The Story of a Red Deer

by Sir J. W. Fortescue

"Oh, my lord, my lord," whispered the Blackcock, "you didn't never brush the grass as you passed, surely?"

But while he spoke a hound reared up on his hind-legs and thrust his nose into the grass tuft, and said, "Ough! he has passed here;" and the Deer knew the voice as that of the black and tan hound that had led the way to his hiding-place once before when he was a calf. Yet he lay still, though trembling, while the hounds searched on closer and closer to him, albeit with little to guide them, for the scent was weak from the water that had run off his coat when he left the stream. At last, one after another, they gave up trying, and only the black and tan hound kept creeping on with his nose on the ground, till at last he caught the wind of the Deer in his bed, and stood rigid and stiff with ears erect and nostrils spread wide. Then the Blackcock rose and flew away crying, "Fly, my lord, fly," and the Deer jumped up and bounded off at the top of his speed.

He heard every hound yell with triumph behind him, but he summoned all his courage, and set his face to go over the hill to the valley whither the Wild-Duck had guided him two years before. And he gained on the hounds, for he was fresh, whereas they had worked hard and travelled far to hunt him to his bed. So he cantered on in strength and confidence over bog and turf-pit till he gained the hilltop, and on down the long slope which led to the valley, and through the oak-coppice to the water. Then he jumped in and ran down, while the merry brown stream danced round him and leaped over his heated flanks, refreshing him and encouraging him till he felt that he could run on for ever.

He followed it for full two miles and would have followed it still further, when all of a sudden a great Fish like a huge bar of silver came sculling up the stream to him and motioned him back.

"What is it, my Lord Salmon?" he asked.

"There are men on the bank not far below the bridge," answered the Fish. "Turn back, for your life. Do you know of a good pool within reach upward?"

"Not one," said the Stag; "but hide yourself if you can, my Lord Salmon, for the hounds will be down presently."

But for all the Salmon's warnings he went on yet a little further, for he knew that he should find another stream flowing into that wherein he stood, before he reached the bridge. So down he went till he reached it, and then without leaving the water he turned up this second stream for another mile. Then at last he went up into the covert, turning and twisting as he had seen old Aunt Yeld on the moor, and picking out every bit of stony ground, just as his mother had taught him.

Meanwhile he heard the hounds trying down the other stream far beyond the spot where he had left it; and when at last they tried back up the water after him the evening was closing in, and the scent was so weak and all of them so tired that they could only hunt very slowly. So he, like a cunning fellow, kept passing backward and forward through the wood from one stream to the other, till at last he began to grow tired himself; when luckily he met the Salmon again, who led him down to a deep pool, where he sunk himself under the bank, as he had once seen Aunt Yeld sink herself. He lay there till night came and the valley was quiet and safe, and then he jumped out and lay down, very thankful to the friendly waters that had saved his life.