Wood Folk at School | Page 9

snorts, as a troop of shadows ran up to play hop-scotch with the little
ones, which stood close behind her, one on either side.
A moment only it lasted. Then one fawn--I knew the heedless one, even
in the firelight, by his face and by his bright-dappled Joseph's
coat--came straight towards me, stopping to stare with flashing eyes
when the fire jumped up, and then to stamp his little foot at the
shadows to show them that he was not afraid.
[Illustration: "HER EYES ALL ABLAZE WITH THE WONDER OF
THE LIGHT"]
The mother called him anxiously; but still he came on, stamping
prettily. She grew uneasy, trotting back and forth in a half circle,
warning, calling, pleading. Then, as he came between her and the fire,
and his little shadow stretched away up the hill where she was, showing
how far away he was from her and how near the light, she broke away
from its fascination with an immense effort: Ka-a-a-h! ka-a-a-h! the
hoarse cry rang through the startled woods like a pistol shot; and she
bounded away, her white flag shining like a wave crest in the night to
guide her little ones.
The second fawn followed her instantly; but the heedless one barely
swung his head to see where she was going, and then came on towards
the light, staring and stamping in foolish wonder.
I watched him a little while, fascinated myself by his beauty, his dainty
motions, his soft ears with a bright oval of light about them, his
wonderful eyes glowing like burning rainbows kindled by the firelight.
Far behind him the mother's cry ran back and forth along the hillside.
Suddenly it changed; a danger note leaped into it; and again I heard the
call to follow and the crash of brush as she leaped away. I remembered
the lynx and the sad little history written on the log above. As the
quickest way of saving the foolish youngster, I kicked my fire to pieces
and walked out towards him. Then, as the wonder vanished in darkness

and the scent of the man poured up to him on the lake's breath, the little
fellow bounded away--alas! straight up the deer path, at right angles to
the course his mother had taken a moment before.
Five minutes later I heard the mother calling a strange note in the
direction he had taken, and went up the deer path very quietly to
investigate. At the top of the ridge, where the path dropped away into a
dark narrow valley with dense underbrush on either side, I heard the
fawn answering her, below me among the big trees, and knew instantly
that something had happened. He called continuously, a plaintive cry of
distress, in the black darkness of the spruces. The mother ran around
him in a great circle, calling him to come; while he lay helpless in the
same spot, telling her he could not, and that she must come to him. So
the cries went back and forth in the listening night,--Hoo-wuh, "come
here." Bla-a-a, blr-r-t, "I can't; come here." Ka-a-a-h, ka-a-a-h!
"danger, follow!"--and then the crash of brush as she rushed away
followed by the second fawn, whom she must save, though she
abandoned the heedless one to prowlers of the night.
It was clear enough what had happened. The cries of the wilderness all
have their meaning, if one but knows how to interpret them. Running
through the dark woods his untrained feet had missed their landing, and
he lay now under some rough windfall, with a broken leg to remind
him of the lesson he had neglected so long.
I was stealing along towards him, feeling my way among the trees in
the darkness, stopping every moment to listen to his cry to guide me,
when a heavy rustle came creeping down the hill and passed close
before me. Something, perhaps, in the sound--a heavy, though almost
noiseless onward push which only one creature in the woods can
possibly make--something, perhaps, in a faint new odor in the moist air
told me instantly that keener ears than mine had heard the cry; that
Mooween the bear had left his blueberry patch, and was stalking the
heedless fawn, whom he knew, by the hearing of his ears, to have
become separated from his watchful mother in the darkness.
I regained the path silently--though Mooween heeds nothing when his
game is afoot--and ran back to the canoe for my rifle. Ordinarily a bear

is timid as a rabbit; but I had never met one so late at night before, and
knew not how he would act should I take his game away. Besides, there
is everything in the feeling with which one approaches an animal. If
one comes timidly, doubtfully, the animal knows it;