Followers of the Trail

by Zoe Meyer

Providence was kind to the buck and his family and in spite of their many enemies late autumn found them still together. Through October, the hunters' month, when the law permits the shooting of males, they all grew exceedingly wary. The sound of a gun in the still forest would send them fleeing swiftly and tirelessly toward the denser coverts to the north.

Now Brown Brother heard the whining of the wind among the branches and he would pause to look up wonderingly at their swaying tops. Woodchucks, so fat from their summer feeding that it seemed as if their coats must split, were locating their winter homes where they might sleep comfortably during the cold months. Often during the night a wedge of flying geese went honking over the forest, driven south by Arctic gales.

The first snow came drifting down like white feathers from some giant flock of birds, falling softly among the spruce and hemlock and covering the wilderness with a carpet that left a tell-tale record of every foot which crossed its smooth expanse. And as the face of the wilderness changed, its inhabitants, also, changed. Some went into hiding for the cold months; others, fierce beasts such as the wolf and wildcat, simply donned warmer coats; still others, notably the hare and the ptarmigan, weaker and therefore in greater danger during the months of famine, put on coats of white which made them almost indistinguishable against the snowy background of the forest.

The snow found the herd of deer, under command of the big buck, heading northward to the country of evergreens. Here, deep in a balsam swamp, the winter "yard" was made, a labyrinth of intersecting paths leading to the best food supplies and providing safety and shelter for the deer. The fragrant balsam tips made excellent feeding and, by scraping away the snow, the herd found plenty of moss and lichens for browsing. Here they were quartered safe from all enemies, for though the deer were familiar with the winding paths, an enemy soon became bewildered in their many ramifications and was glad to get out alive without its dinner.

As the cold increased, the snow grew deeper. The paths were kept trodden to the ground and, sheltered between their warm banks, the deer did not suffer from the cutting winds. Food was still plentiful, though the lower branches of the hemlocks had been stripped and the tender tips had long since been devoured.

One night in midwinter Brown Brother, in spite of the safety of his fortress, had a narrow escape. The herd had wandered to the edge of the yard where they stood looking out across the great lonely barrens. The snow was deep and soft and the deer knew better than to venture forth. With their tiny, sharp hoofs they would have floundered helplessly at every step, and so become an easy prey to the first enemy that came along.

The wind had died away with the setting of the sun, and the night was very still. Across the barrens a faint tinge of green appeared upon the horizon, spreading outward like a great fan across the sky, changing from green to violet and from violet to pink, while great flaming streamers spread upward to the zenith, pulsating as if with life. It was a magnificent display of the Northern Lights and the little herd stood like black statues in the glow.

There they remained, staring out across the vast expanse of snow, until suddenly the buck threw up his head and stamped a warning. Immediately the herd came to attention; then, silent as shadows, they turned and vanished along their sheltering paths—all save Brown Brother. Alert but curious, he paused to see for himself what had alarmed the leader. The next moment a lean, tawny beast launched itself toward him and only his extreme quickness saved his life. Like the wind he fled down the path in the direction which the herd had taken, the hungry panther close behind. Upon rounding a corner, he gave a sudden leap which carried him over the intervening wall of snow into the next path, where after several turnings he found the rest of the herd and knew that he was safe. The panther paused, bewildered, at the spot where the trail ended abruptly and the fugitive seemed to have vanished into thin air. He sniffed hungrily about, then turned and slunk back the way he had come, his stomach still empty and his temper boding ill for any unfortunate whose trail he might cross.

As the long winter dragged on, food became more scarce. The ground had been cropped clean of lichens and moss and it was necessary to reach high for the balsam twigs. The doe and fawns would have fared ill had not the buck helped them by bending down the higher branches which only he could reach. As it was, their sides grew lean and their skin hung loosely upon them. In March the big buck shed his antlers, leaving them lying upon the snow where the fawns sniffed curiously at them.

At length the cold was broken, and when the drifts began to shrink together and fill the streams to overflowing, the herd left the yard, glad to be free once more. The buck, shorn of his lordly headdress, craved solitude and wandered away by himself. Soon afterward the doe, too, disappeared, leaving the fawns to shift for themselves. Though lonely at first, they soon recovered their spirits and rejoiced in the freedom of the woods after the narrow confines of the yard, and in the abundance of food which appeared everywhere. Some weeks later the doe reappeared, accompanied by a wobbly, long-legged fawn, its dappled coat giving the effect of sunlight sifting through a leafy screen of branches. At times the herd could be found together, but more often Brown Brother and the orphan wandered off, each by himself.