“Help!” cried Geno. “Help!”
* * *
Meanwhile the privet by the clearing was filled with lamentation. Rolla sank wearily on the ground and bowed her head. Faline stood over her, crazed with fear and grief.
“You have sacrificed my son,” she cried in her bitterness.
“I didn’t know!” wailed Rolla.
“You didn’t know!” Faline’s eyes flashed. “The first law of motherhood is to protect the young. You are a murderess as surely as if you had killed him yourself.”
“Mother!” protested Gurri.
“Be quiet, child!” snapped Faline. “Let this creature realize the extent of her crime. Every time she looks at Boso let her remember the price we paid.”
Rolla stumbled to her feet with tired dignity.
“I’ll go,” she said. “Hate me if you gain relief from it. The fault is mine.”
Faline said nothing. She stood looking down the path that Geno had taken. Her heart was hard in her grief.
Chapter Twenty-One
BAMBI CAME DOWN FROM THE cave in the hillside which was his private dwelling. He had been sleeping. Life and strength gave brilliance to his eyes, a spring to his step.
He went quietly as usual, headed up-wind. Not for Bambi the carelessness of winter’s armistice. He tested the air from habit, gathering in all the scents, setting each in proper order in his mind.
There a hare had passed, here a deer had lain to rest, there a squirrel had his winter hideaway. The wind was slight. The cold cut off the living scent. Yet the messages were there to be sorted out and understood.
Bambi stopped suddenly. This was a fresh odor on the breeze, strong and violent. It was the stench of a killer.
Scent had played its part. The hunt was up, but the hunt for what?
His pricked ears leaned forward to the breeze, his quivering nerves allied themselves with them. His breathing almost stopped.
He caught Geno’s faint, despairing cry, subdued by fear and lack of breath:
“Help! Help!”
Bambi’s great muscles flexed and sprang. Wind streamed by his flattened ears. The naked trees and bushes flew past him.
Three feet of air divided Nero from the racing Geno. Like a sharpened knife, Bambi cut through it. The wolf-dog’s nose grazed his buttock. Amazed, the great dog stopped, his forelegs braced and stiff.
Bambi stumbled, fell and got up limping.
So the female pheasant will protect her fledglings from the hungry fox. Hopping and stumbling, beating a wing that seems to be useless, she leads the marauder from her chicks with the promise of a better meal. Then, when her young are safely hidden, her great wings beat the air, she rises rocket-like, leaving the fox to view in disappointment the shadow of the food he might have had.
Bambi stumbled. The wolf-dog sprang. Geno rushed on to safety.
The wolf-dog sprang again. Just an elusive span beyond those reaching jaws, Bambi led him on, a little faster now. A little faster—faster, until again the chase was on; but a different sort of chase.
Now muscles matched, and the cruel heart of the maddened wolf-dog encountered the kingly heart of the leader. Bambi’s strategy, made keen by forest lore, surpassed the cunning of the dog who had spent his life by the hearth. On through the forest, up the hill, a sharp turn by a bushy laurel and a great leap to the invisible haven of the secret cave.
To the wolf-dog, rounding that last sharp curve, it seemed that Bambi must be made of air. For an instant he stopped, puzzled. Then he got the waft of Bambi’s scent. He sprang for the cave-mouth.
It was too high a jump. The wolf-dog’s claws scrabbled the earth two feet below it. Again and again he tried, foam flying from his jaws.
And then again the instinct of his wild fore-fathers spoke to him. Wolves do not waste their strength in useless effort. They have patience. They can wait.
Nero lay down quietly at the hill’s base, waiting.
Bambi was content. He, too, had endurance. Moreover, while the wolf-dog remained where he was, the other creatures of the forest could go their way in peace.
Hours passed, watcher and watched maintaining perfect silence. A crescent moon shot high above the treetops. The Kings, their naked heads shrouded in the gloaming, began to seek the tender bark that grew on the younger trees.
The forest marched uninterrupted by the path that led to Bambi’s cave. Saplings in plenty leaned toward the light the path afforded. A young stag had discovered these tender growths. Every night he came, pressing confidently upward, secure in the peace that for a season ruled the wild.
The breeze had dropped entirely. The glimmer of the moon shone wanly on the shadowed snow. Nero glanced over his shoulder. The stag was clearly visible. He looked like Bambi.
Streaking sideways, the wolf-dog silently approached. Some premonition tapped the young stag’s brain. He sprang around, side-stepped as Nero sprang and rushed with leaping bounds for safety.
Dodging left and right, the stag ran round the base of Bambi’s hill. It was exactly what the wolf-dog wanted. Swinging in a wider circle than the stag, he drove the frantic animal upward until the hill cut off all chance of further flight.
His back to the frozen earth, the young stag stood at bay. Without his antlers, the only weapons he had were his flying forehoofs.
Twice the wolf-dog sprang and twice recoiled. Rearing on his hind legs, the stag delivered lightning blows. The third spring saw the end. Reared almost upright, the stag’s hind hoofs slipped on a treacherous patch of ice. The dog’s jaws snapped, found flesh. The stricken stag struggled desperately, but the wolf-dog hung on.
The end came swiftly. Bambi, dozing in the scentless security of his hideaway, sprang to his feet with horror when he heard the wolf-howl.
Nero crept home very late that night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
GENO WAS HARDLY AWARE OF the intervention of Bambi that had saved his life. Running had become a sort of painful twitching that affected his limbs and would not let them rest. Spasmodically, his tired muscles gathered and sprang, gathered and sprang. His mouth gaped like the mouth of a fish when it is out of water; his filmed eyes bulged.
He fled through country that was quite unknown to him: broad fields, a frozen stream that had become a weary trickle and beyond that more woods.
Finally flesh and blood could stand no more. His knees buckled. He collapsed.
When he came to, it was with a start of fear. Two crows sat on a near-by branch, regarding him thoughtfully.
“Huh!” one of them said disgustedly, “What did I tell you?”
“What did you tell me?” the other queried.
“I told you he was alive.”
“Well?”
The other sharpened his beak viciously on the branch.
“I’m hungry!”
“Who isn’t?”
They sat silently regarding Geno.
“Are you talking about me?” he asked, with horror in his voice.
The first crow hopped up and down on the branch, flapping his wings.
“Why not?”
“You don’t have to listen,” said the second crow.
“I can’t help it,” Geno said.
“You can’t help it . . . !” began the first crow; but the second interrupted. He stretched his wings and thrust out his beak.
“You make me tired!” he croaked. “I’m hungry.”
Geno got slowly up from the ground.
“I suppose you have to do that?” the second crow said. “You couldn’t just lie there and die?”
“I’m lost,” said Geno pitifully. “Can’t you help me?”
The two crows whispered throatily together.
“We’re willing to compromise,” the second crow resumed. “It would be all right for you to wander around for a day or two before you expire. We daresay we’ll be able to manage in the meantime.”
And the first crow added, “Certainly. Take three days if you like.”
Geno sai
d shakily, “I don’t want to stay here and I don’t want to wander around. I want to go back to my mother.”
The two birds regarded him earnestly. Like all crows they had a strong respect for family and tribe.
“H’m,” one of them said, “that makes some difference, of course. You’re a stranger in these parts, we presume.”
“Where do you come from?” inquired the other.
“I don’t know,” faltered Geno.
The first one cocked his head on one side. “Perhaps you know where you’re going?”
“I want to go to my mother,” repeated Geno.
“What’s her name?”
“Faline.” And Geno added with some pride, “She is the mate of Bambi.”
“Ho, she is, is she! Well, we’ll see what we can do.” The first crow cocked a beady eye at Geno’s tracks. “You seem to have come from where the sun goes,” he said. “I suggest that you spend the night where you are and at sunrise start to follow the sun.”
“That’s right,” the second crow put in, “then we could find you without trouble.”
“Especially,” the first crow added thoughtfully, “if anything should happen to you.”
He flapped his wings vigorously a couple of times and flew off the branch, the other following. Geno watched them rise above the treetops and set their straight and powerful course toward the west. He felt very weak and ill. His legs trembled. The place in which he had collapsed seemed to be well concealed. He decided to follow the two crows’ advice and remain there until morning.
The breeze had died. The thin moon rose in the graying sky. Unconsciousness, like a black and heavy hand, pressed Geno down.
Halfway between dark and dawn he awakened with a start. He had dreamed that Faline and Gurri roamed the woods in search of him. From thicket to thicket they went crying his name:
“Geno! Geno!”
In his dream, they went on searching through an empty land under a moon that made the bushes look like tangled bones; and behind them slunk a threatening shadow, a huge gray shape with slavering jaws and a ruff about its neck.
“Mother!” he screamed with terror.
A black cloud moved across the moon, and when he looked again his mother fled; but it was not his mother. It was Rolla, speeding blindly, hampered by her injured leg; and behind her, riding easily as though they were in some way tied to her, flew two black crows.
Geno’s dream did have this much reality in it. Faline and Gurri did wander through the woods crying his name, but Nero by this time was stretched comfortably in his kennel and Rolla had collapsed with pain as far away from Faline’s thicket as she could drag herself.
For all the good that rest had done Rolla’s leg had been undone. Strained, painful and useless once again, it dragged behind her. She lay alone within the shadow of a sleeping elder and every now and then she cried, “Boso! Lana!” But neither answered her.
Boso and Lana were in their usual sleeping place, miserably awaiting news of their mother’s whereabouts. They were convinced that she was dead.
The slowly breaking dawn found Faline and Gurri still searching for their lost one. Faline’s bitter hatred for Rolla had not diminished despite all Gurri’s protests. Rolla still writhed with her pain and weakly called on her children. Boso and Lana remained disconsolate.
When the sun showed the first segment of its face above the trees, Geno rose. Keeping his shadow dead ahead of him, he trotted slowly on the course the crows had set for him to follow.
The day wore on. He paused at the frozen stream to quench his thirst. A fish stared up at him with empty eyes.
There were many birds—sparrows, robins, magpies, jays and crows—but few of them took any notice of him.
The creatures here seemed quiet and unafraid. He met no deer.
Finally when the need to watch his shadow was over, he saw two specks emerging from the west and flying toward him. He had crossed a meadow halfway. To his right a small pool, deep with blackly gleaming ice, nourished a leaning willow-tree.
He waited by the pool. The specks grew slowly, driven by their powerful wings, until he recognized his hungry friends, the crows. The two birds circled twice and landed on a willow branch.
“Well,” one of them said hoarsely, “if it isn’t our old friend never-say-die!”
The other regarded Geno with deep gravity.
“Do you see any sign of weakness?” he inquired.
“None whatever,” sighed the first.
“Then we’d better deliver our message.” The crow settled slightly lower on the branch. “We’ve seen your mother.”
“You have?” Geno felt relief renew his strength. “Where is she?”
“Yours is a very disappointing family for a hungry crow to meet,” the first one said moodily. “She’s wounded.”
“Wounded!” Geno cried. “How?”
“We haven’t the remotest idea.”
“Not the remotest!”
The two crows bounced together so that the branch on which they perched swayed and a tiny shower of tinkling icicles descended musically upon the frozen stream.
“How can I get to her?” Geno besought them.
“It’s simple. Continue to do what you are doing, only be quicker. Otherwise the sun may set.”
“Oh, thank you,” Geno said.
“Not at all. Thank you.”
“Thank me for what?”
“There seems to be more death and inactivity in your part of the woods,” the second crow remarked. “We shall visit there more often.”
“Then I may be seeing you again,” said Geno.
The first crow blinked his eyes rapidly. It gave him a remarkably evil look.
“You may,” he croaked, “but on the other hand, from what I have observed about your neighborhood, you may not.”
Geno didn’t wait for further conversation. With his eye on the sun, he trotted briskly on his way. The two crows rose and flapped heavily in the opposite direction.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ROLLA AWOKE IN A SUDDEN panic. As the sun had crept painfully to its zenith, exhaustion had made its claims on her and, despite her pain and worry, she had had brief spells of fitful sleep.
Her leg felt as though it were on fire. Her mouth was dry. Her heart beat like the wings of the two crows.
She was not even sure there had been two crows. They had frightened her with their gloomy look and their incessant questioning. She supposed she had been feverish. It had been difficult to understand what it was they wanted. They had mentioned Faline over and over again. She could not remember what she had said, but she must have given them satisfaction, for finally the crows had flown heavily away.
Now she awoke again with every nerve tense.
Something was moving near by.
She had a sudden, vivid picture of the wolf-dog following her trail. She pictured him slinking through the brush, preparing for the spring. She struggled to lift herself a little from the ground.
Something was moving purposefully toward her. She could distinguish a dark shape. She blinked her eyes rapidly to clear them of the clouds of pain. Then her heart leaped within her almost as violently as her legs had sprung from the wolf-dog.
“Geno!” she cried.
The shadow halted. A voice uncertainly replied:
“Aunt Rolla?”
Words tumbled from her.
“Yes, Geno, it’s your Aunt Rolla! Oh, I’m so glad to see you, you don’t know! Are you unhurt, my dear? Did you escape?”
“Yes, Aunt Rolla, I’m all right.”
Geno broke through to the spot where she lay. She looked at him anxiously.
“Geno, you’re not angry with me, too?”
“Angry? Why should I be? But why are you lying here? Aren’t you well?”
In her great relief, she felt capable of anything. With a supreme effort she struggled to her feet.
“Of course I’m all right, Geno. There, you see? My stupid old leg was bothering me a lit
tle. But let’s go to your mother at once. Poor dear, she’s quite beside herself.”
“The crows said she was here, but they must have meant you.”
“The crows? Oh, how stupid of me! I’m afraid I’ve given you a great deal of trouble.”
A large jay lighted on a twig above them. “Geno!” he shrieked in loud surprise. “Well, I never did!”
“Never did what?” Geno inquired.
The magpie joined the jay.
“I knew it!” she piped. “I knew it! I knew it!”
“How do you do?” Geno said politely.
“Do what?” screamed the jay. “There you are, you see. Other people can ask stupid questions too.”
“Your mother is looking for you, Geno,” the magpie said. “She’s quite frantic.”
Rolla said anxiously, “Perhaps one of you knows where my children are.”
“Oh, yes,” the jay assured her. “They’re waiting for you where you live.”
The magpie said in a high dreamy voice, “I get a message!”
Geno said, “I hope it’s about my mother.”
The magpie rocked back and forward on the twig. “I see somebody searching. There are two roe-deer. They are Faline and her daughter.”
The jay said impatiently, “I could have told you that.”
The magpie peered furtively through the trees. “I see them coming nearer. They are coming this way. . . .”
“Faline!” cried Rolla.
They all heard the rustling near at hand. With Rolla’s cry it stopped.
“Yes, Aunt Rolla?” Gurri’s voice answered.
They heard Faline say harshly:
“Gurri, I forbid you to speak to her. I forbid it, do you hear?”
“But, Faline,” Rolla said, “Geno has returned. I have found him. He is here.”
There was complete silence until Geno spoke.
“Yes, Mother, it is I.”
Then Faline cried in a breaking voice, “Geno! Oh, it can’t be!”