“Ten miles or more.”
“Then we will go to it. We will race to it at a good speed. I want you to set the pace—the swiftest you can. You must run as if Puma or Timber Wolf was on your trail. I will follow. You must neither look to the right or to the left, or back of you. Run with all your might.”
“You will follow close behind me?”
“I will follow you.”
Now White Tail looked with glee upon this run, for he was in fine condition. His limbs seemed aching for a long, hard run, and his father wanted to see how quickly he could make the race. He would show him. He wouldn’t disappoint him.
Shortly afterward he started off, taking a broad trail through the woods. He trotted along merrily, and soon began running in long leaps and bounds that carried him far and fast. When he came to obstructions in his path he leaped over them as easily as a boy or girl would jump over a log.
Faster and faster he flew through the woods, his fine head set well back, and his antlers almost resting on his neck. His eyes were kept glued to the trail ahead. He ran so easily and smoothly that it seemed as if he was making no effort. For the first five miles he showed hardly any results of his wild run, but in the last half of the distance he began to perspire a little, and the white foam settled on his flanks.
But he never stopped or turned until he reached the boundary line of Puma’s hunting ground. Then he halted and whirled around.
“How was that?” he asked.
But Father Buck was not there. He was alone. His father was nowhere in sight. Startled and surprised by this he trotted back a few paces and called to him. Then, not finding him, he became frightened. Had something happened to his father?