“Not if I can help it,” smiled White Tail. “He’s been on my trail before, and I shook him off.”
Then he told Rusty of his adventures.
“You’re wonderful, White Tail,” the Blackbird said when he had finished. “You saved Young Black Buck’s life, and nearly lost your own. Now you’ve saved my life, and got yourself in more danger. I wish I could do something to help you in return.”
“Probably you can, Rusty. Who knows? I’m terribly mixed up in these strange woods. I hardly know which way to go to find home. Perhaps you can direct me.”
“Yes, I can do that easily.”
“Thanks! That’s one good turn you can do me. Now for another. Is there any river or stream near here that I can reach? If so I can go to it before Puma comes, and then wade down it to throw him off my scent.”
“Why, yes, there’s a shallow brook only a mile from here. I can take you to that.”
“Which way shall I go—up or down the brook?”
“Go down it a couple of miles until it runs in the stream where Father Buck let the herd feed on the rushes this morning—the place you started from when you ran the race with Young Black Buck.”
“In that case,” replied White Tail, “I think I’ll be going right away. I’m anxious to be off.”