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sides. He neared the spot somewhat winded from his exertions, and paused a moment to regain his breath before carefully threading the thicket of young alder and birch, beyond which the earth fell away into the little valley that lay between. Reaching the fringe of the growth, the opposite slope was revealed to his sight, and he exulted inwardly as he glimpsed the object of his chase just about to cross the burned area. The deer was going steadily, but at no great speed, and though the shot was a long one, he presented an easy chance for a marksman of Laban's skill.

Without hurry, he raised his rifle to his shoulder. At the same instant the buck swerved, stood tense for a second, and began to rear and whirl about in a most astonishing manner. Puzzled by this behavior, which made a killing shot uncertain, Laban lowered his rifle to study the meaning of it. He could discern nothing at first to account for the deer's actions, and when the buck momentarily presented a broadside target, he aimed quickly and pressed the trigger. As he did so, there came to him a flash of understanding—the scene suddenly cleared to his eyes, and his brain fought to restrain the pressure of his finger-but too late! The rifle cracked and the buck went down, and Laban rushed over to the hillside, a numbing fear rising in his heart.

THE Scar-sided buck had begun to be annoyed at the pertinacity of the man who followed him. All the cunning that so often in the past had served him seemed of no avail against this creature, who solved each mystery of the trail with such seeming ease. But he was not yet fearful; his bag of tricks was still far from empty. Therefore, without panic, he broke through the trees that bordered the fire-devastated sweep of ground, heading diagonally for the summit, from whence, in the shielding second growth that clothed the spine of the ridge, a view of his adversary's progress might be had. Midway in his flight up the acclivity, a terrifying odor suddenly smote his nostrils. He pivoted sharply as the mingled scent of man and an even

worse-hated enemy warned him of danger close by, and he sought warily to locate it. As his head lifted, his gaze fell on a long, tawny, furtive beast, crawling serpent-wise through the low brush, its tail twitching at the tip, while, at a little distance in front, a small man creature lay twisted on the ground, wriggling frantically, but not moving from the spot. The stricken one's eyes bore on him at the same instant, and a cry came from his lips, cut short as he sagged into an inert heap.

Who shall say what promptings stirred within the whitetail buck, impelling him to leap furiously upon the most dreaded of his animal foes? Whether, at the cry, he recognized the young human who had grown so engagingly familiar to him and sensed the appeal in it, or whether it was that, in the season of his queer flashes of insane courage, his hatred for the slinking beast flamed into uncontrollable rage, no man may say, but the big cat, crouching for the spring and unaware, or unmindful, of the new-comer upon the scene, was assailed from behind by a fury of fiercedriven blows from feet that cut into his flesh like steel knives. His spine was crushed at the first onslaught, and, turning with an agonized snarl, he was flattened to the ground by an irresistible array of stabbing bayonet-points. So sudden and overwhelming was the attack that the panther had never a chance. Almost before he could realize his plight, the deep-cutting feet and battering antlers had reached his vitals, and the spark of his savage life. flickered out. But as the victorious buck prodded at the now unresponsive form, a rifle shot shattered the silence, and at the report he gave a convulsive leap forward. and fell a-sprawl, his nose lying against the same hand that he had nuzzled confidingly in a long-past day.

As Laban breathlessly drew near, the full meaning of the strange scene was made plain to him. A sharp pang of regret for the slaying of his son's deliverer came to the backwoodsman as he bent over the huddled, unconscious form, and saw that the child was not seriously hurt. A foot, tightly held in a clump of roots and twisted

at the ankle, indicated the nature of Lonny's mishap. Thankful that it was no worse, Laban cut away the detaining tangle and gently chafed the boy back to life. In a few minutes Lonny was sitting up, nursing his sprained ankle, the pain of which was almost forgotten in his wonder at what he beheld.

"Old Scarside saved ye from the painter, Lonny, an' what he got fer it was a bullet! I'd give my rifle if I could have sensed what was up a second sooner. I saw somethin' of what was happenin' all in a flash, but 't was too late. I'm mortal sorry I killed the critter."

Lonny sorrowfully patted the sleek, tawny neck that lay stretched at his feet. Tears were not far from his eyes, but not for the pain of his wrenched foot. "The old feller knew it was me-I allus told you he knew me!-an' he was n't goin' to let me be chawed up by no painter!" Never thereafter, in the many tellings of the story, was either father or son to permit this altruistic motive for the buck's action to be gainsaid.

"How'd you git inter such a mess, I want t' know?" asked his father, as the boy thoughtlessly tried to rise to his feet for a closer view of the mangled body of the panther.

Lonny sank back, stifling a yelp of pain. "I come out here to see if I could n't turn Old Scarside off the ridge, if he happened along with you after him," he admitted; "an' I ketched my foot in this here mess o' creepers an' like to broke my ankle when I fell. I could n't move, hardly, an' then that ornery painter come lopin' along an' saw me an' started creepin' up" He shivered at memory of the sinister, stealthy approach of the big cat, its brassy, malevolent eyes fastened with savage purpose on the shrinking lad whom, in its cowardly heart, it knew to be disabled. "I tried to crawl off, but my foot was held tight; an' I jest looked at the varmint an' tried to yell, but was too scairt. An' then I saw Old Scarside amblin' out o' the woods, like he was comin' to help me, an' I called to him-an' that 's all I remember.

"You come, did n't you, old feller?" he

said, addressing his fallen champion. "It 's a blame' shame you got killed fer what you did fer me." The hot tears this time overflowed.

"Wonder where I hit him?" questioned Laban, awkwardly seeking to cover his own very real misery. "Don't see nary mark, an' there ain't no blood far as I kin tell. 'Spose I might as well bleed him," he added, practicalities not to be lost sight of even in the face of tragedy. He drew his knife from its sheath and bent over the body, one hand grasping the antlers.

The moment that followed was the most bewildering in the lives of father and son. For an instant they seemed to be inextricably entangled in a maze of wildly threshing limbs their own and a deer's—as the "dead" buck rose in the air with a terrified snort, sending Laban spread-eagling over beyond Lonny, and, finding his feet after a few frantic seconds, sped off into the timber.

Astonishment held the two speechless for a space. Then Lonny, ignoring the pain of his foot, throbbing fiercely from the shaking up, gave voice to a yell of joy.

"Go it, Scarside, go it!" he shrieked jubilantly after the vanishing buck. "Could n't kill you after all, you old rip-snorter, could they?" Full vent for his feelings at the deer's startling resurrection demanded nothing less than the throwing of several handsprings, but Lonny could only toss his hat in the air and wave his arms exultantly. He turned shining eyes on his father, over whose face a delighted grin was breaking as he rubbed his bruises. "You must 've just creased him, Pa, an' only knocked him out fer a spell. Gosh, but I'm glad!"

"You bet I'm glad, too," chuckled Laban, "even ef 't was the second time to day the critter sent me sprawlin'! Reckon when I pulled the trigger an' then tried not to, all at once, I must 've lost my bead an' shot high. Likely the ball nicked him at the base o' the antlers, an' the shock keeled him over, but did n't hurt him none. 'T was a rank miss that I 'm proud ofan' 't will be the last time any one from hereabouts takes a shot at the old buck, I promise ye that! Well, I reckon we better

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The Adventure of The Knight of the Gree-tops

THE WONDERING BOY: FIRST BALLAD.

As to Iscawndred, when he intended to go upon a message for his lord, he never sought a path, but knowing whither he was to go, if his way lay through a wood, he went along the tops of the trees. During his whole life a blade of reed-grass bent not beneath his feet, much less did one ever break, so lightly did he tread.-From "The Tale of Kilhwch and Olwen" of the King Arthur legends.

SPRING of the year on green English ground, with a primrose light in the west;
But a caitiff knight held the land in thrall, and no man might take his rest.
In the great High Hall stood the Wondering Boy, and out to the hills he cried:
"Oh, that King Arthur might come again!" A Knight stood there at his side.

"Who comes in armor of netted gold? Now tell me your name and quest."
"Iscawndred the Knight. I am Arthur's man. I come at the King's behest.
In the hollow hill where King Arthur waits till the day of England's need,
We have longed for the time, to know again high heart and valorous deed."

Through the Kentish lanes where the thorn blooms white and the winds of the dusk

are sweet,

Went the Wondering Boy and the Golden Knight on swiftly hurrying feet;

And ever marveled the Boy to see, on the flowery pathway there,

That the feet of the Knight touched not the earth, but lightly trod the air.

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