So the three started forth, leaving the shelter of the camp for the wet trail of the woods. And how wet everything was! The trail was soaked with water, and every leaf and bough was dripping with moisture. Every bush they touched threw a shower of rain-drops all over them.
Rusty led the way, hopping and flying from bush to bush, with Bumper following next, and White Tail bringing up the rear. Bumper was as familiar with the woods as Rusty, and White Tail really followed him, although at times the White Rabbit took short cuts through narrow paths which the buck could not tread.
It was very quiet and solemn in the woods. After the rain the stillness seemed intensified by the occasional splatter of water, as some overladened tree branch dipped its load and let it fall to the ground. No birds or animals were abroad, and they made half the distance without accident or alarm.
Then back of them came a fearful roar that startled the echoes of the wildwoods. It was Puma the Mountain Lion.
“He’s found we’ve escaped!” cried Rusty. “Oh, do hurry! He’ll pick up your trail, and Great Horn will find me. Hurry! Hurry!”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed White Tail. “Can’t you find a hiding place, Rusty?”
“Yes, many of them, but I must show you the way to the shallow brook.”
“No, you tell me how to find it,” interrupted White Tail. “I can run much faster alone.”
“It’s straight ahead, White Tail.”
“Then find a hiding place in the bushes. Good-bye, and thank you!”