Gramps stood absolutely motionless and, without speaking, pointed. About a hundred yards away, a very dark-colored doe was leaping toward a copse of sheltering rhododendron. Behind her, matching his mother's every leap, ran the little black buck.
Now, Bud knew the fawn had not been abandoned. Just as Gramps had promised, his mother had come back to look for him and he was in safe care. And between last night and this morning, he had learned to use his legs. Not again, or at least not easily, would any human lay hands on him. The doe and fawn disappeared, and Gramps turned to Bud.
"There's your pal. After seeing his mammy, I know where he gets his color."
"Yes." Bud's eyes danced.
"I figured she'd take him away from that tote road after you and Shep found out where he was."
"Tote road?"
"The path we followed used to be a road. The lumbermen who cut the pine and hemlock that was in here made it and a hundred more like it."
"Why do they call them tote roads?"
Gramps shrugged. "I reckon 'cause they toted things back and forth on them."
"Were you here when the lumbermen came?"