With bloody head, and hooting with pain, the Owl started off in pursuit of the Rat, resolved this time to kill him without fail.  The Rat was nimble, and his fear added to his speed, but at last the Owl caught him.  Ruffled and ferocious, the great bird was about to tear him in pieces, when the Rat once more begged his life.

“It was only a joke,” he cried.  “Only a silly joke.  Spare me this once, dear Master Owl, and I will give you something that you really need.  Look at your bleeding head.  You cannot go about the world with that exposed.  Spare my life, and I will give you a lovely cap of tufted feathers to hide the bite of the wicked sharp-thing-made-by-man.  Pray, let me go, dear Master Owl.”

The Owl considered for a moment, and then decided to accept the bargain.  For he thought of Putri Balan, the Princess of the Moon, and knew that he should lose his last chance to win her if she happened to see him with this ridiculous wound in his head.

So the Rat gave him a nice cap of tufted feathers, which he wears to this day; and the Owl let the thief go free.  But after that there was a coolness between them, as you may well imagine.

THE GOOD HUNTER

Once upon a time there was an Indian who was a famous hunter.  But he did not hunt for fun; he took no pleasure in killing the little wild creatures, birds and beasts and fishes, and did so only when it was necessary for him to have food or skins for his clothing.  He was a very kind and generous man, and loved all the wood-creatures dearly, often feeding them from his own larder, and protecting them from their enemies.  So the animals and birds loved him as their best friend, and he was known as the Good Hunter.

The Good Hunter was very brave, and often went to war with the fierce savages who were the enemies of his tribe.  One sad day he set forth with a war party, and they had a terrible battle, in which the Good Hunter was slain, and his enemies took away his scalp, leaving him lying dead in the forest.

The Good Hunter had not remained long cold and lifeless in the shadowy stillness, when the Fox came trotting through the woods.  “Alack and alas!” cried the Fox, spying the body stretched on the leaves.  “Here is our dear friend, the Good Hunter, slain!  Alack and alas! what shall we do now that our dear friend and protector is gone?”

The Fox ran out into the forest crying the death lament, which was the signal to all the beasts that something most sorrowful had happened.  Soon they came flocking to the spot, all the animals of the forest.  By hundreds they came, and surrounding the body of their friend raised the most doleful howls.  For, though they rubbed him with their warm noses, and licked him with their warm tongues, and nestled against him with their warm fur, they could not bring him back to warm life.