The moment Great Horn the Owl flew out of the open camp to tell Puma of White Tail’s hiding place, Bumper hopped from his place in the corner, and Rusty jumped to a perch on one of the buck’s antlers.

“Oh, dear,” began Rusty, “I’ve brought trouble upon you, White Tail! Great Horn will guide Puma here. I wish now I’d never flown in here.”

“No, you don’t wish that, Rusty,” replied White Tail. “If you hadn’t come here Great Horn would have killed you.”

“And now Puma will kill you.”

“Not if I can help it,” smiled White Tail. “He’s been on my trail before, and I shook him off.”

Then he told Rusty of his adventures.

“You’re wonderful, White Tail,” the Blackbird said when he had finished. “You saved Young Black Buck’s life, and nearly lost your own. Now you’ve saved my life, and got yourself in more danger. I wish I could do something to help you in return.”

“Probably you can, Rusty. Who knows? I’m terribly mixed up in these strange woods. I hardly know which way to go to find home. Perhaps you can direct me.”

“Yes, I can do that easily.”

“Thanks! That’s one good turn you can do me. Now for another. Is there any river or stream near here that I can reach? If so I can go to it before Puma comes, and then wade down it to throw him off my scent.”

“Why, yes, there’s a shallow brook only a mile from here. I can take you to that.”

“Which way shall I go—up or down the brook?”

“Go down it a couple of miles until it runs in the stream where Father Buck let the herd feed on the rushes this morning—the place you started from when you ran the race with Young Black Buck.”

“In that case,” replied White Tail, “I think I’ll be going right away. I’m anxious to be off.”

“But it’s a dreadful night outside. Hear it rain.”

“Yes, but it would be more dreadful to stay here until Great Horn and Puma appeared. Puma would kill me, and Great Horn would pounce upon you.”

“Yes, of course, we must go—right away, rain or no rain.”

Bumper, who had been listening to the conversation, hopped to the entrance, and then came back. “If I’m any judge,” he said, “I don’t think you’ll have such a wet trip. That shower was the last. The clouds are breaking away, and the moon will soon be out.”

White Tail was instantly on his feet, and beat Rusty to the front where the two of them gazed up at the rain clouds now growing thin and ragged in places. They saw a star twinkle in the east, and then another and another. The storm was, indeed, over, and the night trip through the woods would not be so disagreeable.

“I must be off at once, Rusty,” White Tail said. “Puma may be back any minute.”

“You can’t start any too soon to suit me, White Tail, for if Puma comes Great Horn will be with him. Come on! I’m ready.”

“It seems to me,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t consider me at all. I’m not even invited to go with you.”

“We thought you’d prefer to stay in this dry camp,” replied White Tail. “It’s very comfortable here, and you can hide under the spruce boughs.”

The White Rabbit sniffed. “How long do you suppose it would take Puma to find me?” he asked. “When he found you’d gone, he’d eat me up instead. A rabbit makes only a mouthful for Puma, but it’s better than nothing. No, I’m going with you.”

So the three started forth, leaving the shelter of the camp for the wet trail of the woods. And how wet everything was! The trail was soaked with water, and every leaf and bough was dripping with moisture. Every bush they touched threw a shower of rain-drops all over them.

Rusty led the way, hopping and flying from bush to bush, with Bumper following next, and White Tail bringing up the rear. Bumper was as familiar with the woods as Rusty, and White Tail really followed him, although at times the White Rabbit took short cuts through narrow paths which the buck could not tread.

It was very quiet and solemn in the woods. After the rain the stillness seemed intensified by the occasional splatter of water, as some overladened tree branch dipped its load and let it fall to the ground. No birds or animals were abroad, and they made half the distance without accident or alarm.

Then back of them came a fearful roar that startled the echoes of the wildwoods. It was Puma the Mountain Lion.

“He’s found we’ve escaped!” cried Rusty. “Oh, do hurry! He’ll pick up your trail, and Great Horn will find me. Hurry! Hurry!”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed White Tail. “Can’t you find a hiding place, Rusty?”

“Yes, many of them, but I must show you the way to the shallow brook.”

“No, you tell me how to find it,” interrupted White Tail. “I can run much faster alone.”

“It’s straight ahead, White Tail.”

“Then find a hiding place in the bushes. Good-bye, and thank you!”

“Are you going to leave me, White Tail?” asked Bumper.

“Yes, Bumper, for you travel too slow for me. You must find a burrow, and run for it. There must be one around here.”

“Yes, there’s a good one not far from here. But don’t you need me?”

“No, Bumper, I can outrun you, and if you come along Puma may overtake me. Good-bye, and thank you! I’m off now.”

Bumper waited until White Tail was out of sight and hearing. Then he sought a safe burrow, and stood at the entrance to watch and listen. Pretty soon he heard a crash in the bushes, as Puma came dashing along. Close behind him was Great Horn the Owl, flitting from tree to tree.

“I wonder where Rusty is,” Great Horn was saying. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Neither do I see White Tail,” roared back Puma, “but I smell him. I’m on the right trail.”

“I wish I could smell Rusty. My eyes are good, but my nose isn’t as sharp as yours, Puma.”

“I don’t care where Rusty is,” was the reply. “I want White Tail, and I’m going to catch him this time. He can’t escape as he did before.”

They swept past Bumper, and made their way down the trail. The White Rabbit sighed, and said: “I do hope White Tail will escape.”

And White Tail hoped so too. Meanwhile, he was running with all his might. As soon as he had left his two friends, he leaped through the bushes or over them, with his head aimed straight for the brook. He heard the roar of Puma behind him, and this spurred him on to greater speed.

When he finally reached the shallow brook, he waded in and rapidly followed it down toward its mouth where it joined the wider stream. When Puma reached the brook he was baffled. The scent he had been following suddenly stopped.

“Which way has he gone?” he growled. “Up or down? I’ll go up, Great Horn, and you go down. If you see him hoot to me, and I’ll come.”

Puma crossed the stream and ran up it on the opposite side, and Great Horn flitted down it. Of course, Great Horn found White Tail, but what happened then will appear next.