“Yes, I suppose he should be the bravest of his people.”
“Then,” smiled Spotted Tail, “you must be the bravest of all the rabbits in the woods—braver than Old Blind Rabbit ever was, or any of the young ones here.”
“I shouldn’t like to claim that,” faltered Bumper, modestly.
“Then you shouldn’t be king. Isn’t that the law of the woods?”
“A leader should be as brave as any of his people,” Bumper answered, “not braver. Perhaps that would be impossible.”
“Well said,” muttered the Old Blind Rabbit. “There are many of my people who are brave as any king, and more could not be asked of their leader.”
Spotted Tail licked his lips and smiled. “We should make a test,” he added, “to see who are the brave ones among us. All who choose can enter it. Has any one a test to suggest?”
There was absolute silence. Spotted Tail knew no one would think of a suitable test on the spur of the moment. So he proposed one himself, one that he had had in mind for some days.
“Suppose, then,” he added, still smiling, “we cross, one by one, Swinging Bridge, and those who get over safely will be entitled to be called brave.”
There was a gasp of surprise and consternation. Swinging Bridge was a small tree that had fallen across Rocky Ford where the river cut deep through a narrow gorge. The tree seemed almost suspended in mid-air by the vines and bushes, and was very dangerous. Every wind swung it back and forth like a hammock strung between two trees.