“Rusty! Rusty! Is he there?” exclaimed Great Horn excitedly. Now the thought of being so near to his prey made him very hungry, and he flew straight at White Tail’s head. This was what the buck wanted, and when the Owl was close enough he swung his antlers around swiftly and caught Great Horn on the end. The blow was enough to knock the breath out of the bird, and he fell with a plump in the bushes.
“That’s for betraying me to Puma,” White Tail said. “Now call to him when you can get back your breath. I’m off.”
And through the bushes he ran, leaving Great Horn so surprised and stunned that he couldn’t call to Puma for a long time. White Tail had made good his escape.
A few yards through the woods he came upon the other stream, the broad river which he knew so well. He crossed this, and made his way up the other embankment. Then, with the woods before him familiar to his eyes and nose, he ran rapidly toward home. He had made his way out of Puma’s hunting and through the higher timberland to his home.
His appearance was hailed with delight by all his friends. “Oh, White Tail, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed one.
“Dead! Huh! Why should you think that?” he sniffed.
“That’s for betraying me to Puma,” White Tail said.
“Young Black Buck said you were. He left you, and he was sure the dogs would catch you. He was sorry for you, but you couldn’t keep up with him, and he didn’t want to die because you couldn’t run as fast as he.”
“What!” exclaimed White Tail. “Has Young Black Buck returned? And did he tell such a tale?”