“Hermit! Hermit!” Bumper called over his shoulder.
When there was no response, Killer laughed at him.
“Hermit’s left you,” he said. “She’s afraid to stay here. She didn’t think enough of her egg to fight for it, but she let you risk your life to protect it. Now you see how much friendship amounts to!”
Bumper kept on calling, but Killer was apparently right. Hermit had left, and was not within hearing distance. Still for the sake of making Killer observe the truce, Bumper stood his ground, and took every advantage he could to run in and snap his teeth.
In spite of this the snake drove him away, and then crawled back to the nest. He reached the bush and started to climb it. Bumper made a furious rush to frighten him away. Then he stopped. He couldn’t go forward nor backward. He was caught in the thick bushes, with his plump body jammed in between two stout saplings and his neck entangled among briers and bushes.
“Ah! Ha!” exclaimed Killer jubilantly. “You’re caught now, and I’ll make short work of you. After I’ve strangled you to death, I’ll eat the egg at my leisure.”
Bumper struggled frantically to get loose, and Killer approached him, with his forked tongue darting out threateningly. Bumper suddenly felt weak and faint. The sight of Killer drawing nearer frightened him. He could neither run away nor protect himself.
It did seem like the last of Bumper. Killer was certain that he had him, and Bumper thought so too. With his neck caught in the vines, the rabbit couldn’t even turn to face his enemy. But neither one had reckoned with Hermit the Thrush.
It is true she had flown away, but not for the purpose of deserting Bumper. She thought Bumper would keep Killer busy until she could summon help.
And what a lot of helpers she found! When Killer was within a foot of Bumper there was a sudden sound of whirring wings, and the forest was darkened by the flight of birds that swooped down upon them. There were Rusty the Blackbird and his mate, Singer the Mocking Bird, Piney the Purple Finch, Belt the Sapsucker, Yellow Breast the Chat, and goodness knows how many others! It seemed as if all the birds of the North Woods were there, whistling, calling, crying and shrieking.