“Neither have we,” said Young Black Buck, “but we have no hole to run in. What are we going to do?”
“If you only had wings I could answer that question,” interrupted Downy. “I know what I’d do.”
“And if you had a hole you could crawl in, I could advise you,” added Washer.
Of course, this brought no relief to either White Tail’s or Young Black Buck’s harassed minds. They weren’t interested in what Downy or Washer would do. They wanted to know what they could do to escape the terrible trap.
Suddenly to make their situation more desperate, a distant howl rent the air. It was Timber Wolf calling to the pack. Almost instantly there was an answering cry on the left, then another in front, and a third on the right.
“It’s the pack’s hunting cry,” exclaimed Washer. “They’re calling to each other as they close in. Yes, they’ve picked up your scent, White Tail.”
Young Black Buck got so frightened and excited that he leaped around in a circle, uttering plaintive little whimpers. “I’m going to run,” he said, “even if I do nothing but go around and around in circles. I can’t stand still.”
“You’d better save your strength, Young Black Buck,” advised White Tail. “You may need all of it for the race, for it is clear to me that we must trust to our heels to beat them.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Young Black Buck, as a snarl in the distance alarmed them.
“It’s Puma and his mate creeping up from this direction,” said White Tail more alarmed than ever. “With Puma and his mate in the rear, and Timber’s pack in front and on either side, what chance have we?”