Lightfoot the Deer

Lightfoot the Deer is smart.  Yes, Sir, Lightfoot the Deer is smart.  He has to be, especially in the hunting season, to save his life.  If he were not smart he would have been killed long ago.  He never makes the foolish mistake of thinking that other people are not smart.  He knew that the hunter who had started out to follow him early that morning was not one to be easily discouraged or to be fooled by simple tricks.  He had a very great respect for the smartness of that hunter.  He knew that he couldn’t afford to be careless for one little minute.

The certainty of danger is sometimes easier to bear than the uncertainty of not knowing whether or not there really is any danger.  Lightfoot felt that if he could know just where the hunter was, he himself would know better what to do.  The hunter might have become discouraged and given up following him.  In that case he could rest and stop worrying.  It would be better to know that he was being followed than not to know.  But how was he to find out?  Lightfoot kept turning this over and over in his mind as he traveled through the Green Forest.  Then an idea came to him.

“I know what I’ll do.  I know just what I’ll do,” said Lightfoot to himself.  “I’ll find out whether or not that hunter is still following me and I’ll get a little rest.  Goodness knows, I need a rest.”

Lightfoot bounded away swiftly and ran for some distance, then he turned and quickly, but very, very quietly, returned in the direction from which he had just come but a little to one side of his old trail.  After a while he saw what he was looking for, a pile of branches which woodchoppers had left when they had trimmed the trees they had cut down.  This was near the top of a little hill.  Lightfoot went up the hill and stopped behind the pile of brush.  For a few moments he stood there perfectly still, looking and listening.  Then, with a little sigh of relief, he lay down, where, without being in any danger of being seen himself, he could watch his old trail through the hollow at the bottom of the hill.  If the hunter were still following him, he would pass through that hollow in plain sight.

For a long tune Lightfoot rested comfortably behind the pile of brush.  There was not a suspicious movement or a suspicious sound to show that danger was abroad in the Green Forest.  He saw Mr. and Mrs. Grouse fly down across the hollow and disappear among the trees on the other side.  He saw Unc’ Billy Possum looking over a hollow tree and guessed that Unc’ Billy was getting ready to go into winter quarters.  He saw Jumper the Hare squat down under a low-hanging branch of a hemlock-tree and prepare to take a nap.  He heard Drummer the Woodpecker at work drilling after worms in a tree not far away.  Little by little Lightfoot grew easy in his mind.  It must be that that hunter had become discouraged and was no longer following him.