The Story of a Red Deer

"But what about the eggs, my Lord Salmon?" said the Stag.

"The stream will take care of them; and if a few are lost, what is that among ten thousand?" said the Salmon proudly. "But let me beg you not to wait."

So the Deer went down the valley again, hoping that the West wind might soon come and drive away the frost, for the Salmon's sake as well as for their own. And a few days later they were surprised to meet the old Cock-Pheasant from Bremridge Wood, who came running towards them, very gorgeous in his very best winter plumage, but rather nervous and flurried.

"Why, Sir Phasianus," said the Stag, "what brings you so far from home?"

"Well, the fact is," said the Pheasant, "that I did not quite like the look of things this morning. Some men came round early while I was feeding in my favourite stubble, and began beating the hedges to drive me and all my companions back into my wood. Most of those foolish Chinese birds flew back as the men wanted them, but I have not lived all these years for nothing, so I flew up the valley and have been running on ever since. Hark! I thought that I was right."

And as he spoke two faint reports came echoing up the valley; "pop! pop!" and then a pause and again "pop! pop!" a sound which was strange to the Deer.

"That's the men with their guns," said the cunning old Bird, "they are beating my wood, and that's why I am here. To-morrow they will be there again, but the next day I shall return, and I hope to have the pleasure of receiving you there very shortly after." And he ran up into the covert and hid himself under a bramble bush on a heap of dead leaves, so that you could hardly tell his neck from the live leaves or his body from the dead.

The Deer would not have thought of accepting his invitation, for they were very comfortable where they were, but that a few evenings later the air grew warmer and the South-West wind began to scream through the bare branches over their heads. Then the rain came down and the wind blew harder and harder in furious gusts, till far away from them at the head of the covert they just heard the sound of a crash; and not long after a score of terrified bullocks came plunging into the covert. For a beech-tree on the covert fence had come down, smashing the linhay in which the bullocks were lying, and tearing a great gap in the fence itself; which had not only scared them out of their senses but had driven them to seek shelter in the wood. And the Deer got up at once and moved away; for they do not like bullocks for companions, and guessed that, when the day came, there would be men and dogs wandering all over the covert to drive the bullocks back.

So they went down the valley and into Bremridge Wood. The old Cock-Pheasant was fast asleep high up on a larch-tree when they came, but when the day broke he came fluttering down in spite of the rain, and begged them to make themselves at home. For the pompous old Bird was so full of his own importance that he still considered himself to be master of the whole wood and the Deer to be merely his guests. Of course they humoured him, though their ancestors had been lords of Bremridge Wood long before his; so the Stag complimented him on the beauty of his back, and the Hind told him that she had never seen so lovely a neck as his in her life. But still he seemed to want more compliments, though they could not think what more to say, until one day he turned the subject to dew-claws; and then he asked the Hind why her dew-claws were so much sharper than the Stag's and why they pointed straight downward, while the Stag's pointed outwards, right and left. Now these were personal questions that he had no business to put, and indeed would not have put if he had been quite a gentleman. But before the Hind could answer (for she had to think how she should snub him without hurting his feelings too much) he went on:

"And by the way, talking of dew-claws I don't think I have ever showed you my spurs." And round he turned to display them. "You will agree with me, I think," he continued, "that they are a particularly fine pair, in fact I may say the finest that you are ever likely to see."

And certainly they were very big for a pheasant, more than half an inch long, curved upward and sharp as a thorn. "I find them very useful," he added, "to keep my subjects of this wood in order. When the Chinese Cocks first invaded my kingdom they were inclined to be rebellious against my authority, but now I am happy to say that they know better." And he strutted about looking very important indeed.

Now about a week after this there was a full moon, and there came flying into the wood a number of Woodcocks. The Deer thought nothing of it, for they had often seen as many, and were always delighted to watch the little brown birds digging in the soft ground and washing their beaks in the water. But on the second morning after their arrival a Jay came flying over their heads, screeching at the top of his voice that there were strangers in the covert, and presently the old Cock-Pheasant came running up in a terrible fluster, not at all like the king of a wood.

"It's too bad," he said, "too bad. They have been here twice already, and they have no business to come again." And as he spoke there came the sound which they had once heard before, the pop! pop! of a double-barrelled gun, but this time much nearer to them, and much more alarming. The Stag jumped to his feet at once and called to the Hind to come away.

"But you can't get away," said the old Pheasant, half angry, but almost ready to cry. "I have already tried to run out in half a dozen places, but wherever I went I met an odious imp of a Boy tapping two sticks together; and really a Boy tapping two sticks together is more than I can face. How I hate little Boys! But I won't stand it. I'll run back through the middle of them, and then I declare that I'll never enter this wood again. It's really past all bearing."

And he turned and ran back, but soon came forward again. "It's no use," he said, "I shall run up over the hill and take my chance. But I vow that I'll never enter this wood again. It's high time that they should know that I won't stand it."

So off he ran again, but the Deer waited and listened; and they could hear behind them a steady tapping of sticks along the whole hill-side, which came slowly closer and closer to them. And every creature in the wood came stealing forward round them, Rabbits and Cock-Pheasants and Hens and Blackbirds and Thrushes, and a score of other Birds, dodging this way and that, backward and forward, and listening with all their ears. The Deer went forward a little way, but presently a Cock-Pheasant came sailing high in the air over their heads. They watched him flying on, vigorous and strong, till all of a sudden his head dropped down, and his wings closed; and as he fell with a crash to the ground they heard the report of a gun ring out sharp and angry before them. Then they hesitated to go further, but other shots kept popping by ones and twos behind them, till at last they turned up the hill as the Cock-Pheasant had turned, and began to climb steadily through the oak-coppice.

As they drew near the top of the hill they heard more tapping just above them, and going on a little further found the old Cock-Pheasant crouching down just below a broad green path. And on the path above him stood a little rosy-cheeked Boy in a ragged cap, with a coat far too big for him and a great comforter which hung down to his toes, beating two sticks together and grinning with delight. The Deer thought the Pheasant a great coward not to run boldly past so small a creature, but, as they waited, there came two more figures along the path and stood close to the Boy; and the Stag remembered them both, for they were the fair man and the pretty girl whom he had seen when he was a calf. The man looked a little older, for there was now a little fair hair, which was most carefully tended, on his upper lip, and he held himself very erect, with his shoulders well back and his chest thrown out. There he stood, tall and motionless, with his gun on his shoulder, watching for every movement and listening for every rustle, so still and silent that the Deer almost wondered whether he were alive. The girl stood behind him, as silent as he; and the Stag noticed as a curious thing, which he had never observed in them before, that both wore a scarf of green and black round their necks. But her face too had changed, for it was no longer that of a girl but of a beautiful woman, though just now it was sad and troubled. Her eyes never left the figure of the man before her except when now and again they filled with tears; and then she hastily brushed the tears away with something white that she held in her hand, and looked at him again.

But all the time the tapping behind them came closer and closer, and the shots rang louder and louder, till at last the Deer could stand it no longer, and dashed across the path and up over the hill. As they passed they heard the man utter a loud halloo, and in an instant the old Cock-Pheasant was on the wing and flying over the trees to cross the valley. He rose higher and higher in the air, and presently from the valley below came the report of two shots, then again of two shots, and once more of two shots; and they heard the fair man laugh loud after each shot. But the old Bird took not the slightest notice, but flew on in the sight of the Deer till he reached the top of the opposite hill, where he lighted on the ground, and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Then the Deer too crossed the valley further down, and stood in the covert watching. And they saw a line of men in white smocks beat through the covert to the very end, while the fair man and the girl waited for them in the field outside. But presently another man came riding up on a pony, and then all the men with guns came closing round the fair man and seemed unwilling to let him go. But after a short time he jumped on to the pony and trotted back along the path waving his hand to them, while they waved their hands to him. Presently he stopped to look back and wave his hand once more, and the girl waved her white handkerchief to him, and then he set the pony into a gallop and disappeared. But the other men went on, and the girl turned back by herself very slowly and sadly. Then the shots began to ring out again in the valley, and the Deer went away over the hill to the wood whence the bullocks had driven them, and finding all quiet made their home therein once more.

CHAPTER X

They had not been there many days when the old Cock-Pheasant came up to them and invited them back to Bremridge Wood.

"I can assure you," he said very pompously, "that you shall not be disturbed again for at least a year."

"Why, Sir Phasianus," said the Stag, "I thought you had vowed never to enter it again."

"In a moment of haste I believe that I may have done so," said the old bird; "but I have thought it over, and I cannot conceive how my wood can get on without me. How should all those foolish, timid birds look after themselves without me, their king, to direct them? No! there I was hatched, and there I must stay till I end my days. And I shall feel proud if you will join me, and stay with me, and honour my wood with your presence on – ahem! – an interesting occasion."

"Indeed?" said the Stag.

"Yes," said the old Pheasant; "I had the misfortune to lose my wife when the wood was shot some weeks ago. She had not the courage to come here with me," – (this, I am sorry to say, was not quite true, for he had run away alone to take care of himself without thinking of going to fetch her) – "and I am contemplating a new alliance – not directly, you understand – but in a couple of months I hope to have the pleasure of presenting you to my bride."

The Stag was much tempted to ask how he could marry a Chinese; and the Hind hesitated for a moment, for, as you will find out some day, every mother is deeply interested in a wedding. But she and the Stag did not like to be disturbed, and they could not trust the Cock-Pheasant's assurance after all that had happened; besides, she had arrangements of her own to make for the spring. So they congratulated him and bade him good-bye; nor did they ever see him again. And if you ask me what became of him, I think that he must have died in a good old age, unless, indeed, he was that very big bird with the very long spurs that was shot by Uncle Archie last year. For he was such a bird as we never see nowadays, and, as he said himself, the last of his race.

So the winter wore away peacefully in the valley, and the spring came again. The Stag shed his horns earlier than in the previous year, and began to grow a finer pair than any that he had yet worn. And a little later the Hind brought him a little Calf, so that there were now three of them in the valley, and a very happy family they were. So there they stayed till quite late in the summer, and indeed they might never have moved, if they had not met the Salmon again one day when they went down to the river. He was swimming upward slowly and gracefully, his silver coat brighter than ever, and his whole form broader and deeper and handsomer in every way. He jumped clean out of the water when he saw them, and the Stag welcomed him back and asked him where he had been.

"Been?" said the Salmon, "why, down to the sea. We went down with the first flood after you left us, and merry it was in the glorious salt water. We met fish from half a dozen other rivers; and the little fellows that you saw in their silver jackets asked to be remembered to you, though you would hardly know them now, for they are grown into big Salmon. But we were obliged to part at last and go back to our rivers, and hard work it was climbing some of the weirs down below, I can tell you; indeed, my wife could not get over one of them, and I was obliged to leave her behind. Ah, there's no place like the sea! Is there, my little fellow?" he said, looking kindly at the little Calf.

But the Hind was obliged to confess, with some shame, that her Calf had never seen the sea.

"What! an Exmoor Deer, and never seen the sea?" exclaimed the Salmon; and though he said no more, both Stag and Hind bethought them that it was high time for their Calf to see not only the sea, but the moor. So they bade the Salmon good-bye, and soon after moved out of the valley to the forest, and over the forest to the heather. And the Stag could not resist the temptation of going to look for old Bunny, so away they went to her bury. But when he got there, though he saw other Rabbits, he could perceive no sign of her; nor was it till he had asked a great many questions that one of the Rabbits said:

"Oh! you'm speaking of great-grandmother, my lord. She's in to bury, but she's got terrible old and tejious." And she popped into a hole, from which after a while old Bunny came out. Her coat was rusty, her teeth were very brown, and her eyes dim with age; and at first she hardly seemed to recognise the Stag; but she had not quite lost her tongue, for after a time she put her head on one side and began.

"Good-day, my lord; surely it was you that my Lady Tawny brought to see me years agone, when you was but a little tacker. 'Tis few that comes to see old Bunny now. Ah! she was a sweet lady, my Lady Tawny, but her's gone. And Lady Ruddy was nighly so sweet, but her's gone. And the old Greyhen to Badgworthy, she was a good neighbour, but her's gone; and her poults be gone, leastways they don't never bring no poults to see me. And my last mate, he was caught in a net. I said to mun, 'Nets isn't nothing;' I says, 'When you find nets over a bury, bite a hole in mun and run through mun, as I've a-done many times.' But he was the half of a fule, as they all be; and he's gone. And there's my childer and childer's childer, many of them's gone, and those that be here won't hearken to my telling. And – "

But here the other Rabbit cut in. "Let her ladyship spake to 'ee, grandmother. Please not to mind her, my lady, for she's mortal tejious."

But old Bunny went on. "Is it my Lady Tawny or my Lady Ruddy? I'm sure I can't tell. I'm old, my lady, and they won't let me spake. But I wish you good luck with your little son. Ah! the beautiful calves that I've seen, and the beautiful poults, and my own beautiful childer. But there's hounds, and there's hawks, and there's weasels and there's foxes; and there's few lasts so long as the old Bunny, and 'tis 'most time for her to go." Then she crept back slowly into the hole, and they saw her no more.

So they went on and found other deer; but Ruddy was gone, as old Bunny had said, and Aunt Yeld alone remained of the Stag's old friends. She too was now very old and grey, and her slots were worn down, and her teeth and tushes blunted with age. But the Hind and Calf were delighted to meet with deer again, and they soon made friends and were happy. But as the autumn passed away and winter began to draw on, the Stag grew anxious to return to the valley again, and would have had the Hind come too; but she begged so hard to be allowed to stay on the moor, that he could not say her no. She always lay together with other Hinds, and they gossiped so much about their calves that the Stag took to the company of other stags on Dunkery; but he always had a craving to get back to the valley for the winter, and after a few weeks he went back there by himself.

And lucky it was for him, as it chanced, for in January there came a great storm of snow, which for three weeks covered the moor, blotting out every fence and every little hollow in an unbroken, trackless waste of white. The deer on the forest were hard put to it for food, and even our Stag in the valley was obliged to go far afield. But he soon found out the hay-mows where the fodder was cut for the bullocks, and helped himself freely; nor was he ashamed now and then to take some of the turnips that had been laid out for the sheep, when he could find them. So he passed well through the hard weather, and when the snow melted and the streams came pouring down in heavy flood, he saw the old Salmon come sailing down in his dirty red suit, and thought that, though both of them had been through hard times, he had got through them the better of the two.

Then the spring came and he began to grow sleek and fat; and, when he shed his horns, the new ones began once more to grow far larger than ever before. So he settled down for a luxurious summer, and took the best of everything in the fields all round the coverts. And when the late summer came he found that he needed a big tree to help him to rub the velvet from his horns, so he chose a fine young oak and went round it so often, rubbing and fraying and polishing, that he fairly cut the bark off from all round the trunk and left the tree to die.

One morning, soon after he had cleaned his head, he went out to feed in the fields as usual, and had just made his lair in the covert for the day, when he was aware of a man, who came along one of the paths with his eyes on the ground. The Stag waited till he was gone, and then quietly rose and left the valley for the open moor. For he had a shrewd suspicion that all was not right when a man came round looking for his slot in the early morning; and he was wise, for a few hours later the men and hounds came and searched for him everywhere. And he heard them from his resting place trying the valley high and low, and chuckled to himself when he thought how foolish the man was who thought to harbour him in such a fashion.

But after this he left the valley for good, and went back to the coverts that overhung the sea, where he hid himself so cunningly day after day that he was never found during the whole of that season. And when October came and the deer began to herd together, he looked about for his wife, but he could not find her anywhere, and he had sad misgivings that the hounds might have driven her away, or worse, while he was away in the valley. His only comfort was the reflection that if he wished to marry again, and he and another stag should fancy the same bride, he could fight for her instead of stealing her away. All that winter he lay on Dunkery with other stags, as big as himself and bigger, for he was now a fine Deer, and began to take his place with the lords of the herd. And he grew cunning too, for he soon found out that hinds and not stags are hunted in the winter-time, and he did not distress himself by running hard when there was no occasion for it. He would hear the hounds chasing in the woods quite close to him and never move.

One winter's day when he was lying in a patch of gorse with three others, he heard the hounds come running so directly towards him that in spite of himself he raised his head to listen. And immediately after, old Aunt Yeld came up in the greatest distress, and lay down close to them. An old stag next to her was just rising to drive her off, when a hound spoke so close to them that they all dropped their chins to the ground and lay like stones. And poor Aunt Yeld whispered piteously, "Oh! get up and run; I am so tired; do help me." But not a stag would move, and our Stag, I am sorry to say, lay as still as the rest. Then the hounds came within five yards of them, but still they lay fast, till poor Aunt Yeld jumped up in despair and ran off. "May you never know the day," she said, "when you shall ask for help and find none! But the brown peat-stream, I know, will be my friend." And she flung down the hill to the water in desperation, with the hounds hard after her; and they never saw her again.

So the Stag lived on in the woods above the cliffs and on the forest for two years longer. Each year found his head heavier and bearing more points, his back broader, his body heavier and sleeker, and his slots greater and rounder and blunter. He knew of all the best feeding-grounds, so he was always well nourished, and he had learned of so many secure hiding-places in the cliff from the old stag whom he had served as squire, that he was rarely disturbed. More than once he was roused by the hounds in spite of all that he could do, but he would turn out every deer in the covert sooner than run himself; and when, notwithstanding all his tricks, he was one day forced into the open, he ran cunningly up and down the water as his mother had showed him, and so got a good start of the hounds. Then he cantered on till he caught the wind of a lot of hinds and calves and dashed straight into the middle of them, frightening them out of their lives. He never remembered how much he had disliked to be disturbed in this way when he was a calf; he only thought that the hounds would scatter in all directions after the herd. And so they did, while he cantered on to the old home where he had known the Vixen and the Badger, took a good bath, and then lay down chuckling at his own cleverness.

A very selfish old fellow you will call him, and I think you are right; but unluckily stags do become selfish as they grow older. But he always kept to the chivalrous rule that the post of honour in a retreat is the rear-guard, and always ran behind the hinds when roused with a herd of them by the hounds. Still, selfish he was, and though he had profited by all of Aunt Yeld's early lessons, he forgot until too late the last words that she had spoken to him, even though as a calf he had once saved her life.

CHAPTER XI

One beautiful morning at the very end of September our Stag was lying in the short plantations above the cliffs in a warm sunny bed of which he had long been very fond, when his ear was disturbed, as had so often happened before, by the cry of hounds. He did not mind it so much now, for he knew that it meant at any rate that they were hunting some other deer than himself. And it was plain to him that they had found the stag that they wanted, for not two or three couple but seventeen or eighteen were speaking to the scent. Therefore he lay quite still, never doubting that before long they would leave the covert. And so it seemed that it would be, for presently the cry ceased, and he had good reason to hope that they had gone away. The only thing that disquieted him was that the horses seemed always to be moving all over the plantation, instead of galloping over the moor. He was still lying fast when he heard two horses come trotting up to within thirty yards of his lair; and peering carefully through the branches he saw them and recognised them. One of them was the fair man whom he had seen so often before, still riding the same grey horse, which was grown so light as to be almost white. But the man was greatly changed. His face was thin and hollow, and would have been pale if it had not been burnt brown; the tiny hair on the upper lip had grown to a great red moustache; and the blue eyes were sunk deep in his head. And he rode with his reins in his right hand, for his left was hung in a sling, so that he could hardly hold his whip. But for all that he was as quick and lively as ever, and his eyes never ceased roving over the plantation. And by him rode the beautiful girl whom he had seen with him before, her face aglow with happiness; and she seemed so proud of him that she never took her eyes off his face for an instant, except now and then to glance pityingly at his wounded hand. They pulled up not far from the Stag and waited.