longed howl, caught up and reechoed
by other bayings along the mountain-side. The doe knew what that meant.
One hound had caught her trail, and the whole pack responded to the
"view-halloo." The danger was certain now; it was near. She could not
crawl on in this way: the dogs would soon be upon them. She turned again
for flight: the fawn, scrambling after her, tumbled over, and bleated
piteously. The baying, emphasized now by the yelp of certainty, came
nearer. Flight with the fawn was impossible. The doe returned and stood
by it, head erect, and nostrils distended. She stood perfectly still,
but trembling. Perhaps she was thinking. The fawn took advantage of the
situation, and began to draw his luncheon ration. The doe seemed to
have made up her mind. She let him finish. The fawn, having taken all he
wanted, lay down contentedly, and the doe licked him for a moment. Then,
with the swiftness of a bird, she dashed away, and in a moment was lost
in the forest. She went in the direction of the hounds.

According to all human calculations, she was going into the jaws of
death. So she was: all human calculations are selfish. She kept straight
on, hearing the baying every moment more distinctly. She descended
the slope of the mountain until she reached the more open forest of
hard-wood. It was freer going here, and the cry of the pack echoed more
resoundingly in the great spaces. She was going due east, when (judging
by the sound, the hounds were not far off, though they were still hidden
by a ridge) she turned short away to the north, and kept on at a
good pace. In five minutes more she heard the sharp, exultant yelp of
discovery, and then the deep-mouthed howl of pursuit. The hounds had
struck her trail where she turned, and the fawn was safe.

The doe was in good running condition, the ground was not bad, and she
felt the exhilaration of the chase. For the moment, fear left her, and
she bounded on with the exaltation of triumph. For a quarter of an hour
she went on at a slapping pace, clearing the moose-bushes with bound
after bound, flying over the fallen logs, pausing neither for brook nor
ravine. The baying of the hounds grew fainter behind her. But she struck
a bad piece of going, a dead-wood slash. It was marvelous to see her
skim over it, leaping among its intricacies, and not breaking her
slender legs. No other living animal could do it. But it was killing
work. She began to pant fearfully; she lost ground. The bayi