When the hunter found the hiding-place Lightfoot had left at the warning of Sammy Jay he followed Lightfoot’s tracks for a short distance.  It was slow work, and only one whose eyes had been trained to notice little things could have done it.  You see, there was no snow, and only now and then, when he had stepped on a bit of soft ground, had Lightfoot left a footprint.  But there were other signs which the hunter knew how to read, —­ a freshly upturned leaf here, and here, a bit of moss lightly crushed.  These things told the hunter which way Lightfoot had gone.

Slowly, patiently, watchfully, the hunter followed.  After a while he stopped with a satisfied grin.  “I thought as much,” he muttered.  “He heard that pesky Jay and circled around so as to get my scent.  I’ll just cut across to my old trail and unless I am greatly mistaken, I’ll find his tracks there.”

So, swiftly but silently, the hunter cut across to his old trail, and in a few moments he found just what he expected, —­ one of Lightfoot’s footprints.  Once more he grinned.

“Well, old fellow, I’ve outguessed you this time,” said he to himself.”  I am behind you and the wind is from you to me, so that you cannot get my scent.  I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’re back right where you started from, behind that old windfall.”  He at once began to move forward silently and cautiously, with eyes and ears alert and his terrible gun ready for instant use.

Now when Lightfoot, following behind the hunter, had lost the scent of the latter, he guessed right away that the latter had found his tracks and had started to follow them.  Lightfoot stood still and listened with all his might for some little sound to tell him where the hunter was.  But there was no sound and after a little Lightfoot began to move on.  He didn’t dare remain still, lest the hunter should creep up within shooting distance.  There was only one direction in which it was safe for Lightfoot to move, and that was the direction from which the Merry Little Breezes were blowing.  So long as they brought him none of the dreaded man-smell, he knew that he was safe.  The hunter might be behind him —­ probably he was —­ but ahead of him, so long as the Merry Little Breezes were blowing in his face and brought no man-smell, was safety.

CHAPTER IX:  Lightfoot Becomes Uncertain

Lightfoot the Deer traveled on through the Green Forest, straight ahead in the direction from which the Merry Little Breezes were blowing.  Every few steps he would raise his delicate nose and test all the scents that the Merry Little Breezes were bringing.  So long as he kept the Merry Little Breezes blowing in his face, he could be sure whether or not there was danger ahead of him.