky knew that one crunch of those
+gleaming teeth would end it all, so far as the
+Red Fox Pup was concerned.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Frisky had a trick up his sleeve. His
+wits were still in working order.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What a pity!” sighed Shadow Tail, the
+Red Squirrel, as he peered from his hole in
+the oak tree.</p>
+<p class="pnext">For Old Man Lynx had no objection what-ever
+to having fox for supper. The only
+objection he had to foxes was that he could
+never catch one.</p>
+<p class="pnext">For to look at poor Frisky Fox, his red-brown
+fur still soft and silky, his black feet
+tapering so delicately and his white throat
+exposed, it didn’t seem as if he had a show
+in the world of escaping the huge cat.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Old Man Lynx was stupid. He had
+nothing but his powerful muscles and his
+murderous teeth and claws, whereas Frisky
+had the nimble wit of one who lives by being
+both hunter and hunted.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And even as he waited for the leap for
+which he saw the Lynx preparing, he
+thought of a way out of both the grapevine
+and the danger he was in.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The next instant the Old Man gave one of
+his blood-curdling screeches, by which he so
+often paralyzed his prey with fright. Then
+he dropped to the branch just above, claws
+out for Frisky Fox.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But the very instant his heavy form
+touched the tangled vines, they gave way
+beneath him, and he, too, went crashing down
+in a net-work that held him fast. And,
+what’s more, his huge weight loosed the vines
+that held Frisky prisoner.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But wait! With his great steel claws the
+giant cat wrenched himself free. Frisky
+made for a clump of greenbriar, for his leg
+had gone to sleep, and he couldn’t run right
+till it had had time to wake up.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Was Old Man Lynx to get him after all?</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was only one reason why he didn’t—he
+had no great fondness for brambles.
+Cats, wild and tame, are mighty fond of their
+own skins, and Old Man Lynx was no exception.
+He’d have to be mighty hungry before
+he’d either scratch his fur out or get it wet.</p>
+<p class="pnext">While Old Man Lynx thought it over,
+Frisky Fox was certainly not standing still.
+Not Frisky! He was struggling so hard to
+tear himself free that the brambles were
+all trimmed up with little tufts of his tawny
+coat.</p>
+<p class="pnext">That the gray form crouched so near him
+meant to spring he could easily guess, and
+his heart thumped so loudly in his furry
+chest that he could hardly breathe. Eyes
+straining wide with fright, as he tugged this
+way and that, (for he was really caught fast
+again), he suffered far more from terror
+than from the pain of the brambles. His
+leg was awake now, and with one last twinge
+he wrenched himself loose.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At the same instant the great gray cat
+launched itself almost upon him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But Frisky was too quick for it. By the
+time Old Man Lynx had reached the spot,
+Frisky was tearing down the slope.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now lynxes have poor eyesight. Following
+their nose is their one best guide. Of
+this Frisky was aware, as his mother had
+told him so.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He could hear the great cat scrambling
+after him at a terrific pace. But he was
+going too fast to try any dodges, for one
+stumble and the other would be upon him.
+If it had been Mother Red Fox, she could
+have laughed at her pursuer. But Frisky
+was only a pup, remember, and his short
+legs had all they could do to keep ahead of
+such a big fellow.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Just as he was beginning to wonder how
+long this would keep up, he recalled something
+else his mother had taught him.
+Lynxes cannot swim. At least, they won’t.
+The river was just off to the left, and with
+a quick turn and a sidewise leap that might
+or might not throw the Old Man off his
+scent, he dashed for the water.</p>
+<p class="pnext">On the very brink of the moonlit current,
+he suddenly remembered one thing more.
+The last time he had tried that swim he had
+let his tail get so wet and heavy that he had
+only reached the other bank by hanging on
+to his father’s brush. Now there was no one
+to tow him. Should he risk it, or was he
+safer where he was?</p>
+<p class="pnext">To cross or not to cross, that was the question
+before him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">If he trusted his fate to the current, he
+might drown. And if he remained on the
+same side with Old Man Lynx, he might meet
+another fate.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was but a heart’s beat to decide.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Ah! What was that dark object just
+upstream? Could it be a log? What luck!
+Frisky veered to the right, his long agile
+leaps once more outdistancing the merciless
+form behind him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He reached the log. Alas, it reached only
+half way across! But he raced that half.
+Then one of his powerful forward leaps and
+he had landed within easy swimming distance
+of the other shore!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx stood raging on the bank
+he had left, afraid to risk it. His disappointed
+screech sent shivers along Frisky’s
+spine, but he knew he was safe.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Pup-like, no sooner was his mind relieved
+of worry than he burrowed into an old
+gopher hole and fell fast asleep.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/085.jpg" src="images/085.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/086.jpg" src="images/086.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xi-speckled-trout">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id12">CHAPTER XI.—SPECKLED TROUT.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">The still warmth of Indian summer
+passed, with its dreamy days and its crisp
+nights ablaze with twinkling stars.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And Fleet Foot left the fawns to shift
+more and more for themselves,—though
+they still followed her about. At first they
+were puzzled and a little hurt by her growing
+indifference. Then, as they began to
+feel the strength of their coming buck-hood,
+they began to enjoy their taste of freedom.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Indeed, the little rascals even began to
+watch the bucks, (their big cousins and
+uncles), who were returning in little bands
+from their summer’s wanderings. Someday
+they, too, would have those lordly
+antlers, and they, too, could join their bachelor
+explorations, while the does and younger
+fawns remained safely behind in the low-lands.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now no longer could they hear Vesper
+Sparrow trilling in the meadows and locusts
+twanging in the tree-tops. The brook beds
+were drying, 'and the deer now pastured
+along the sedgy shore-line of Lone Lake or
+splashed knee-deep in the shallows, while
+here and there the scarlet of a maple told
+of approaching winter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">No longer did the gabbling of countless
+ducks fill their ears when the pink sunsets
+tinted the Lake. Instead, there were many
+V-shaped flocks constantly migrating to the
+Southland, where the waters would not
+freeze.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now it was that the speckled trout, whom
+all summer long they had watched flashing
+silvery through the shallows, began putting
+on their coats of many colors.—At least the
+bride-grooms did. The prospective brides
+remained a quiet brown, for reasons the
+fawns were soon to learn. (For October is
+the month when trout start housekeeping
+together.)</p>
+<p class="pnext">In the early summer the fawns had
+watched these same finny fellows racing and
+leaping up the water-falls to the rapids.
+With the long, hot days, they had taken to
+the deep, shadowy pools—those watery
+caverns that afford such peaceful coolness
+everywhere along Beaver Brook.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now as the woods turned red and gold,
+the trout changed their cream colored vests
+to the most vivid orange, which looked gay
+enough with their red and white fins.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their coats were still olive-green, mottled
+with darker splotches, and on their sides the
+green melted into yellow, with the little red
+spots and speckles that give the trout their
+name.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their thousands of tiny scales were like
+suits of mail,—which came in very handy
+when they fought, as you shall see.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the fawns noticed that the larger and
+brighter colored fish were prospecting
+around in the shallows, where the water ran
+fastest, shoveling the gravel about with their
+bony noses, aided by their tails. Each trout
+soon had a little nest scooped out in the
+stream bed, and over it he stood guard, (or
+perhaps we ought to say swam guard),
+defending his homestead against all comers.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Sometimes a larger trout would come by
+and try to steal the nest of a smaller fish;
+and then what a fight they had! How they
+butted each other about, ramming each
+other’s soft sides, and even, at times, biting
+each other on the lip. It must have hurt
+dreadfully, because each trout had a mouthful
+of the sharpest teeth, that turned backward,
+so that when they caught a worm he
+was hooked as surely as he would be on the
+end of a fish-line.</p>
+<p class="pnext">In trout-land, you know, it is the father
+of the family that makes the nest. He it is
+who wears the gayest clothing, too,—because
+if the mother were too bright colored,
+her enemies could see her on her nest.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Once the nests were ready the mother
+trout came swimming upstream and
+promptly set to work filling them with
+leathery yellow-brown eggs, which they
+covered with gravel so that no pike or other cannibal
+of the river’s bottom could find and
+make a breakfast off of them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns marveled as they watched, day
+after day, till at last the trout all went back
+into deep water for the winter, leaving the
+eggs behind them. And Fleet Foot
+explained how, next spring, each leathery
+brown egg that had escaped the cannibal
+fish and the muskrats would be burst open
+by the baby trout inside, and out would
+wiggle the teeniest, weeniest troutlet you
+can possibly imagine!</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/090.jpg" src="images/090.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/091.jpg" src="images/091.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xii-the-victor">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id13">CHAPTER XII.—THE VICTOR.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">One evening when the frost lay glittering
+in the moonlight, the fawns were suddenly
+awakened, in their soft beds of drifted
+leaves, by a loud belling down on the lake
+shore; and wide-eyed, they tip-toed down to
+see what it meant.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There on the muddy beach—stamped with
+long lines of little cloven hoof prints—stood
+a handsome buck, with polished antlers,
+dancing about as if too full of energy to
+stand still.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the fawns had never seen their
+father, for he had been killed by a hunter.
+And the other bucks of the herd had been
+rambling about all summer in the higher
+hills.</p>
+<p class="pnext">They now saw Fleet Foot mince daintily
+down to inspect the new-comer, who was
+belling his greeting at the top of his lungs.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But the meeting was brought to a sudden
+end. For out of the woods pranced another
+buck, belling a saucy challenge to a fight.
+Fleet Foot withdrew to a safe distance, as
+did the fawns, and watched admiringly as
+the two bucks came together; and the excitement,
+no less than the keen, frosty air, set
+the blood to racing hot through their young
+veins.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Stamping their steel-shod hoofs defiantly
+and tossing their antlered heads in the pride
+of their strength, the two bucks bellowed
+their battle challenge.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Well, where did you come from?”
+shrilled Fleet Foot’s champion.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Never mind that. I’ve come to stay,”
+bellowed the new-comer. “If either of us
+has got to go, it will be yourself, because
+I’m the strongest.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Not if I know myself!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Look out! The strongest wins!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Yes, the strongest wins. So look out for
+your own self!” and the first buck gave a
+shrill snort of defiance.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Straightway the pair began dancing a sort
+of war-dance around each other. Slim and
+supple, they looked about equally fit.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot stepped gracefully a little
+nearer, and stood looking on, with her back
+to the fawns,—who thought best to keep
+their distance. They noticed that another
+little audience had gathered on the opposite
+side of the lake,—a couple of yearling bucks
+with proud spikes of horns and three with
+two-pronged antlers.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Around and around the two combatants
+tip-toed, heads flung back, chins in air. Then
+they lowered their antlers like shields, and
+Fleet Foot’s champion got in a good dig at
+the other’s ribs. With a bellow of rage, the
+second buck came plunging, and the two
+crashed together, antlers against antlers.
+Their sharp hoofs fairly ploughed the
+ground as they strove and struggled and
+pushed each other about, the very whites of
+their eyes showing in their rage.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“There’s ginger for you!” thought the
+fawns.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the fighting pair were shouldering
+each other about roughly with their horns,
+lips foaming, gasping for breath,—almost
+locking horns in a butting match. At last
+the first buck lifted his knife-edged forelegs
+and struck at the intruder. The next
+moment he was belling in triumph, for he
+had cut a great gash in the other’s shoulder,
+and the latter had had enough.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The victor now turned for the look of
+admiration he felt he ought to find in Fleet
+Foot’s eyes. But instead, he barely caught
+a glimpse of her dancing away through the
+thicket, with just one merry backward
+glance to see if he would race her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But he knew where to follow; for there
+was the faintest, loveliest perfume on the
+air where she had passed.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The fawns gazed after the pair, as they
+disappeared, then found themselves alone.
+All that month, while the woods turned from
+scarlet and yellow to brown and gray, and
+the nights grew frosty under the stars, the
+fawns were left very much to their own
+devices. But they were well capable of looking
+out for themselves at this time of year,
+for they found a beech wood and began fattening
+on the beech nuts against the increasing
+chill.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their coats were changing from tawny
+red to bluish gray, and their fur thickening
+to keep a layer of warm air next their skins.
+There were coarser hairs growing out as
+well, that helped to shed the rain. Their
+new fur glistened in the sunshine, and the
+fawns raced and hurdled in the keen air,
+and took running high jumps to work off
+their surplus energy.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then Fleet Foot and the winning buck
+returned, and with them came two of the
+young bucks who had watched the battle.
+The six ranged happily from cranberry bog
+to evergreen swamp, feasting, feasting,
+feasting on mosses, lichens, anything and
+everything that grew, till their sides rounded
+with their winter plumpness, and a layer of
+warm fat lay just underneath their skins.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But with the first powdering of snow came
+a new danger. The hunting season had
+opened, and to the huntsman our little family
+meant merely a few pounds of venison
+for his table, and the pride of a pair of
+antlers to hang his gun upon.</p>
+<p class="pnext">To the buck, however, one little bullet
+might in an instant rob him of life and the
+keen joy of his airy speed, and all the glad
+wonderful world about them, and leave his
+family defenseless through the long, hard
+winter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He was therefore more than wary. With
+the first crash of the Hired Man’s thunder
+stick, he led his little herd to a distant cedar
+swamp, where they were soon joined by other
+groups as nervous as themselves at this new
+peril that could pick them out and wound
+them from so far away.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Sometimes, even then, a member of the
+band would have a race for his life.—And
+sometimes he never came back! But Fleet
+Foot and her five pulled through in safety.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then the thunder-stick ceased to roar in
+the woods about Mount Olaf. The “season”
+was over, and the entire, band set about making
+active preparations for the on-coming
+winter. Already there were chill, drizzly
+days when all the world looked gray.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The former rivals now chewed their cuds
+together as peacefully as you please, the
+bucks sleeping on one side of the thicket,
+the does and their fawns on the other.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then came a big surprise for the fawns.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was a surprise for the Red Fox Pup
+as well.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/097.jpg" src="images/097.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/098.jpg" src="images/098.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiii-the-queer-feathers">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id14">CHAPTER XIII.—THE QUEER FEATHERS.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Frisky, the Red Fox Pup, had learned
+many lessons since the day he so nearly
+hanged himself in the wild grape-vines.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was the day of the first snow, for
+instance.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Awakening one morning, cramped and
+chilled because he had not lined his bed
+deeply enough with leaves to keep off the
+cold, he peered from his little den on the
+hillside with wide eyes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The air seemed filled, as far as he could
+see, with tiny white feathers, and the ground
+was covered with them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He peered this way and that, wondering
+what kind of birds they could be whose
+plumage was being shed so freely. It must
+be a flock large enough to cover the whole
+sky, he decided, mystified.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He crept stealthily from the den, afraid,
+because he did not understand.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The instant his black feet touched the cold
+stuff, he leaped high into the air, with a yip
+of fright and amazement. But when he
+opened his mouth he got a taste of the falling
+flakes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Ha!” he said to himself, “that accounts
+for it. It is just rain turned white.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">Still, he crept warily down to Pollywog
+Pond for his breakfast, stepping high,
+because he hated wet feet.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Arrived at the pond he stopped for a
+drink, when his lapping tongue came plump
+against a film of something hard and shining
+that seemed to cover the water. What could
+it be, he asked himself, lapping up a mouthful
+of the snow-flakes to ease his thirst. (He
+wisely held them in his mouth till they had
+melted, for fear of chilling his stomach.)</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was certainly very queer. Now the
+very trees were beginning to be outlined in
+white. It made the world look quite a different
+place.</p>
+<p class="pnext">As for the deer, they took to a thicket of
+poplar, birch and spruce, on which they
+could feed when the snow lay deep.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There was one other to whom winter
+brought a change and that was Old Man
+Lynx.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now it is very, very seldom that good luck
+falls right at one’s feet undeserved.</p>
+<p class="pnext">So Old Man Lynx warned himself when
+he came upon the muskrat in the trap.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Of course the giant cat did not know it was
+a trap, as he circled around and around the
+struggling rat. His green eyes gleamed hungrily
+in his tawny face, and he crouched so
+close to the snow crust that his whiskers
+dragged on the ground. His tasseled ears
+twitched nervously, his stubby tail thrashed
+the earth and his claws were bared in a
+fringe across the great awkward paws, as he
+crept nearer and nearer the struggling bait.</p>
+<p class="pnext">To the nostrils of the cat tribe the musky
+smell of the water-rat is most tempting, and
+his mouth watered till he licked his jaws at
+thought of the feast within such easy reach.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And yet—and yet—some spirit of the wild—some
+instinct of the dumb brute who must
+fight to live—seemed to warn him that where
+man had been, there would be trouble for
+him. And he circled his prey without quite
+daring to close in upon it and end its squeaking
+protest.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now the Hired Man at the Valley Farm
+had not meant the trap for Old Man Lynx.
+He had placed it there on the bare chance of
+there being a wolf at large in the forest
+around Mount Olaf.</p>
+<p class="pnext">As the midwinter dawn deepened from
+salmon to rose, and the snow began to glitter
+in the sun’s first rays, Old Man Lynx decided
+that the thing was altogether too mysterious
+to be wholesome. Instead, he trotted
+down to Lone Lake, where muskrats were
+supposed to be. And he promised himself
+that even were it too late in the day to catch
+a rat, he could at least afford the pleasure of
+sniffing at the chimneys to their round
+houses,—those air-holes in the top, where
+their musky breath steamed out, while the
+rats themselves lay snug and warm within.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, just as Old Man Lynx
+was passing a snow-laden clump of spruces,
+he caught a little movement in their lower
+branches. Circling till he had the ribbon of
+the wind in his nostrils, he discovered that it
+was a covey of grouse.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Grouse! How infinitely more delicious
+than muskrat—more tender even than rabbit!
+Now indeed he was glad he had saved his appetite.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/102.jpg" src="images/102.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/103.jpg" src="images/103.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xivstarvation-time">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id15">CHAPTER XIV—STARVATION TIME</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">Fleet Foot, the Doe, would never have
+dreamed of taking her fawns down to the
+hay-stack at the Valley Farm, had not the
+Farmer and his Boy set her leg the summer
+before, and gained her confidence by their
+kindness.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But, though the herd had selected a south-west
+slope where the feeding was good, and
+though they had trampled the snow till it
+raised them higher and higher, and they
+could browse on the limbs of the fir trees, it
+was proving a cruel winter. As blizzard followed
+blizzard, and bark and browse alike
+were frozen stiff, they huddled together,
+weak with hunger.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then the thought of the big hay-mow provided
+for the sheep and cattle proved too
+much for Fleet Foot, and she resolved to
+take the fawns, (now well grown,) slip down
+under cover of the early winter dusk, and
+there help herself to the few mouthfuls she
+could reach through the bars. For part of
+the hay stood in the open meadow, with only
+a canvas over top to keep it dry, and a few
+bars to keep it from being blown away.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The other deer of the herd, though they
+were starving, were far too timid to make
+the venture with her. To them it seemed a
+perilous undertaking to go so near human-kind.
+For they had seen many things in the
+woods. They had seen the Hired Man with
+his long black stick that spoke like thunder,
+and killed more surely than tooth or claw.
+They preferred to starve!</p>
+<p class="pnext">For Fleet Foot, the dangers of traveling
+alone with the fawns through the winter
+woods were many. First there was the
+chance of meeting Old Man Lynx. For now
+they would not have the protection of the
+hoofs and horns of the herd.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then they might get lost and freeze, should
+another storm catch them far from the herd-yard.
+But, once having made up her mind,
+Fleet Foot whistled to the fawns and started
+off in a series of long, graceful bounds that
+carried them over one snow-bank after another.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Had they dared delay, they would have
+sunk to their knees in the hard, dry snow to
+rest for a while and nibble the tops of some
+bush that promised a few mouthfuls of supper,
+for their empty stomachs fairly hurt.
+And if it had been freezing in the herd-yard,
+with its wall of snow, and the crowding
+bodies that helped keep each other warm,
+imagine how cold Fleet Foot’s little family
+must have been, out on the open hill-top!
+The savage wind and the snow-filled air
+made it all but impossible at times to draw
+breath.</p>
+<p class="pnext">But worst of all was the shadow of fear
+that never left the doe’s anxious mother
+heart. The tree-trunks crackled alarmingly
+with the frost, keeping her alert for enemies,
+and the wind tore savagely through the
+brush. Of a sudden Fleet Foot’s spine began
+to prickle! It was one of those mysterious
+things that she had never been able
+to account for. But it usually meant danger!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Half blindly, they had been making their
+way, hardly able to see in the green-black of
+the darkness. But they marked their path
+by the darker blackness of the clumps of
+spruce trees, which to their trained instinct
+pointed the way like a map.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Again a chill ran down their spine and the
+hair raised along the backs of their necks!
+Some instinct told them real danger was
+near—what danger, they could not know.
+Rolling their startled eyes behind them, they
+could see points of light gleaming at them
+through the darkness.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At length, through the winter night, came
+a long, shrill cry like that of a hound, only
+wilder and more terrifying. Then came another,
+and a third. It was an uncanny sound,
+that of the three gray wolves, watching from
+behind the snowy evergreens.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot knew, more by instinct than experience,
+what they were, for their like she
+had never seen before. Nor had any one in
+those woods known a winter when these ravenous
+beasts had come down out of the Canadian
+wilds. But it had been handed down
+from grand-sire to grand-son that once, when
+the snows were uncommonly deep, and half
+the wild folk starved and frozen, wolves had
+come down from the far North in search of
+prey.</p>
+<p class="pnext">There were three of the lean gray shapes,
+like collie dogs, yet so much larger and
+fiercer—large enough to attack even bigger
+game than Fleet Foot, the doe.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Should worst come to worst, she would
+have no more chance with even one such foe
+than a rabbit with a hound. It would all be
+a matter of which could run the faster. And
+she had to look out for the fawns!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their one chance of escape lay in their
+nimble heels. They might, for a time, outspeed
+their enemies, if their strength held
+out. The combined hoofs and antlers of the
+herd might have fought off the beasts for a
+time, but the herd-yard was now too far
+away for Fleet Foot ever to reach it with the
+fawns before those lean gray shapes would
+be at their throats. The Valley Farm lay
+straight ahead, and her fear of man shrank
+to nothing beside the terrors behind her.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Yes, the one hope on the horizon lay at the
+Valley Farm, where the fear of man might
+keep the wolves from following.</p>
+<p class="pnext">And to the Farm Fleet Foot and the
+fawns now sped with their great, bounding
+strides that took whole drifts at a leap.
+Would their feet slip in the darkness, crippling
+them and leaving them helpless almost
+within sight of safety?</p>
+<p class="pnext">On and on they ran, and behind them
+through the forest crept the three gray
+shapes, slinking along like shadows with
+glowing coals for eyes. Every now and again
+their barking howl, long drawn out and fearful,
+tore the darkness. Could they reach the
+Valley Farm, Fleet Foot asked herself with
+pounding heart?</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was hard going through the powdery
+snow, into which she sank dangerously every
+time she came to a drift too wide to leap.
+And the fawns were having an even harder
+time, the cold cutting into their lungs ’till it
+hurt.</p>
+<p class="pnext">At last, straight ahead, gleamed the dim
+lighted windows of the farmhouse. A few
+more bursts of speed would get them over the
+fence and into the pasture lot, and perhaps
+the wolves would stop at the boundary of
+man’s domain. But—could they make it?
+Could they reach that fence before their
+grim pursuers?</p>
+<p class="pnext">Their eyes were fairly popping with the
+effort they were making. Here was a mammoth
+drift that in summer had been a creek,
+and there a patch of the higher wind-swept
+ground where the ice might take their hoofs
+from under them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Ah! The fence at last! One leap over its
+smooth pyramid, and with a sobbing cough,
+Fleet Foot and the fawns were safe, with the
+wolves not ten paces behind!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then, suddenly, the door at the farmhouse
+opened, throwing a long streak of
+lamp-light across the snow!</p>
+<p class="pnext">The wolves slunk back in fear. But so,
+too, did Fleet Foot. The terror of the great
+gray beasts behind her, all her old fear of
+man flooded back upon her, and what to do
+she did not know. She dared not go back, nor
+could she go forward. So she stood stock
+still, her fawns huddling, trembling against
+her sides. The sudden light half-blinded her,
+and made the darkness blacker. What could
+be its meaning? Curiosity might, at another
+time, have conquered fear, but now
+she was trembling in every joint, her spent
+lungs wheezing with the effort she had made.
+This was far different from slipping in under
+cover of darkness as she had planned.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Father! Come quick! I do believe there
+is a deer out there—no, a doe, and two
+fawns!” cried the Boy of the Valley Farm,
+as the light from the open door threw a long
+ray across the barn-yard to the pasture beyond.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Wait! I’ll get her for you!” exclaimed
+the Hired Man, springing for his gun. But
+at the Boy’s sharp command he dropped it,
+shame-faced.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Then from farther back in the evergreens
+came the spine-chilling howl of the gray
+wolves, baying their lost prey.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Wolves, my son!” exclaimed the Farmer,
+joining the group in the doorway.
+“Wolves from Canada. It’s a hard winter
+that has brought them down. I don’t remember
+seeing wolves since I was a little shaver,
+forty years ago. And I expect that is what
+has driven the deer so close. Sh! Come out-side.”
+The two closed the door behind them.
+“We mustn’t frighten them away, or the
+wolves will get them, sure.”</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/111.jpg" src="images/111.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/112.jpg" src="images/112.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xv-the-gray-wolves">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id16">CHAPTER XV.—THE GRAY WOLVES.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">“That’s what I heard,” exclaimed the Boy
+at the Valley Farm. “Wolves! Imagine! I didn’t
+suppose they ever came into these woods.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“It’s been an unusual winter,” his father
+assured him, stepping out into the snowy
+barn-yard. “I saw them once when I was
+ten years old. But I thought they had been
+driven away for good. I suppose the rabbits
+all froze, up where they come from, and
+they got so starved they were driven to it.
+They’ve certainly been chasing these deer.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">For as their eyes became accustomed to the
+snowy darkness, they could once more see
+the shadowy forms of Fleet Foot and the
+fawns by the hay-mow.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“It must have been those wolves that I
+heard ten minutes back,” said the Farmer,
+rubbing his unmittened hands together.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Just see how hollow these poor things
+look!” exclaimed the Boy. “They must be
+starving. Let’s go back inside, so they won’t
+be afraid.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">They met the Hired Man just starting
+forth with his gun. “I’m going for those
+wolves,” he hastened to explain.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“That’s more like it,” said the Farmer.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Here they were at last, beside the hay-stack,
+Fleet Foot and her fawns. And as
+three disappointed howls arose from the
+woods at their back, the famished deer
+turned to snatch their first ravenous mouthfuls
+from between the bars of the crib. They
+paused in their banquet only long enough to
+stare at the Hired Man, as with snow-shoes
+strapped to his feet, he strode down the Old
+Logging Road,—Lop Ear, the Hound, at his
+heels.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Who-o-o-o!” howled the three gray
+wolves from the blackness of the woods.
+The Hired Man raised his thunder-stick
+and fired—straight between a pair of the red
+eyes that gleamed at him through the night.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Yoo-o-o-o!” screamed one of the wolves,
+as he fell, while the cries of the other two retreated
+into the forest. And Whoo Lee, the
+great barred owl, could have told you that
+they carried their tails between their legs.
+Their weird voices faded rapidly into the
+depths of the woods; for wolves travel fast
+on their round, furry feet, which spread out
+beneath them like round snow-shoes.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Hired Man strode on down the Old
+Logging Road past the charred trunks
+which the forest fire had swept,—standing
+like white ghosts now in their snowy mantles,—and
+on nearly to Lone Lake. But
+never a sign of the gleaming eyes of the two
+remaining wolves could he see, though his
+ears shuddered at the weird howls that rang
+down the wind, and Lop Ear bristled and
+growled.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot and the starving fawns nibbled
+and nibbled at the hay-mow,—for the time, at
+least, safe and happy. But could they ever
+get back to the herd-yard, with those wolves
+still at large?</p>
+<p class="pnext">For once they were in luck. The Hired
+Man was not the only hunter who followed
+the wolves that night. Old Man Lynx, that
+fierce, furry fellow with tassels on his ears
+and claws that could rend like steel hooks,
+had also been driven down to the Valley by
+the winter’s famine. He, too, heard the
+howling of the wolves.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He heard the piercing scream of the wolf
+the Hired Man had shot, and he knew what
+it meant. The lynx was hungry, for the
+storms had lasted many days, and the rabbits
+and grouse hens hid away where he could
+not find them. On his own wide, spreading
+paws, therefore, he set out over the snow to
+find the wolf that had fallen. His heart was
+glad at the unexpected feast in store, and he
+whined hungrily under his breath.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Every now and again he had to pause to
+bite off the icy balls that had formed under
+his warm feet. But before ever the Hired
+Man had turned back from Lone Lake, Old
+Man Lynx was peering and sniffing at the
+wolf that lay dead.</p>
+<p class="pnext">One thing he did not know, though. No
+sooner had the two remaining wolves raced
+to Lone Lake, with their tails between their
+legs, and the roar of the thunder-stick in
+their ears, than it occurred to them that they
+were still ravenously hungry. And the one
+that had fallen would go far toward easing
+that terrible emptiness that drew their sides
+together and made them desperate. (For
+wolves are cannibals!)</p>
+<p class="pnext">So, back the horrid beasts came, running
+on their furry snow-shoes—back down the
+wind, which told the noses of these great wild
+dogs as plainly as words that Old Man Lynx
+was there before them.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Who-o-o-o,” they howled wrathfully,
+speeding back through the burnt-wood, over
+whose ghost-like trunks they leapt in the
+darkness so fast that no Hired Man could
+have shot them had he tried.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx raised his whiskered face
+and yowled an answering challenge.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Ye-ow-w-w!” he screamed at them defiantly.
+Then he bent his head to snatch another
+mouthful of the meat he knew the
+wolves were on their way to claim.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Ye-ow-w-w!” he screamed again, as the
+wolf cry swept nearer. This time he saw
+two pairs of red eyes gleaming in the darkness.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“I got here first, and I’ll make it hot for
+the first one that comes within reach of my
+claws,” he warned them, in tones they understood
+without words.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“We are two to your one!” they answered
+him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Little did Old Man Lynx imagine that he
+had an ally so near. To him it was merely
+a case of having found a meal in the wolf the
+Hired Man had shot, and of having the rest
+of the pack demand it of him. So the giant
+cat took his stand, with claws outspread over
+the prize, his savage face tense with hate.
+His green eyes blazed at them through the
+darkness.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The cowardly wolves paused just out of
+reach, neither one of them quite daring to
+begin the attack, yet willing to fall in, should
+the other go first, for both were wild with
+hunger.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx was not afraid. He meant
+merely to meet each wolf as he came, and
+fight him off with tooth and claw—or if
+worst came to worst, he could climb the nearest
+tree. For the power to climb is the one
+great advantage that cats have over all members
+of the dog tribe.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Old Man Lynx himself was lean with famine,
+for the great storm had made hunting
+all but impossible for him. Not so much as
+a wood-mouse had shown its tracks on the
+snow for days. And there had been nothing
+in his rocky den save the dried and frozen
+bones of dinners long since past.</p>
+<p class="pnext">To surrender his supper to-night might
+mean starvation and actual death to him.
+But so it did to the wolves. It was to be a
+fight for life!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Now a lynx’s claws are like so many little
+curved swords of poisoned steel,—and he had
+five on each foot. He could dig at a wolf’s
+unprotected sides with his hind legs while
+his fore legs were clinging to the throat in
+which he would try to fasten his fangs.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The gray wolves knew all this, for Old
+Man Lynx visited the same Canadian wilds
+that they had come from. But even so, in
+another moment they had taken the leap—together!
+And there was more lynx fur flying
+than wolf fur—as Whoo Lee, the owl
+overhead, could have told you.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Just in the nick of time for Old Man Lynx,
+the Hired Man returned. When he heard
+the shrill chorus of returning wolves, he had
+hastened back, his great snow-shoes shuffling
+their way down the Old Logging Road at a
+speed of which he had not known them capable.</p>
+<p class="pnext">He was not thinking of Fleet Foot and the
+fawns. But with the barn full of cattle, it
+would never do to leave such beasts at large
+in the forest. When he heard Old Man Lynx,
+however, the Hired Man understood just
+what was going on. He had not lived in the
+back-woods for nothing all his days. And he
+decided to draw a little nearer, in the hope of
+getting another shot or two at the great gray
+terrors from the North.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/120.jpg" src="images/120.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<hr class="docutils"/>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/121.jpg" src="images/121.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+</div>
+<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvi-the-farmers-plan">
+<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id17">CHAPTER XVI.—THE FARMER’S PLAN.</a></h2>
+<p class="pfirst">It was thus at the very moment that Old
+Man Lynx was striking out with bared claws,
+and the gray wolves were closing in on him
+both at once, that his unexpected ally
+reached the scene.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Hired Man raised his gun, pointing it
+straight between two gleaming eyes that
+shone out in the darkness. He had to do it
+quickly, they jumped about so fast. Then a
+shot rang out on the silent night!</p>
+<p class="pnext">It singed a streak across the lynx’s flank,
+but it felled the wolf whose jaws were just
+about to clamp about his leg. A second shot
+nicked the tasseled ear of the great cat
+fighting so desperately. But it singed the fur
+on the neck of the second wolf, just in time
+to check him, as his fangs were finding their
+way through the thick fur ruff that protected
+the lynx’s throat. At this second shot, the
+wolf, with a howl of terror, tucked his tail
+between his legs and ran.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The Hired Man hesitated, then decided
+that the lynx had won the right to live by his
+pluck. Thus Old Man Lynx was left, somewhat
+the worse for the meeting, but still able
+to enjoy the rest of his meal; while the Hired
+Man, counting the night well spent, shuffled
+home on his snow-shoes. But there was still
+a gaunt gray wolf at large in the forest—and
+Fleet Foot and the fawns had still to get back
+to the herd-yard before morning found them
+in the haunts of man!</p>
+<p class="pnext">But strange things can happen. No sooner
+had the lone gray wolf fled from the unexpected
+slaughter than the wind shifted, and
+he caught an odor most agreeable to his palate.
+For his gaunt sides were so hollow that
+every rib showed. It was an odor he had
+never before followed up. He had not met it
+in his Northern wilds, but it smelled porky
+and delicious.</p>
+<p class="pnext">It was on the trunk of a wild apple tree
+that he found the little round bristly fellow.
+And he could see, by the gray light of dawn,
+that his black sides bulged with fat, in a winter
+when all the furry folk were lean and
+hungry.</p>
+<p class="pnext">That alone was puzzling. But what surprised
+him even more was that this queer
+fellow showed no sign of fear. He was singing
+a little song, all in one flat key—“Unk-wunk,
+unk-wunk, unk-wunk.” It was a
+young porcupine, one of these prickly fellows
+so like a tiny bear, only with long black
+needles instead of fur. The gray wolf did
+not know how terrible those needle-like quills
+can be, when once they get in one’s paw. For
+they are barbed like a hook on the end, and
+when they stick into one, it hurts worse to
+pull them out than to leave them where they
+are. The wood folk that lived around Lone
+Lake knew enough to leave Unk-Wunk
+strictly alone. So, he was never afraid. But
+the wolf did not know. And when the little
+porcupine, instead of climbing higher, out of
+his reach, came lazily back down the trunk
+and began to gnaw the frozen bark, the wolf
+thought it was easy game.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Thus, without so much as wondering what
+made this strange beast so fearless, he leaped
+open-jawed upon the little porcupine. There
+was just one howl of agony, as he clamped
+his jaws on those barbed quills, and it was
+not the porcupine who gave it!</p>
+<p class="pnext">Whining and clawing at his tortured
+mouth, the wolf rolled about in the snow-drift,
+choking and spluttering in mingled
+wrath and terror. For Unk-Wunk’s terrible
+barbed quills were working deeper and deeper
+into the roof of his mouth. Finally he
+rolled over on them, and they pierced
+through to the brain. That was the last of
+the great gray wolf that had come down out
+of the North to prey upon the forest folk
+around the Valley Farm.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Unk-Wunk, without in the least realizing
+that he had done so, had performed a public
+service. And in particular, he had made it
+safe for Fleet Foot and her fawns to go back
+home to the deer yard in the gray of the winter
+dawn.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“I tell you what,” said the Farmer to his
+son next day. “I’ve a plan that I think will
+interest you.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What is it?” asked the Boy, eagerly.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Just this: I’ve plenty of hay this year,
+(more than enough for the stock,) and I’m
+going to pitch a little of it out, after this,
+every time the storms make it hard for the
+deer. I declare, I can’t bear to think of
+their being so starved!” And he gazed
+thoughtfully out over the drifting snow, as
+he thought how Fleet Foot had braved everything
+to reach their hay-stack.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Hurray!” shouted the Boy. “May I
+pitch some out right now? Poor things,
+there wasn’t much they could reach between
+the bars,” and he gazed at the dainty footprints
+the fawns had made the night before.</p>
+<p class="pnext">The deep, dry snow was followed by a
+freeze that left a glistening crust over every
+drift. Once more Fleet Foot and the rest
+of the deer could run nimbly on their spreading
+hoofs; and young Frisky Fox and
+Mother Grouse Hen and Mammy Cotton
+tail, the brown bunny, could foot their way
+across the white expanse in search of food.
+For they were sure of at least a fighting
+chance of getting home again.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Fleet Foot and the fawns, returning every
+night to the hay-stack, with a little band
+whose sides were as pinched with hunger as
+their own, now passed Old Man Lynx without
+a fear. For where there was footing that
+would bear their weight, they knew they
+could outspeed him.</p>
+<p class="pnext">Hereafter the snow might whirl and the
+spruce trees bend and sway in the wind that
+wailed through their tops, but the white-tailed
+deer of the woods about Mount Olaf
+were always sure of a little hay to tide them
+over the month of hunger.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Father,” said the Boy, “I’ve made a
+birthday resolution. I am going to befriend
+every furred and feathered creature in these
+woods.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“All of them?” his Father asked. The
+Hired Man paused in the smoking of his
+traps to listen. “You aren’t going to tell
+us we can’t do any more trapping this winter?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“You can trap muskrats,” said the Boy
+thoughtfully. “And, of course, wolves, if
+any more should come. And weasels—the
+wicked creatures! They are only cruel,
+blood-thirsty ruffians who kill without need,
+just for the love of killing.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What about Old Man Lynx?”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Well, I know he is not popular. But, after
+all, he’s a good mouser. And we must
+spare our mousers, the fox and the skunk
+and the big barn owl,—for the mice destroy
+our grain, and I don’t know anything muskrats
+are good for except their fur. I’m not
+quite sure about the wild cat, but he doesn’t
+do much harm, does he, as long as there are
+fish to be caught? And he is a good
+mouser.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“What about bears?” asked the Hired
+Man, with one foot on the chopping block.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“Never do any great amount of harm,” returned
+the Farmer. “They can catch mice
+with the best of them. Besides, they’re
+mostly vegetarians. It isn’t once in a coon’s
+age you’ll find one of these black bears that
+would harm a baby, if you let him alone.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“The deer seem awfully afraid of bears.”</p>
+<p class="pnext">“They have a lot more reason for being
+afraid of men,” said the Farmer, eyeing the
+Hired Man’s gun.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“And porcupines? What about porcupines?”
+asked the latter.</p>
+<p class="pnext">“They mind their own business,” spoke
+up the Boy. “Let them live. You’ll have
+plenty to do, hunting animals like wolverines
+and martins and mink and weasels. But
+don’t any one hurt my friends!”</p>
+<p class="pnext">Thus Fleet Foot and her fawns were allowed
+to live happily on, as season followed
+season in the good green woods.</p>
+<div class="align-center figure" style="margin-left: 5%; width: 90%">
+<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="images/128.jpg" src="images/128.jpg" width="100%"/>
+</div>
+<div class="vspace" style="height: 5em">
+</div>
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35749 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
author	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-03-03 04:57:20 -0800
committer	nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org>	2025-03-03 04:57:20 -0800
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