It was but
another forced march; many had we made in our time, through
dangers manifold, and had lived to tell the tale.
There was no leisure in which to play the Indian and cover up our
footprints as we made them, but when we came to a brook we
stepped into the cold, swift-flowing water, and kept it company for
a while. The brook flowed between willows, thickly set, already
green, and overarching a yard or more of water. Presently it bent
sharply, and we turned with it. Ten yards in front of us the growth
of willows ceased abruptly, the low, steep banks shelved
downwards to a grassy level, and the stream widened into a clear
and placid pool, as blue as the sky above. Crouched upon the grass
or standing in the shallow water were some fifteen or twenty deer.
We had come upon them without noise; the wind blew from them
to us, and the willows hid us from their sight. There was no alarm,
and we stood a moment watching them before we should throw a
stone or branch into their midst and scare them from our path.
Suddenly, as we looked, the leader threw up his head, made a
spring, and was off like a dart, across the stream and into the
depths of the forest beyond. The herd followed. A moment, and
there were only the trodden grass and the troubled waters; no other
sign that aught living had passed that way.
"Now what was that for?" muttered Diccon.
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