"Father! Come quick! I do believe there is a deer out there--no, a doe, and two fawns!" cried the Boy of the Valley Farm, as the light from the open door threw a long ray across the barn-yard to the pasture beyond.
"Wait! I'll get her for you!" exclaimed the Hired Man, springing for his gun. But at the Boy's sharp command he dropped it, shame-faced.
Then from farther back in the evergreens came the spine-chilling howl of the gray wolves, baying their lost prey.
"Wolves, my son!" exclaimed the Farmer, joining the group in the doorway. "Wolves from Canada. It's a hard winter that has brought them down. I don't remember seeing wolves since I was a little shaver, forty years ago. And I expect that is what has driven the deer so close. Sh! Come out-side." The two closed the door behind them. "We mustn't frighten them away, or the wolves will get them, sure."
"That's what I heard," exclaimed the Boy at the Valley Farm. "Wolves! Imagine! I didn't suppose they ever came into these woods."
"It's been an unusual winter," his father assured him, stepping out into the snowy barn-yard. "I saw them once when I was ten years old. But I thought they had been driven away for good. I suppose the rabbits all froze, up where they come from, and they got so starved they were driven to it. They've certainly been chasing these deer."
For as their eyes became accustomed to the snowy darkness, they could once more see the shadowy forms of Fleet Foot and the fawns by the hay-mow.
"It must have been those wolves that I heard ten minutes back," said the Farmer, rubbing his unmittened hands together.
"Just see how hollow these poor things look!" exclaimed the Boy. "They must be starving. Let's go back inside, so they won't be afraid."
They met the Hired Man just starting forth with his gun. "I'm going for those wolves," he hastened to explain.
Here they were at last, beside the hay-stack, Fleet Foot and her fawns. And as three disappointed howls arose from the woods at their back, the famished deer turned to snatch their first ravenous mouthfuls from between the bars of the crib. They paused in their banquet only long enough to stare at the Hired Man, as with snow-shoes strapped to his feet, he strode down the Old Logging Road,--Lop Ear, the Hound, at his heels.