It rained hard all night. White Tail could hear the floods of water pouring on the roof of his shelter, but under it the place was dry and warm. Darkness came early in the woods, and it was soon pitchy black.
He felt perfectly safe if none of the night prowlers appeared. The rain, however, was a protection to him, for even Puma and Timber rarely ventured forth in such a storm. They preferred to do their hunting on clear, dry nights when the scent of their prey was clear and distinct.
“I don’t think anybody will disturb me until morning,” White Tail said, “and I can rest here in peace.”
But of course you can never tell what may happen in the wildwoods. Suppose Puma or Timber Wolf should be caught away from home in the rain! If they were, and saw the open camp, they would very naturally seek it for shelter just as White Tail had done.
It was quite early in the evening when White Tail was awakened from slumber by a thump, thump outside. It came nearer and nearer. White Tail was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe. He trembled in every limb. Some animal was coming around the side of the open camp.
Before White Tail could leap to his feet to run, a head was thrust around the corner, and a pair of wonderful eyes looked at him. At the same instant the owner of them caught sight of White Tail’s.
“Hello, Bumper!” White Tail exclaimed, when he recognized Bumper the White Rabbit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m White Tail the Deer.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad of that,” replied Bumper, approaching. “You gave me an awful start at first. I thought you were Mr. Fox or Sneaky the Wolf or Puma.”
“And I thought you were Timber Wolf or the man hunters or their dogs.”
“Seeing that we were both wrong then,” said Bumper, “we might share this camp between us. You have no objection, I hope.”