Books: Lightfoot the Deer
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Thornton W. Burgess >> Lightfoot the Deer
Even then he could feel his strength leaving him. Had he escaped
those hounds and the terrible hunters only to be drowned in the
Big River? This new fear gave him more strength for a little while.
But it did not last long. He was three fourths of the way
across the Big River but still that other shore seemed a long
distance away. Little by little hope died in the heart of
Lightfoot the Deer. He would keep on just as long as he could and
then, -- well, it was better to drown than to be torn to pieces
by dogs.
Just as Lightfoot felt that he could not take another stroke and
that the end was at hand, one foot touched something. Then, all
four feet touched. A second later he had found solid footing and
was standing with the water only up to his knees. He had found a
little sand bar out in the Big River. With a little gasp of
returning hope, Lightfoot waded along until the water began to
grow deeper again. He had hoped that he would be able to wade
ashore, but he saw now that he would have to swim again.
So for a long time he remained right where he was. He was so
tired that he trembled all over, and he was as frightened as he
was tired. He knew that standing out there in the water he could
be seen for a long distance, and that made him nervous and
fearful. Supposing a hunter on the shore he was trying to reach
should see him. Then he would have no chance at all, for the
hunter would simply wait for him and shoot him as he came out of
the water.
But rest he must, and so he stood for a long time on the little
sand bar in the Big River. And little by little he felt his
strength returning.
CHAPTER XXIII: Lightfoot Finds A Friend
As Lightfoot rested, trying to recover his breath, out there on
the little sand bar in the Big River, his great, soft, beautiful
eyes watched first one bank and then the other. On the bank he
had left, he could see two black-and-white specks moving about,
and across the water came the barking of dogs. Those two specks
were the hounds who had driven him into the Big River. They were
barking now, instead of baying. Presently a brown form joined the
black-and-white specks. It was a hunter drawn there by the
barking of the dogs. He was too far away to be dangerous, but the
mere sight of him filled Lightfoot with terror again. He watched
the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes.
Presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the
hunter. He headed straight towards Lightfoot, and then Lightfoot
knew that his brief rest was at an end. He must once more swim or
be shot by the hunter in the boat. So Lightfoot again struck out
for the shore. His rest had given him new strength, but still he
was very, very tired and swimming was hard work.
Slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank. What new
dangers might be waiting there, he did not know. He had never
been on that side of the Big River. He knew nothing of the
country on that side. But the uncertainty was better than the
certainty behind him. He could hear the sound of the oars as the
hunter in the boat did his best to get to him before he should
reach the shore.
On Lightfoot struggled. At last he felt bottom beneath his
feet. He staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then
for an instant it seemed to him his heart stopped beating. Right
in front of him stood a man. He had come out into the back yard
of the home of that man. It is doubtful which was the more
surprised, Lightfoot or the man. Right then and there Lightfoot
gave up in despair. He couldn't run. It was all he could do to
walk. The long chase by the hounds on the other side of the Big
River and the long swim across the Big River had taken all his
strength.
Not a spark of hope remained to Lightfoot. He simply stood still
and trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness. Then a
surprising thing happened. The man spoke softly. He advanced, not
threateningly but slowly, and in a friendly way. He walked around
back of Lightfoot and then straight towards him. Lightfoot walked
on a few steps, and the man followed, still talking softly.
Little by little he urged Lightfoot on, driving him towards an
open shed in which was a pile of hay. Without understanding just how,
Lightfoot knew that he had found a friend. So he entered
the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay.
CHAPTER XXIV: The Hunter Is Disappointed
How he knew he was safe, Lightfoot the Deer Couldn't have told you.
He just knew it, that was all. He couldn't understand a word
said by the man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed
the bank after his long swim across the Big River. But he didn't
have to understand words to know that he had found a friend.
So he allowed the man to drive him gently over to an open shed where
there was a pile of soft hay and there he lay down, so tired that
it seemed to him he couldn't move another step.
It was only a few minutes later that the hunter who had followed
Lightfoot across the River reached the bank and scrambled out of
his boat. Lightfoot's friend was waiting just at the top of the
bank. Of course the hunter saw him at once.
"Hello, Friend!" cried the hunter. "Did you see a Deer pass this
way a few minutes ago? He swam across the river, and if I know
anything about it he's too tired to travel far now. I've been
hunting that fellow for several days, and if I have any luck at
all I ought to get him this time." "I'm afraid you won't have any
luck at all," said Lightfoot's friend. "You see, I don't allow
any hunting on my land."
The hunter looked surprised, and then his surprise gave way to
anger. "You mean," said he, "that you intend to get that Deer
yourself."
Lightfoot's friend shook his head. "No," said he, "I don't mean
anything of the kind. I mean that that Deer is not to be killed
if I can prevent it, and while it is on my land, I think I can.
The best thing for you to do, my friend, is to get into your
boat and row back where you came from. Are those your hounds
barking over there?"
"No," replied the hunter promptly. "I know the law just as well
as you do, and it is against the law to hunt Deer with dogs.
I don't even know who owns those two hounds over there,"
"That may be true," replied Lightfoot's friend. "I don't doubt
it is true. But you are willing to take advantage of the fact
that the dogs of some one else have broken the law. You knew
that those dogs had driven that Deer into the Big River and you
promptly took advantage of the fact to try to reach that Deer
before he could get across. You are not hunting for the pleasure
of hunting but just to kill. You don't know the meaning of
justice or fairness. Now get off my land. Get back into your
boat and off my land as quick as you can. That Deer is not very
far from here and so tired that he cannot move. Just as long as
he will stay here, he will be safe, and I hope he will stay until
this miserable hunting season is ended. Now go."
Muttering angrily, the hunter got back into his boat and pushed
off, but he didn't row back across the river.
CHAPTER XXV: The Hunter Lies In Wait
If ever there was an angry hunter, it was the one who had
followed Lightfoot the Deer across the Big River. When he was
ordered to get off the land where Lightfoot had climbed out, he
got back into his boat, but he didn't row back to the other side.
Instead, he rowed down the river, finally landing on the
same side but on land which Lightfoot's friend did not own.
"When that Deer has become rested he'll become uneasy," thought
the hunter. "He won't stay on that man's land. He'll start for
the nearest woods. I'll go up there and wait for him. I'll get
that Deer if only to spite that fellow back there who drove me off.
Had it not been for him, I'd have that Deer right now. He was
too tired to have gone far. He's got the handsomest pair of
antlers I've seen for years. I can sell that head of his for a
good price."
So the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed
out. He climbed up the bank and studied the land. Across a wide
meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some
thick woods. He grinned.
"That's where that Deer will head for," he decided. "There isn't
any other place for him to go. All I've got to do is be patient
and wait."
So the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow
to the brush-grown pasture. There he hid among the bushes where
he could peep out and watch the land of Lightfoot's friend.
He was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting
Lightfoot. At the same time he chuckled, because he thought
himself very smart. Lightfoot couldn't possibly reach the shelter
of the woods without giving him a shot, and he hadn't the least
doubt that Lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he
felt able to travel. So he made himself comfortable and prepared
to wait the rest of the day, if necessary.
Now Lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him
row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that
hunter's mind. "We'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself,
as he walked back towards the shed where poor Lightfoot was
resting.
He did not go too near Lightfoot, for he did not want to alarm him.
He just kept within sight of Lightfoot, paying no attention
to him but going about his work. You see, this man loved and
understood the little people of the Green Forest and the Green
Meadows, and he knew that there was no surer way of winning
Lightfoot's confidence and trust than by appearing to take no
notice of him. Lightfoot, watching him, understood. He knew that
this man was a friend and would do him no harm. Little by little,
the wonderful, blessed feeling of safety crept over Lightfoot.
No hunter could harm him here.
CHAPTER XXVI: Lightfoot Does The Wise Thing
All the rest of that day the hunter with the terrible gun lay
hidden in the bushes of the pasture where he could watch for
Lightfoot the Deer to leave the place of safety he had found.
It required a lot of patience on the part of the hunter, but the
hunter had plenty of patience. It sometimes seems as if hunters
have more patience than any other people.
But this hunter waited in vain. Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun sank
down in the west to his bed behind the Purple Hills. The Black
Shadows crept out and grew blacker. One by one the stars began to
twinkle. Still the hunter waited, and still there was no sign of
Lightfoot. At last it became so dark that it was useless for the
hunter to remain longer. Disappointed and once more becoming
angry, he tramped back to the Big River, climbed into his boat
and rowed across to the other side. Then he tramped home and his
thoughts were very bitter. He knew that he could have shot
Lightfoot had it not been for the man who had protected the
Deer. He even began to suspect that this man had himself killed
Lightfoot, for he had been sure that as soon as he had become
rested Lightfoot would start for the woods, and Lightfoot had
done nothing of the kind. In fact, the hunter had not had so much
as another glimpse of Lightfoot.
The reason that the hunter had been so disappointed was that
Lightfoot was smart. He was smart enough to understand that the
man who was saving him from the hunter had done it because he was
a true friend. All the afternoon Lightfoot had rested on a bed of
soft hay in an open shed and had watched this man going about his
work and taking the utmost care to do nothing to frighten Lightfoot.
"He not only will let no one else harm me, but he himself will not
harm me," thought Lightfoot. "As long as he is near, I am safe.
I'll stay right around here until the hunting season is over, then
I'll swim back across the Big River to my home in the dear Green Forest."
So all afternoon Lightfoot rested and did not so much as put his
nose outside that open shed. That is why the hunter got no glimpse
of him. When it became dark, so dark that he knew there was no
longer danger, Lightfoot got up and stepped out under the stars.
He was feeling quite himself again. His splendid strength had returned.
He bounded lightly across the meadow and up into the brushy
pasture where the hunter had been hidden. There and in the woods
back of the pasture he browsed, but at the first hint of the coming
of another day, Lightfoot turned back, and when his friend, the farmer,
came out early in the morning to milk the cows, there was Lightfoot
back in the open shed. The farmer smiled. "You are as wise as you
are handsome, old fellow," said he.
CHAPTER XXVII: Sammy Jay Worries
It isn't often Sammy Jay worries about anybody but himself.
Truth to tell, he doesn't worry about himself very often. You see,
Sammy is smart, and he knows he is smart. Under that pointed cap
of his are some of the cleverest wits in all the Green
Forest. Sammy seldom worries about himself because he feels quite
able to take care of himself.
But Sammy Jay was worrying now. He was worrying about Lightfoot
the Deer. Yes, Sir, Sammy Jay was worrying about Lightfoot the
Deer. For two days he had been unable to find Lightfoot or any
trace of Lightfoot. But he did find plenty of hunters with
terrible guns. It seemed to him that they were everywhere in the
Green Forest. Sammy began to suspect that one of them must have
succeeded in killing Lightfoot the Deer.
Sammy knew all of Lightfoot's hiding-places. He visited every one
of them. Lightfoot wasn't to be found, and no one whom Sammy met
had seen Lightfoot for two days.
Sammy felt badly. You see, he was very fond of Lightfoot.
You remember it was Sammy who warned Lightfoot of the coming of
the hunter on the morning when the dreadful hunting season began.
Ever since the hunting season had opened, Sammy had done his
best to make trouble for the hunters. Whenever he had found
one of them he had screamed at the top of his voice to warn every
one within hearing just where that hunter was. Once a hunter had
lost his temper and shot at Sammy, but Sammy had suspected that
something of the kind might happen, and he had taken care to keep
just out of reach. Sammy had known all about the chasing of
Lightfoot by the hounds. Everybody in the Green Forest had known
about it. You see, everybody had heard the voices of those
hounds. Once, Lightfoot had passed right under the tree in which
Sammy was sitting, and a few moments later the two hounds had
passed with their noses to the ground as they followed Lightfoot's trail.
That was the last Sammy had seen of Lightfoot. He had been able to save
Lightfoot from the hunters, but he couldn't save him from the hounds.
The more Sammy thought things over, the more he worried. "I am
afraid those hounds drove him out where a hunter could get a shot
and kill him, or else that they tired him out and killed him
themselves," thought Sammy. "If he were alive, somebody certainly
would have seen him and nobody has, since the day those hounds
chased him. I declare, I have quite lost my appetite worrying
about him. If Lightfoot is dead, and I am almost sure he is, the
Green Forest will never seem the same."
CHAPTER XXVIII: The Hunting Season Ends
The very worst things come to an end at last. No matter how bad a
thing is, it cannot last forever. So it was with the hunting
season for Lightfoot the Deer. There came a day when the law
protected all Deer, -- a day when the hunters could no longer go
searching for Lightfoot.
Usually there was great rejoicing among the little people of the
Green Forest and the Green Meadows when the hunting season ended
and they knew that Lightfoot would be in no more danger until the
next hunting season. But this year there was no rejoicing. You
see, no one could find Lightfoot. The last seen of him was when
he was running for his life with two hounds baying on his trail
and the Green Forest filled with hunters watching for a chance to
shoot him.
Sammy Jay had hunted everywhere through the Green Forest. Blacky
the Crow, whose eyes are quite as sharp as those of Sammy Jay,
had joined in the search. They had found no trace of Lightfoot.
Paddy the Beaver said that for three days Lightfoot
had not visited his pond for a drink. Billy Mink, who travels up
and down the Laughing Brook, had looked for Lightfoot's
footprints in the soft earth along the banks and had found only
old ones. Jumper the Hare had visited Lightfoot's favorite eating
places at night, but Lightfoot had not been in any of them.
"I tell you what it is," said Sammy Jay to Bobby Coon, "something
has happened to Lightfoot. Either those hounds caught him and
killed him, or he was shot by one of those hunters. The Green
Forest will never be the same without him. I don't think I shall
want to come over here very much. There isn't one of all the
other people who live in the Green Forest who would be missed as
Lightfoot will be."
Bobby Coon nodded. "That's true, Sammy," said he. "Without
Lightfoot, the Green Forest will never be the same. He never
harmed anybody. Why those hunters should have been so anxious to
kill one so beautiful is something I can't understand. For that
matter, I don't understand why they want to kill any of us.
If they really needed us for food, it would be a different matter,
but they don't. Have you been up in the Old Pasture and asked
Old Man Coyote if he has seen anything of Lightfoot?"
Sammy nodded. "I've been up there twice," said he. "Old Man
Coyote has been lying very low during the days, but nights he has
done a lot of traveling. You know Old Man Coyote has a mighty
good nose, but not once since the day those hounds chased
Lightfoot has he found so much as a tiny whiff of Lightfoot's
scent. I thought he might have found the place where Lightfoot
was killed, but he hasn't, although he has looked for it. Well,
the hunting season for Lightfoot is over, but I am afraid it has
ended too late."
CHAPTER XXIX: Mr. And Mrs. Quack Are Startled
It was the evening of the day after the closing of the hunting
season for Lightfoot the Deer. Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun had gone
to bed behind the Purple Hills, and the Black Shadows had crept
out across the Big River. Mr. and Mrs. Quack were getting their
evening meal among the brown stalks of the wild rice along the
edge of the Big River. They took turns in searching for the rice
grains in the mud. While Mrs. Quack tipped up and seemed to stand
on her head as she searched in the mud for rice, Mr. Quack kept
watch for possible danger. Then Mrs. Quack took her turn at
keeping watch, while Mr. Quack stood on his head and hunted for
rice.
It was wonderfully quiet and peaceful. There was not even a
ripple on the Big River. It was so quiet that they could hear the
barking of a dog at a farmhouse a mile away. They were far enough
out from the bank to have nothing to fear from Reddy Fox or Old
Man Coyote. So they had nothing to fear from any one save Hooty
the Owl. It was for Hooty that they took turns in watching.
It was just the hour when Hooty likes best to hunt.
By and by they heard Booty's hunting call. It was far away in the
Green Forest, Then Mr. and Mrs. Quack felt easier, and they
talked in low, contented voices. They felt that for a while at
least there was nothing to fear.
Suddenly a little splash out in the Big River caught Mr. Quack's
quick ear. As Mrs. Quack brought her head up out of the water,
Mr. Quack warned her to keep quiet. Noiselessly they swam among
the brown stalks until they could see out across the Big River.
There was another little splash out there in the middle. It
wasn't the splash made by a fish; it was a splash made by
something much bigger than any fish. Presently they made out a
silver line moving towards them from the Black Shadows. They knew
exactly what it meant. It meant that some one was out there in
the Big River moving towards them. Could it be a boat containing
a hunter?
With their necks stretched high, Mr. and Mrs. Quack watched.
They were ready to take to their strong wings the instant they
discovered danger. But they did not want to fly until they were
sure that it WAS danger approaching. They were startled, very
much startled.
Presently they made out what looked like the branch of a tree
moving over the water towards them. That was queer, very
queer. Mr. Quack said so. Mrs. Quack said so. Both were growing
more and more suspicious. They couldn't understand it at all, and
it is always best to be suspicious of things you cannot
understand. Mr. and Mrs. Quack half lifted their wings to fly.
CHAPTER XXX: The Mystery Is Solved
It was very mysterious. Yes, Sir, it was very mysterious.
Mr. Quack thought so. Mrs. Quack thought so. There,
out in the Big River, in the midst of the Black Shadows, was
something which looked like the branch of a tree. But instead of
moving down the river, as the branch of a tree would if it were
floating, this was coming straight across the river as if it were
swimming. But how could the branch of a tree swim? That was too
much for Mr. Quack. It was too much for Mrs. Quack.
So they sat perfectly still among the brown stalks of the wild
rice along the edge of the Big River, and not for a second did
they take their eyes from that strange thing moving towards
them. They were ready to spring into the air and trust to their
swift wings the instant they should detect danger. But they did
not want to fly unless they had to. Besides, they were
curious. They were very curious indeed. They wanted to find out
what that mysterious thing moving through the water towards them
was.
So Mr. and Mrs. Quack watched that thing that looked like a
swimming branch draw nearer and nearer, and the nearer it drew
the more they were puzzled, and the more curious they felt. If it
had been the pond of Paddy the Beaver instead of the Big River,
they would have thought it was Paddy swimming with a branch for
his winter food pile. But Paddy the Beaver was way back in his
own pond, deep in the Green Forest, and they knew it. So this
thing became more and more of a mystery. The nearer it came, the
more nervous and anxious they grew, and at the same time the
greater became their curiosity.
At last Mr. Quack felt that not even to gratify his curiosity
would it be safe to wait longer. He prepared to spring into the
air, knowing that Mrs. Quack would follow him. It was just then
that a funny little sound reached him. It was half snort, half
cough, as if some one had sniffed some water up his nose. There
was something familiar about that sound. Mr. Quack decided to
wait a few minutes longer.
"I'll wait," thought Mr. Quack," until that thing, whatever it
is, comes out of those Black Shadows into the moonlight.
Somehow I have a feeling that we are in no danger."
So Mr. and Mrs. Quack waited and watched. In a few minutes the
thing that looked like the branch of a tree came out of the Black
Shadows into the moonlight, and then the mystery was solved.
It was a mystery no longer. They saw that they had mistaken the
antlers of Lightfoot the Deer for the branch of a tree. Lightfoot
was swimming across the Big River on his way back to his home in
the Green Forest. At once Mr. and Mrs. Quack swam out to meet him
and to tell him how glad they were that he was alive and safe.
CHAPTER XXXI: A Surprising Discovery
Probably there was no happier Thanksgiving in all the Great World
than the Thanksgiving of Lightfoot the Deer, when the dreadful
hunting season ended and he was once more back in his beloved
Green Forest with nothing to fear. All his neighbors called on
him to tell him how glad they were that he had escaped and how
the Green Forest would not have been the same if he had not
returned. So Lightfoot roamed about without fear and was
happy. It seemed to him that he could not be happier. There was
plenty to eat and that blessed feeling of nothing to fear.
What more could any one ask? He began to grow sleek and fat and
handsomer than ever. The days were growing colder and the frosty
air made him feel good.
Just at dusk one evening he went down to his favorite drinking
place at the Laughing Brook. As he put down his head to drink he
saw something which so surprised him that he quite forgot he was
thirsty. What do you think it was he saw? It was a footprint in
the soft mud. Yes, Sir, it was a footprint.
For a long time Lightfoot stood staring at that footprint. In his
great, soft eyes was a look of wonder and surprise. You see, that
footprint was exactly like one of his own, only smaller.
To Lightfoot it was a very wonderful footprint. He was quite sure
that never had he seen such a dainty footprint. He forgot to drink.
Instead, he began to search for other footprints, and presently
he found them. Each was as dainty as that first one.
Who could have made them? That is what Lightfoot wanted to know
and what he meant to find out. It was clear to him that there was
a stranger in the Green Forest, and somehow he didn't resent it
in the least. In fact, he was glad. He couldn't have told why,
but it was true.