wn there by the barking of the dogs. He was too far away to be
dangerous, but the mere sight of him filled Lightfoot with terror again.
He watched the hunter walk along the bank and disappear in the bushes.

Presently out of the bushes came a boat, and in it was the hunter. He
headed straight towards Lightfoot, and then Lightfoot knew that his
brief rest was at an end. He must once more swim or be shot by the
hunter in the boat. So Lightfoot again struck out for the shore. His
rest had given him new strength, but still he was very, very tired and
swimming was hard work.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he drew nearer to the bank. What new dangers
might be waiting there, he did not know. He had never been on that side
of the Big River. He knew nothing of the country on that side. But the
uncertainty was better than the certainty behind him. He could hear the
sound of the oars as the hunter in the boat did his best to get to him
before he should reach the shore.

On Lightfoot struggled. At last he felt bottom beneath his feet. He
staggered up through some bushes along the bank and then for an instant
it seemed to him his heart stopped beating. Right in front of him stood
a man. He had come out into the back yard of the home of that man. It is
doubtful which was the more surprised, Lightfoot or the man. Right then
and there Lightfoot gave up in despair. He couldn't run. It was all he
could do to walk. The long chase by the hounds on the other side of the
Big River and the long swim across the Big River had taken all his
strength.

Not a spark of hope remained to Lightfoot. He simply stood still and
trembled, partly with fear and partly with weariness. Then a surprising
thing happened. The man spoke softly. He advanced, not threateningly but
slowly, and in a friendly way. He walked around back of Lightfoot and
then straight towards him. Lightfoot walked on a few steps, and the man
followed, still talking softly. Little by little he urged Lightfoot on,
driving him towards an open shed in which was a pile of hay. Without
understanding just how, Lightfoot knew that he had found a friend. So he
entered the open shed and with a long sigh lay down in the soft hay.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HUNTER IS DISAPPOINTED

How he knew he was safe, Lightfoot the Deer couldn't have told you. He
just knew it, that was all. He couldn't understand a word said by the
man in whose yard he found himself when he climbed the bank after his
long swim