Bambi's Children

by Felix Salten

  They heard the sound of careless, rushing approach. Faline stumbled into the thicket.

  “Mother!” Geno cried.

  Rolla murmured softly, “I must go to my children.”

  Happiness is sometimes very selfish. Faline, Gurri and Geno hardly noticed her as she limped painfully away.

  Gurri was trying to dance in spite of being tangled in twigs and branches.

  “Geno,” she demanded, “how did you manage it? How did you escape?”

  Geno replied loftily, “Huh, it was nothing! I fooled the wolf-dog.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Gurri cried. “I’ll bet . . .” She paused and then said breathlessly, “I’ll bet Father was somewhere near.”

  “Well . . .” Geno began.

  “He was, wasn’t he?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “How is he?” Faline demanded eagerly.

  Although at the time Geno had not seemed to realize what Bambi had done for him, these questions took a cover off his memory.

  “Oh, you should have seen him,” he cried enthusiastically. “He came like the wind between the wolf-dog and me, and then . . .”

  They listened eagerly to his story.

  “What terrible creatures!” Faline shuddered when he told about the crows.

  “Birds are funny,” Gurri mused. She was thinking again about the great horned owl. “They talk so unpleasantly and they act so kindly.”

  Faline sighed. “Well,” she said, “you’ve had a terrible experience, and you’re so young to face it alone.”

  “Has the wolf-dog been seen again?” Geno asked.

  “The birds say . . .” Faline faltered. “They say he killed a young Prince.”

  “What will we do if he comes back?”

  “I don’t know. We mustn’t think of it.”

  “Poor Rolla,” Gurri said suddenly.

  “Where did she go?” Geno asked.

  Faline said nothing. She knew that it was ungenerous, but she could not yet forget that it was Rolla who had put Geno in danger by leading the wolf-dog to their clearing.

  “Can’t we be friends again?” pleaded Gurri. “After all, she was frightened and in pain. She didn’t know what she was doing.”

  “Why are you angry with Aunt Rolla?” Geno inquired, puzzled.

  “It doesn’t matter, my son,” Faline answered in a muffled voice.

  “But it does, Mother,” Gurri cried.

  “I shall have to think,” Faline muttered. “She broke the first law of the forest by leading an enemy against her kind.”

  “But she didn’t mean to. And Geno is safe. Let’s visit her.”

  “Very well,” Faline agreed reluctantly.

  Gurri skipped out of the thicket.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go quickly!”

  They trotted toward Rolla’s sleeping place, Faline and Geno very close together, Gurri leading. There they interrupted another scene of joy.

  Rolla lay exhausted, in pain but happy, while Boso and Lana stood close to her telling her all they had been doing; but when Faline, Geno and Gurri appeared an uneasy silence fell upon the group.

  “Well?” Boso said distantly.

  “How are you, Aunt Rolla?” Gurri spoke cheerily, trying to overcome the too apparent strain.

  “She’s very well, thank you,” replied Boso inaccurately. He eyed Geno with subdued antagonism. Lana burst out:

  “We’re so glad you’re all right, Geno.”

  Geno dug at the snow with his forehoof.

  “Well . . .” he began; but Boso interrupted him.

  “Quite the hero, aren’t you!”

  “What is the matter with you all?” Gurri said impatiently.

  “The matter with us?” Boso’s lip curled. “We’re grateful to Geno for saving Mother’s life.”

  Faline burst in angrily, “You should be!”

  “We are,” Boso said with false heartiness.

  “Must we go on like this?” Lana put in tearfully. “It’s all a misunderstanding. We know Mother wouldn’t wish Geno any harm.”

  “Look at her,” said Boso. “She looks dangerous, doesn’t she! She can’t even move.”

  “I don’t like your attitude, Boso,” Faline snapped.

  “I’m sorry. But I should have thought the least you could do was to send a messenger to tell us she was injured, instead of driving her away.”

  “Boso!” wailed Rolla. “Don’t behave like that!”

  “You can’t blame him,” Gurri said. “It was unkind of us.

  “Unkind,” burst in Faline, “when she . . .”

  “I think we’d better go,” Geno said soberly.

  “Geno!” Lana cried. “I’m sure it’ll all come right!”

  But despite Lana’s protests, there was a barrier between the two families, and all chance of ending it then and there passed when a far-off crashing was heard among the trees. At the same time a cheerful whistling disturbed the air.

  “He!” whispered Faline fearfully.

  Immediately the roe-deer turned and vanished.

  The gamekeeper went plodding along the path, the thunder-stick slung over his left arm, whistling gaily. He scanned the trees and the ground with keen eyes, his high boots grinding in the snow.

  Soon he came to the hill where Bambi had his cave. Bambi was there, but he remained very quiet when he heard, saw and smelled Him.

  Having skirted the hill, the gamekeeper stopped abruptly. He had found the torn carcass of Nero’s victim.

  “Here, now, what the dickens is this?” he muttered.

  He cast around carefully, examining the corpse and the scene of battle. Tangled in a bush he found a few gray hairs. Paw-prints were easy to discern.

  “A wolf!” he exclaimed, bewildered. “In these parts!”

  Abruptly light came to him. He slapped his knee.

  “The mayor’s dog Nero! He’s become a killer!”

  The gamekeeper looked very grim and absorbed as he followed the wolf-dog’s tracks. He came to the verge of the forest.

  “Well,” he said to himself, “that dog is going to get a shock, I’m afraid.”

  He fumbled in his pockets and drew out a couple of cartridges. They contained the smallest size shot and would not kill the dog; but they would pepper his hide in a way he would not easily forget.

  Patiently he lurked in hiding. Nero did not come. During the next two days, the gamekeeper went back to the spot early and waited for Nero; but the dog did not return.

  On the third day he saw a shadow skulking under the hedgerow; but if it was Nero the wind carried the human scent to him, and he turned back.

  The fifth day came. In mid-afternoon, the gamekeeper glanced over his shoulder. Bambi stood at the foot of his hill, head held high, sniffing the air.

  “Glory be!” the gamekeeper murmured. “What an animal! I hope I see him later on when he has his points.”

  Something diverted his attention, and when he looked again, Bambi was gone. He gazed around. It was, he thought, a remarkable disappearance. The entrance to the cave was not visible to him. Then he saw again that stalking shadow in the hedgerow. He cocked his gun.

  Today the air was right. Nero had no suspicion that he was being watched. He trotted swiftly from shadow to shadow, red eyes searching for game. A hare sprang out. Normally Nero would not have bothered with anything so insignificant as a hare. He had developed richer tastes. This afternoon, however, he was bored. He took off after the hare without thinking.

  The hare ran directly toward Bambi’s hill, his terrified ears flat on his back, his cotton-tail gleaming whitely. He tore past without even scenting Him, and Nero flashed along close behind.

  The gamekeeper had followed the wolf-dog’s course with the shifting barrels of his gun. One after the other, he fired them into the racing animal’s rump. Nero spun round howling with pain. The gamekeeper rose threateningly.

  “Let that be a lesson to you,” he roared.

  The great dog cowered. Again he rem
embered the appalling fact that He knew everything. His ears drooped. His tail curled between his legs.

  “Get home with you!”

  Nero whimpered pitiably. Dejectedly, oppressed now with a dreadful sense of guilt, he limped down the incline toward home. Impelled by His scolding voice and the sparkling pain that tormented his rump, he broke into a painful trot. He felt that if a deer should show itself he would faint with mortification; but none did.

  The gamekeeper followed more slowly. The mayor was by this time getting well, and he found him sitting comfortably in an easy chair. He made his report.

  “Why, the ungrateful brute! Come here, sir!” bellowed the mayor.

  From Nero’s point of view, the worst had happened. There was no further pit of shame into which he could sink. He approached the dread presence mournfully.

  “You should have been shot outright,” the mayor shouted. “Outright, do you hear? You have to thank the gamekeeper for giving you a second chance.”

  The repentant dog tried to lick his master’s hand.

  “Don’t make up to me, sir! Get to your kennel!”

  The gamekeeper laughed.

  “I guess he’s learned his lesson,” he said.

  “I hope so!” the mayor said fervently. “I’d hate to lose that dog. Why, when I was very sick, he knew more about me than the doctor.”

  “He’s a handsome animal,” the gamekeeper murmured diplomatically.

  “Well, no matter!” The mayor offered his tobacco. “If you catch him at it again, there’s only one thing to do. I won’t be responsible for a killer.”

  The gamekeeper tamped tobacco into a well-colored briar. He hoped that Nero would now behave himself. Probably he would, once his master was up and about again.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  IN THE FOREST, DAYS OF peace succeeded the terror the wolf-dog had caused. The weather grew noticeably milder. There were days when the sky was a pale wash of blue without a cloud. A white sun shone, powerless but cheerful.

  One day Geno called to his mother.

  “Look,” he said wonderingly, “the snow has flowers!”

  Faline looked. The ground was thick with snowdrops.

  “Yes,” she told him comfortably, “that means the snow will soon be gone.”

  “You mean, the cold is going? The meadow will be green again?”

  “Yes. Good times are coming.”

  “Oh,” cried Gurri, “imagine being able to romp again!”

  “It will be fun!” admitted Geno, examining the snow anxiously to see if he could notice it going.

  Soon the sun gained power. The forest was filled with the tinkle of running water. The ground grew soft and marshy underfoot. In the meadow the pool swelled until the whole field was a lake of water.

  “My goodness,” Geno grumbled, regarding his reflection in it, “this isn’t much fun!”

  “It must be fun for the fish,” Gurri said.

  “Well, I’m not a fish!” Geno turned away with disgust.

  “It will pass,” Faline assured him, “and the grass will be greener for it.”

  “Well, that’s a comfort,” Geno said, leading the way back to the clearing.

  A squirrel was sitting outside his hole in the oak, blinking his eyes after his long hibernation. His stomach rumbled from his long fast.

  “Oh, pardon me!” he muttered. A drop of melting water fell and hit him on the nose.

  “You look thin, squirrel,” Gurri said.

  “Thin! My vest positively hangs on me!” He looked around hungrily. “If I could only remember where I put those nuts.” He looked suspiciously at Geno as though he suspected him of stealing his stores. “I suppose I’ll have to come down and start searching. It’s the same every year.”

  “You should learn to remember,” said Gurri.

  “Learn to remember!” snapped the squirrel. “It’s all anyone can do to remember to learn, if you ask me.” He went back into his hole, wagging his head from side to side, his tail bushy with indignation.

  Geno grew more impatient. “Now it’s started to rain!”

  It had. The sky had suddenly darkened. The rain changed from a shower to a steady downpour.

  “The fish will go crazy with happiness if this keeps up,” Geno grumbled, “but I shall only go crazy!”

  “Be patient,” Faline advised him.

  “Patient!” repeated Geno sulkily.

  “Dear me,” Faline groaned, “you whine just as you did when you were little. Remember you’re supposed to be growing up. You’ve had your adventures. You’ve faced great dangers. Try to be like your father.”

  “Where is Father?” Geno inquired. “It’s long enough since we’ve seen him.”

  “He’ll be coming.”

  “The sun will be coming, the grass will be coming, Father will be coming! It’s likely to be pretty busy hereabout if they all come at once.”

  The storm changed to a rattle of thunder, drowning out his words. The wind rose. Geno took shelter under the oak. Its branches groaned. Suddenly one of them parted from the trunk and crashed to the ground. Geno started up with fear, but the branch formed an additional barrier against the storm and he soon was glad to avail himself of the shelter. He began to doze, despite the raging of the wind and the loud torment of the trees.

  The oak cried, “Well, this is a rude awakening! How was the winter, pine?”

  “Fair enough,” the pine replied. “You certainly slept well.”

  The oak stretched creakingly. “I seem to have lost a branch. I thought I felt something go. Hi, sapling!”

  “Yes, sir!” answered the sapling respectfully.

  “That’s right,” applauded the oak. “Always wake up promptly. Now, what was I going to say?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  The oak groaned a little as though from the effort of thinking.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, “I’ve lost a branch. I’m glad to see it was right above you. You can grow better now.”

  “I certainly shall,” said the sapling thankfully.

  The maple yawned and broke into the conversation. “You’d better talk less and hold on more if you want to last this storm out,” he advised.

  Indeed, at that moment, a blast of wind hit the sapling that bent it double. All the trees preserved silence, and only the lashing of their branches and the straining of their mighty trunks were heard.

  Geno awoke.

  “I wish the trees would talk sometimes when I’m fully awake,” he murmured. “There are a couple of questions I’d like to ask. A couple of questions!” he repeated hopefully in a loud voice; but the trees took no notice of him.

  With morning the storm died down. The rain had carried nearly all the snow away, and the wind had dried the heights. A friendly sun greeted the pheasants as, with cries of joy, they left their sleeping places.

  Spring had arrived on the wings of the storm.

  A blackbird already rehearsed his song in the topmost branches of a maple. Magpies exchanged their gossip with renewed vigor, chasing each other through the branches of the trees, and jays sat sunning themselves and making spiteful comments about their neighbors.

  Next day came the call to labor. The air was full of hurrying birds carrying wisps of grass or hay or straw to use in building their nests. Others fluttered around their homes to consider the winter’s damages, patching here, smoothing a little mud there, trying to avoid the serious labor of new construction.

  Faline, Gurri and Geno, free of such activity, sunned themselves sleepily. Geno’s head was nodding when Faline briskly said:

  “Children, we really shouldn’t waste time here when so much is going on. At least we could go and get some exercise.”

  “What sort of exercise?” Geno demanded.

  “Well, the flood is down in the meadow. You could have a good romp there.”

  “In daylight?” Geno was surprised.

  “Oh, yes, it’s quite safe at this season of the year.”

  “
I’d love it!” Gurri cried with enthusiasm.

  “Let’s go then.”

  The three roe-deer arose and trotted along the path to the meadow.

  Suddenly Gurri stopped.

  “Mother!” she exclaimed with awe. “Look at the top of Geno’s head!”

  Geno almost turned his eyes over backward trying to see it.

  “What’s the matter with it?” He felt an itch now because his attention had been drawn to it. He rubbed it on a tree.

  “It’s got bumps on it!” Gurri said.

  Faline chuckled deep in her throat, but Geno was worried.

  “Bumps!” Once again Geno tried to perform the impossible feat of surveying the top of his head. “Is something wrong with me?”

  “Maybe you’ve been bitten.”

  “Children!” Faline said with amusement in her voice. “Don’t you see, Geno is growing up. Those are the beginnings of his antlers.”

  “Antlers! You mean I’m going to have a crown?”

  “Of course you are, son! Just like your father’s. Just as handsome, perhaps.”

  Geno strutted along the path, his legs stiff, his head held high.

  “Oh, Mother, a crown!”

  “Your father looked just like you when he was young,” Faline told him wistfully.

  Gurri feigned horror. “Don’t flatter him so much. He’ll burst. Maybe those bumps are only vanity coming out.”

  Geno was too pleased to be offended. He frisked up and down the path, shouting:

  “I’m going to have a crown! I’m going to have a crown!”

  When they came to the meadow, he rushed to look at himself in the pool. The water made his face look long and rather peculiar. He had hoped to see something on his head as long and sharp as a fork of lightning. To his disappointment, he could discern nothing.

  “I don’t see anything,” he said in an aggrieved tone.

  “Nevertheless, your crown is coming,” Faline assured him.

  The serious way in which she spoke made him happy again.

  Shortly Rolla, Lana and Boso arrived.

  This was the first time the two families had met since the unpleasant episode which followed Geno’s return from his adventure with the wolf-dog. Time had strengthened, rather than dispelled, the discord. Geno and Boso regarded each other with antagonism.

  Gurri was still disturbed about this state of affairs. She desired, above almost everything else, the restoration of their old, pleasant comradeship. In this she felt she had an ally in Lana. She hurried forward, crying: