Gravely, he knelt and rinsed his cup and filled it and carried it to her, and gravely she drank, and the stillness about them was charged and quivering. If they had been alone— But they were not alone. The Scout called upon them in a thrilled whisper to revel with him in the spectacle of the fawn drinking from his cupped hands, and again they were grateful to him, thankful for him. They watched absorbedly while he got his hair rope from the neck of Mabel, the lady horse, and put it, shaking with excitement, about the slim little throat of the young deer.
Then Ginger turned her gaze to the mountain lion, round which Rusty, the Airedale, was walking, the hair standing up in a line from the crown of his head to the tip of his tail. He was emitting low, ferocious growls. “That was a good shot,” she said, levelly.
“Thank you,” said Dean Wolcott, pleasantly. “The element of surprise was the only doubt; one could hardly miss a target of that size, at that distance.”
Another pause came down out of the blue and enveloped them thickly, and again the boy and the little wild beast filled up the stage. The fawn had staggered to its feet at the feel of the rope and now, refreshed by the water, by the minutes of rest, it began to battle this fresh terror.
“Careful, Scout! If he gets away from you with that rope he’ll be out of luck; he’ll hang himself in the brush within an hour!” Dean’s voice was sharp.
“Oh, gee—will he? Oh, golly! Gee! Then—then help me to let him loose!”
“I’ll help you!” Ginger was out of the saddle, down beside him, her arms about the madly struggling body. It had been more than she could bear, Dean Wolcott had calculated surely. “I’ll hold him. Get your rope off. And boy, Scout”—she looked at him earnestly across the head of the fawn, just as he slipped the hair rope clumsily off—“never keep anything—tied or in a cage! Never keep anything—that—that doesn’t want to stay!”
“I guess I won’t,” said Elmer Bunty, soberly. “I thought I could take awful good care of him, but— Look! Looky!”
The baby deer was trotting unsteadily back in the direction from which he had come, making all the speed his weakness and weariness would allow, but at the bend in the trail he paused and looked back over his shoulder; he stood there, looking back at them for a long instant.
“He’s thanking you,” said Ginger, gently. “He’s thanking you—both.”