Lightfoot the Deer

Day after day, Lightfoot the Deer played hide and seek for his life with the hunters who were seeking to kill him.  He saw them many times, though not one of them saw him.  More than once a hunter passed close to Lightfoot’s hiding-place without once suspecting it.

But poor Lightfoot was feeling the strain.  He was growing thin, and he was so nervous that the falling of a dead leaf from a tree would startle him.  There is nothing quite so terrible as being continually hunted.  It was getting so that Lightfoot half expected a hunter to step out from behind every tree.  Only when the Black Shadows wrapped the Green Forest in darkness did he know a moment of peace.  And those hours of safety were filled with dread of what the next day might bring.

Early one morning a terrible sound rang through the Green Forest and brought Lightfoot to his feet with a startled jump.  It was the baying of hounds following a trail.  At first it did not sound so terrible.  Lightfoot had often heard it before.  Many times he had listened to the baying of Bowser the Hound, as he followed Reddy Fox.  It had not sounded so terrible then because it meant no danger to Lightfoot.

At first, as he listened early that morning, he took it for granted that those hounds were after Reddy, and so, though startled, he was not worried.  But suddenly a dreadful suspicion came to him and he grew more and more anxious as he listened.  In a few minutes there was no longer any doubt in his mind.  Those hounds were following his trail.  It was then that the sound of that baying became terrible.  He must run for his life!  Those hounds would give him no rest.  And he knew that in running from them, he would no longer be able to watch so closely for the hunters with terrible guns.  He would no longer be able to hide in thickets.  At any time he might be driven right past one of those hunters.

Lightfoot bounded away with such leaps as only Lightfoot can make.  In a little while the voices of the hounds grew fainter.  Lightfoot stopped to get his breath and stood trembling as he listened.  The baying of the hounds again grew louder and louder.  Those wonderful noses of theirs were following his trail without the least difficulty.  In a panic of fear, Lightfoot bounded away again.  As he crossed an old road, the Green Forest rang with the roar of a terrible gun.  Something tore a strip of bark from the trunk of a tree just above Lightfoot’s back.  It was a bullet and it had just missed Lightfoot.  It added to his terror and this in turn added to his speed.

So Lightfoot ran and ran, and behind him the voices of the hounds continued to ring through the Green Forest.