The Story of a Red Deer Part 4

And there the p.r.i.c.ket saw deer, and he was so delighted that he ran on by himself to speak to them; but he was puzzled, for some of them were black, and some were white, and some were red, and the greater part were spotted; while not one was near so big as he was, though many of them had growing horns as big as his own and bigger. So he made sure that they must all be calves with some new description of horn, and going up to the biggest of them he said rather patronisingly, "Good morning, my little friend."

But the other turned round and said, "Little friend! Do you know who I am, sir? I am the Master-Buck of this park, sir, and I'll trouble you not to call me your little friend."

"But why don't you come to the woods and on to the moor?" said the p.r.i.c.ket, astonished. "I've never seen you there."

"Did you hear me say that I was the Master-Buck of this park, sir?"

said the Fallow-Buck, "and do you know what that means? I am lord of the whole of this herd, and master of everything inside this park-fence. What do I want with woods and moors, when I have all this beautiful green park for a kingdom, and all this gra.s.s to feed on in the summer, and hay, sir, hay brought to me in the winter? Do you get hay brought to you in the winter, sir?"

"Why," broke in the p.r.i.c.ket, "do you mean to say that you can't feed yourself?"

But here the Hind trotted up and fetched her son away. "They are only miserable little tame Fallow-Deer," she said. "You should never have lowered yourself to speak to them."

"No, mother," he answered; "but fancy preferring to live in a wretched little park instead of wandering free through the woods and over the moor! Do let me go back and thrash him."

But when the Fallow-Buck heard this he trotted away as quick as he could; and mother and son went back into the wood. And as they entered it a very handsome bird with a grey back and a rosy breast and bright blue on his wings fluttered over their heads screeching at the top of his voice. "Come in," he said, "please to come right in. But we Jays be put here to scritch when any stranger cometh into the wood, and scritch I must and scritch I shall." And certainly he did, in a most unpleasant tone, for he had been watching a brood of another bird's chicks instead of minding his proper business, and so had missed them when they first came in. So he screeched double to make up for lost time.

Then presently there came towards them another bird, walking very daintily on the ground. He had a green neck and bright red round his eyes, and a coat which shone like burnished copper mixed with burnished gold. He stopped as they came up, and waiting till the p.r.i.c.ket had wandered a little way from his mother, he went up to him and said in a very patronising tone: "Welcome, young sir, welcome to my wood. I have not the pleasure of knowing who you are, but my name I expect is familiar to you. Phasia.n.u.s Colchicus, ahem--" and he strutted about with great importance. "You have heard of me, no doubt."

"I am afraid not," said the p.r.i.c.ket very civilly. "You see, I come from the moor. But I thought that I saw one or two birds like you as we pa.s.sed through this wood."

"Like me," said the bird suspiciously; "are you quite sure that they were like me, like me in every way?"

"Well," said the p.r.i.c.ket hesitating, "they had pretty white rings round their necks--?"

"What!" broke in the bird, "rings round their necks, and like me! Oh, the ignorance of young people nowadays. My dear young friend, you have a great deal to learn. Have I a white ring round my neck? No. Well, now I must ask your pardon if I turn my back upon you for one moment."

And round he turned very slowly and ceremoniously and stood with his back to the p.r.i.c.ket, who stared at it not knowing what to say.

"Well," said the bird, looking over his shoulder after a time. "You make no remark. Is it possible that you notice nothing? My dear young friend, let me ask you, do you see any green on my back?"

"No," said the p.r.i.c.ket, and honestly he did not.

"So," said the bird very tragically. "Look well at that back, for you will never see such another again, my young friend. I am one of the old English breed, the last of my race, the last of those that, coming centuries ago from the banks of the Phasis, made England their home and were, I may venture to say, her greatest ornament. But now a miserable race of Chinese birds has come in, and go where I will I see nothing but white-ringed necks and hideous green backs. My very children, now no more, took them for wives and husbands, and I alone am left of the old pure breed, the last of the true Pheasants, the last king of this famous wood, the last and the greatest--bless me, what's that? Kok, kok, kok, kok, kok." Thereupon he flipped up into a larch-tree and began at the top of his voice: "You wretched creature, how often have I forbidden you the woods? Go home and catch mice, go home. My dear young friend, let me entreat you to drive that wretch away."

And the p.r.i.c.ket looking round saw a little black and white Cat slinking through the wood close by, a thing he had never seen before and did not at all like the sight of. She took not the least notice of the Pheasant till the Hind trotted down through the covert and said very sternly: "Go home, p.u.s.s.y, go home. How dare you come out into the woods? Take care, or you'll come to a bad end." And the Cat ran away as fast as she could; and I may as well say that she did come to a bad end the very next week, for she was caught in a trap and knocked on the head, which last is the fate of all poaching cats sooner or later.

So if ever you own a cat, be careful to keep it at home.

"Ah!" said the old c.o.c.k-Pheasant, much relieved, as the Cat disappeared. "Is that your mother, my young friend? What an excellent person! You must introduce me some day, but really at this moment I feel quite unfit to leave this tree."

So they left him sitting in the larch tree, not looking at all kingly, and wandered about the wood, finding it very much to their liking; for there was dry ground and wet ground, sunny beds and shady beds, warm places and cool places, and great quiet and repose. And that is why all wild animals love Bremridge Wood and always have loved it.

Now some days after they had made their home there, the p.r.i.c.ket became troubled with a good deal of itching in the velvet on his head. He shook his head violently, but this did no good except to make the velvet fall down in little strips, so at last he picked out a neat little ash-tree and rubbed and scrubbed and frayed till all the velvet fell to the ground, and he was left with a clean little pair of smooth white horns. At this he was so pleased with himself that he must needs go down to the river to look at himself in the water; and after that he could not be satisfied till he had pa.s.sed through the deer-park to let the Fallow-Deer see him. But here he was a little abashed, for the horns of the Bucks were many of them much bigger than his own, though flat, like your hand, and, as he thought, not nearly so handsome.

The Hind now became restless and inclined to wander, so that they went the round of all the woods in the neighbourhood; and thus it was that one day they came upon ground covered with rhododendrons, and azaleas, and tall pine-trees of a kind that they had never seen before. They would hardly have ventured upon it if they had not heard the quacking of wild-ducks, which led them on till they came upon a little stream.

They followed the water downward till they came to a waterfall, where they stopped for a minute in alarm; for at its foot lay the remains of three little ducks quite dead, little more indeed than heaps of wet feathers, only to be recognised by their poor little olive-green beaks. But they still heard quacking below, and going on they presently found a dozen Mallards and Ducks exactly like those that they had seen on the moor, all full-plumed and full-grown.

The Hind went up to them at once, but they took not the least notice of her. She wished them good-morning, but still they took no notice; so then she said in her gentlest voice: "I am afraid that you have had a dreadful misfortune with your little Flappers."

Then at last a little Duck turned round and said very rudely: "Ey?

What yer s'yin'?"

"Your little Ducklings which I saw lying dead by the fall," she said.

"Well," said the Duck still more rudely, "let 'em lie there. I can't be bothered with 'em. Who asked you to come poking your nose into our water?"

The Hind was very angry, for she had never been spoken to like this, and she remembered how very differently the Duck had talked to her on the moor. So instead of leaving these disgraceful little Ducks alone, which would perhaps have been wiser, she began to scold them. "What,"

she said, "do you mean to say that you let the poor little things drown for want of proper care? I never heard of such a thing. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

And then all the Ducks broke out in chorus. "'Ow, I s'y, 'ere's an old party come to teach us 'ow to bring up our chicks," said one. "Shall I just step out and teach your little feller 'ow to run?" said another.

"Look out, little 'un, or your 'orns will drop off," said a third; and this annoyed the p.r.i.c.ket very much, for how could his horns be dropping off, considering that they were only just clean of velvet?

"The old 'un hasn't got no 'orns," said a fourth; "there's an old Cow in the next field. Shall I go and borrow a pair for you, mum? She'll be 'appy to lend 'em, I'm sure." And they all burst out laughing together, "Quar, quar, quar, quar!" And I am sorry to say that the Ducks laughed even louder than the Mallards.

Altogether they were so rude, and impudent, and vulgar, and odious, that the Deer walked away with great dignity without saying another word. And as they went they saw an old grey Fox crouching down in the rushes by the water-side, as still as a stone, and quite hidden from view. Then the Hind turned to warn the Ducks, but she could hardly utter a word before they all came swimming down, laughing, "Quar, quar, quar," till she couldn't hear herself speak. Presently they turned to the bank, still laughing, and waddled ash.o.r.e one after another; when all of a sudden up jumped the Fox, caught the foremost Mallard by the neck, threw him over his back, and trotted away laughing in his turn. And the rest of the ducks flew back to the water fast enough then, you may be sure, and were sorry when it was too late that they had been so rude. But the truth is, that these were not true wild-ducks, but what are called tame wild-ducks, which had been bought in Leadenhall Market. And this accounted for their bad manners, their ugly language, and their conceit; for like a great many other creatures that are bred in towns, they thought they knew everything, whereas in reality they could not take care of their children nor even of themselves.

The Hind was very much disgusted, and began to think that she had wandered too far from the moor, as indeed she had. For on their way back to Bremridge Wood they were chased by a sheep-dog, and when they shook him off by jumping a hedge they found themselves in the middle of a lot of bullocks, which ran together and galloped after them and tried to mob them. So they decided to have no more to do with a country where there were so many tame things, but to go straight back to the moor. The p.r.i.c.ket thought that it might be pleasanter only to move up to their old home in the woods higher up the valley, but the Hind was impatient to return to the moor. There was no one to warn her not to go, and they set out that very same night.

CHAPTER VIII

They were glad to get on to the heather again, and to hear the breeze singing over the moor, and still more glad when they caught the wind of deer and found Aunt Yeld and Ruddy among them. And Lady Ruddy had kept her promise to her little Hind and had given her a little Stag for a brother, a fine little fellow, who was already beginning to shed his white spots and grow his brown coat. But almost directly after they arrived the stags began belling and fighting again, and there was no peace for nearly a month until they had tired themselves out and settled down to live quietly for another year.

Then came a week of sharp frost, which made the ground too hard for the hounds to trouble them; and they really began to think that they might enjoy a quiet winter. Their winter-friends came flocking back to them, the Woodc.o.c.k arriving one bright moonlight night with the whole of her own family and two or three more families besides. They all settled down above the cliffs where the springs were kept unfrozen by the sea, and night after night while the moon lasted the p.r.i.c.ket saw them grubbing in the soft ground with their long bills, and growing fatter and fatter. But at length one morning the Sea-gulls came in screaming from the sea to say that the west wind and the rain were coming; and that very night the frost vanished. Then came three days of endless grey clouds and mizzling rain, and then the sun and blue sky returned; and the Deer moved out of the covert to the open ground to enjoy St. Martin's summer.

But one day while they were lying in the great gra.s.s tufts in the middle of the wet ground, they were startled by the approach of horses and hounds; and they leaped to their feet and made off in all haste.

There were but two hounds after them, but for all that the Hind and the p.r.i.c.ket were never more alarmed, for scent as they knew was good, and the pace at which those two hounds flew after them was terrible.

They had not run above a quarter of a mile when Aunt Yeld turned off in one direction, and Ruddy with her Yearling and her Calf in another; but the hounds let them go where they would, and raced after our p.r.i.c.ket and his mother as if they had been tied to them. They both ran their hardest, but they could not shake off those two hounds, and presently they parted company and fled on, each of them alone. The p.r.i.c.ket made for the cliffs, das.h.i.+ng across the peat-stream without daring to wait for a bath; and as he cantered up the hill towards the refuge that he had chosen, he caught sight of his mother racing over the yellow gra.s.s at her topmost speed, and no longer one couple but sixteen couples of hounds racing after her in compact order, not one of them gaining an inch on his neighbour. He saw her gallop up to a gate in a fence and fly over it like an arrow from the bow; and a few minutes after her the hounds also came to the same gate and flew over it likewise, without pausing for an instant, like a handful of white blossoms driven before the wind. Then he turned into the plantation, frightened out of his life, and ran down through them, leaping desperately over the stunted trees and scaring the Woodc.o.c.ks out of their five wits. And from the plantation he ran down through the oak-woods on the cliff, and from thence to the beach, and then without pausing for a moment he ran straight into the sea and swam out over the waves as only a deer can swim.

The cool water refreshed him; and presently he stopped swimming and turned round, floating quietly on the surface, to see if he was still in danger. But the woods were all silent, and there was no sign of hound or horse on the sh.o.r.e or on the cliff-paths; so after waiting for another quarter of an hour he swam back, and climbed up over the cliff again till he found a stream of fresh water. There he drank a good draught, and pa.s.sing on came upon a Woodc.o.c.k, one of those that he had frightened on his way down. The little bird was rather cross at having been disturbed in the middle of her day-dreams, for she said: "What on earth made you come tearing through this wood in that mad way just now? There was n.o.body hunting you, and nothing of any kind to frighten you. I was in the middle of a delightful dream about Norway, and you quite spoilt it." But he soon soothed her, for woodc.o.c.ks are easy-going little creatures, and went away and lay down, very much relieved to know that he was unpursued.

When evening came he went away to seek his mother, but he could not find her; and all next day he wandered about asking every deer that he met if they had seen her, but not one could tell him anything. He met Aunt Yeld and Ruddy, but they knew nothing, and he could not ask the hounds who might have told him; so at last very sorrowfully he gave up searching and made up his mind that she would never come back.

And he was right, for she never did come back, and he never saw her again. But, after all, he was old enough to take care of himself, and it was time for him to be making his own way in the world. There were plenty of young deer of his own age to keep him company, and Aunt Yeld and Ruddy's little daughter were still left for old friends. So he settled down comfortably on Dunkery, and by good luck was little troubled the rest of the winter by the hounds.

At last the spring came again and all was peace on the moor. The ash sent forth its green shoots, and as usual all the young male deer came crowding up to eat them; and our Deer got a larger share this spring, for he was bigger and stronger and could drive the yearlings away. But about the middle of April his head began to ache again, and not only to ache but to irritate him a great deal. It grew worse and worse every day, and one morning it got so troublesome on one side that he gave his head an extra violent shake; and lo and behold! the horn on that side began to totter, and before he could understand what had happened, it fell to the ground. For a minute or two he stood still trembling with pain, for the air struck cold on to the place from which the horn had dropped, and hurt him dreadfully. The pain soon got better, and he went away to hide himself, for he felt very much ashamed at having but one horn. But after a few hours the other side of his head grew as bad as the first, and he was wondering what on earth he should do, when who should come by but another Two-year-old, with both horns still on his head? Now this Two-year-old was rather smaller than our Deer, and rather disliked him because he took a larger share of the ash-sprouts; so thinking that this would be a fine opportunity of taking his revenge, he came at him at once with his head lowered. And our Deer ran away--what else could he do with only one horn against two?--and as he bounded under the oak bushes he knocked his remaining horn against a branch, and thump! off it came as suddenly as the other. But he was able to crow over the Two-year-old in a few days when he too had shed his horns, for our Deer had got the start of him in growing a new pair, and could show two inches of growing velvet where the other could only show one.

So when the autumn came and the velvet began to peel, our Deer found that he had bigger horns than any other deer of his own age, brow, trey and upright, very strong and well-grown; such was his good luck in being an early calf and having had so good a mother. And when another year came (for the years, as you will find out to your cost some day, fly away much faster as one grows older) and he had shed his old horns and grown his new pair, he carried on each horn, brow, bay and trey, with two on top on one side and upright on the other, or nine points in all.

Now towards the end of that summer a great big Stag came up to him and said, "My fine young fellow, it is time that you had nothing more to do with hinds and young things; you must come and be my squire." Now our Deer thought it a great compliment to be noticed by so splendid an old fellow, and went with him gladly enough. The pair of them were constantly together for several weeks; and our Deer found it not unpleasant, for the old Stag knew of all the best feeding grounds, and, though he took all the best of the food for himself, left plenty and to spare for the squire. But it was a shame to see how wasteful this greedy old fellow was. For if they went into a turnip-field he would only take a single bite out of a turnip, worry it out of the ground, and go on to another; while often he would pick up scores of roots and throw them over his head, from mere mischief and pride in the strength of his neck. Again, in the corn-fields he was so dainty that he would not take a whole ear of corn, but would bite off half of it and leave the rest to spoil. Now a hind, as our Deer knew from observing his mother, is far more thrifty. She will take four or five bites out of a turnip before she pulls it out of the ground and leaves it, and she takes the whole of an ear of corn instead of half. But I am sorry to say that our young Deer took example from the great Stag, and soon became as wasteful and mischievous as he was in his feeding; and indeed I never saw nor heard of a stag that had not learned this very bad habit.

The only occasions on which the old Stag did not keep his squire with him was when he went to lie down in the covert for the day after feeding. The lazy old fellow was very particular about his bed, and was aware of all kinds of quiet places in the cliffs, where he knew that the hounds would be unlikely to find him. Or sometimes he would tell his squire to stop for a minute, and then he would make a gigantic bound of twenty feet or more into the midst of some dense thicket, and say to him quietly: "Now I am quite comfortable. Do you go on and lie down by yourself; but don't go too far, and keep to windward of me, so that I can find you if I want you."

And our Deer used to go as he was told, never doubting that all was right; nor was it until late in the autumn that he found out his mistake. For one day while he was lying quietly in the short plantation above the cliffs he heard the familiar cry of hounds, and presently up came the old Stag. He jerked his head at him, just as the other old stag had done when he was a calf, and said very roughly: "Now, then, give me your bed, young fellow, and run instead of me.

Look sharp." And our Deer jumped up at once, but he was so angry and astonished at being treated in this way now that he was grown up, that he quite forgot his manners, and said very shortly, "Sha'n't!"

"How dare you? Go on at once," said the old Stag, quivering with rage and lowering his head, but our Deer lowered his head too and made ready to fight him, though he was but half of his size; and it would have gone hard with him, if just at that moment the hounds had not come up. Then the old Stag threw himself down into his bed with a wicked chuckle; and the hounds made a rush at our Deer and forced him to fly for his life. So there he was, starting alone before the hounds for the first time, and with only a few minutes to make up his mind whither he would go. But what other refuge should he seek but the wood where his mother had led him as a calf? So he left the covert at once and started off gallantly over the heather.

He ran on for five or six miles, for he had been frightened by finding the hounds so close to him when the old Stag drove him out. But after a time he stopped and listened, for he had heard no voice of hounds behind him since he left the covert, and began to doubt whether they were chasing him after all. He p.r.i.c.ked his ears intently, and turned round to find if the wind would bear him any scent of his enemies. No!

there was not a sign of them. Evidently they were not following him, and he was safe. And this indeed was the case, for, though he did not know it, some men had seen the two deer turn and fight, and, marking the spot where the old Stag had lain down, had brought the hounds back and roused him again. But our Deer was too wary to make sure of his safety without the help of a peat-stream, so he cantered on to the next water and ran up it for a long way till it parted into three or four tiny threads, for he was now on the treacherous, boggy ground where the rivers rise. Then he left the stream and lay down in the tall, rank gra.s.s, meaning to wait there till night should come, if he were undisturbed. And lonely though it was, he felt that he was on friendly ground, for all round him the tiny brown streams were singing their song.