Free Forest World by Felix Salten Page B

preserve was prohibited to strangers.
    Another two days Peter visited the snare, but with no results. On the third day he observed a quaking of the bushes around the snare. A hare must havebeen caught and was struggling to free himself.
    â€œPoor little fellow,” he thought, “how gladly I’d help you! But I can’t. You must die so that the lives of many other creatures may be saved.”
    He tested his flashlight, loaded one barrel of his shotgun with buckshot and crawled close to the snare.
    The hare was struggling wildly, violently, with desperate leaps into the air which only trussed him tighter. Finally his efforts grew weaker and weaker.
    â€œShameful torture,” thought Peter, who was himself suffering with the trapped creature.
    *  *  *
    With the coming of twilight the hare was still. “It’s all over, poor fellow,” thought Peter.
    The twilight slid into night and soon the half-moon shone palely from the sky.
    Stealthily someone moved nearby. Almost with admiration Peter noted how cleverly the fellow slithered through the thicket. Now he must be with his victim. . . . Now he would have his booty. . . . Now he was getting away!
    Peter leaped out to bar his path, snapping on his flashlight. The man gave a cry.
    â€œStop!” Peter gasped, breathless with anger.
    He saw the hare fall from the poacher’s hands.
    â€œStop or I’ll shoot!” Peter swung the gun barrel lower. “Not a step!” he warned.
    With difficulty he repressed his rage. Now that he had caught the miscreant, he wanted to deal with him coolly. He ordered: “Pick up the hare.”
    The fellow obeyed fumblingly.
    Peter threw the flashlight beam into his face.
    The man was in his middle years, pale as a corpse, the picture of cringing fear. He fell to his knees. “Have mercy! This is the first time I’ve—”
    Peter kicked at him scornfully. “Get up!” After taking the hare, he tied the man’s hands. “Now get along!”
    The man whined. “Don’t lead me like this, tied up like a criminal!”
    â€œYou’re worse than a criminal! Move on!” Peter jabbed the shotgun barrel into the small of the fellow’s back.
    Reaching the Forest Lodge with his captive, he reported: “Caught in the act!”
    Martin and Babette, silent and shocked, looked at the strangled hare and at the prisoner.
    â€œI’m taking him to the police,” Peter declared.
    The poacher let out a cry and looked appealingly to Martin. But the little humpback, staring at the dead hare, shook his head and turned away.

Chapter 14
    T HE DEER JOINED TOGETHER AND moved about in herds. Forgotten now was every battle—all competition, envy, anger, humiliating defeat or proud victory. For the time of mating, so recently over, no longer lived in the memory of the stags.
    Peace came again to those with the high crowns. The gentleness of their natures asserted itself. They bedded down close together; they marched through the forest and appeared together at the feeding places. They did not quarrel.
    Now there was no difference between the strong and the weak; only a willing recognition of the elder by the younger.
    The youngest and the weakest moved in the lead. Behind them came the stags of middle strength, and finally the very strong. This was not a matter of rank, but a mysterious age-old measure of strategy by which the weak were sacrificed to protect the ablest.
    Now in winter they still had their crowns. Tambo, though he showed only twelve points, paced along at the rear, while others, ahead, carried crowns with fourteen, even sixteen points. Yet this order was fair, for Tambo was obviously superior, not only by the might of his horns, but by the power of his body. No other stag could compare with him.
    Most of the birds had long since fallen mute. Many had sought southern lands where there was neither snow nor cold, where sunshine