Confident that he had Bumper cornered, and that nothing but the timely appearance of Mr. Beaver had saved him from disgraceful confession, Spotted Tail returned to the burrow in an angry mood. He had not stopped even to look when Bumper triumphantly pointed out the beaver dam. He had hoped to be able to tell the others how Bumper was ignorant of such a common thing as a beaver’s dam, and now he had nothing but an empty triumph. Mr. Beaver had spoilt everything for him—that and Bumper’s ready wit.

But he was all the more determined to show him up. He began to brag about his knowledge of woodcraft, telling many stories of his shrewdness and skill. Bumper remained quiet, and listened with the others.

Spotted Tail then switched to another subject. “But it takes more than knowledge and skill to be a good leader,” he said. “One must be as swift as the wind as well as wise as the owl.”

He stopped suddenly and turned to the white 38rabbit. “A king ought to be the swiftest runner of his people, Bumper. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I suppose he should be, if—”

“Then are you the fleetest runner in the woods?” interrupted Spotted Tail.

“Why, I’ve never tried it. I’m sure I don’t know,” Bumper stammered.

Spotted Tail, sure of his fleetness of foot, decided to challenge him to a race. Nothing would humiliate Bumper more than to be defeated in a speed trial.

“A king should not only be the swiftest and wisest of his people,” he said slowly, “but there should be no doubt in his own mind of it.”

“A king doesn’t always tell what’s in his mind,” replied Bumper.

“No, but he should prove his skill and ability when challenged,” was the quick retort.

“I didn’t know that I was challenged,” replied Bumper, in a weak voice.

Spotted Tail smiled wickedly. “But you are, Bumper. I, Spotted Tail, the swiftest and strongest rabbit in the woods, and the wisest, challenge you to run a race with me. Are you afraid?”

Spotted Tail’s friends immediately clapped their paws and nodded their heads. Fuzzy Wuzz and the other followers of Bumper looked a little 39worried, but their faith in their white leader came to their rescue.

“Yes, yes,” they said in a breath, “Bumper will race Spotted Tail, and prove to him that he is no longer the swiftest and strongest rabbit of the woods.”

“Of course! Of course!” echoed Spotted Tail’s friends. “There will be a race—a fair race—and a long race. We will all turn out to see it.”

Bumper’s heart began to quake. Spotted Tail had long, powerful legs and he could use them to good purpose. He was cut out for a fleet runner, and Bumper had no illusions on that point. His life in the city had never given him a chance to train for long running, and his muscles had never been fully developed. He had his misgivings about his speed when compared with that of this big, powerful wild cousin of his.

Yet, as he recalled the wild flight he had made when pursued by the bats in the sewer, and of his subsequent race with Mr. Fox in the woods, a smile crept into his face. He had certainly run fast on those two occasions.

“Fear makes a rabbit run faster than anything else,” he remembered hearing the Old Blind Rabbit remark one day.

“I wish then,” Bumper said to himself, “if I 40must race with Spotted Tail I’d get a good fright. Maybe I would beat him then.”

There was no way out of the challenge. Spotted Tail had made it, and all the others, including friends and foes, had taken it up. Bumper could not withdraw without disgracing himself.

The test of speed was to be one of endurance as well as of fleetness of foot. It was arranged to run a mile straight out to Mr. Beaver’s dam, and back again. A committee of four were to wait for them at the dam to see that each contestant rounded the point. This would prevent any trick on the part of either one.

Bumper realized right away that it was speed and endurance that would tell. Wit and wisdom would have nothing to do with the decision. Spotted Tail really had the advantage, for he was more familiar with the trails and by-paths so that he could seek out the best in going and coming.

Nevertheless, Bumper put up a brave front, and entered the race with the determination to do his best. They started from the burrow on even terms, and shot through the bushes at a tremendous speed. For a time they kept abreast within sight of each other. Then they became separated, for Spotted Tail veered off to the right to follow an easier trail.

41Bumper had great difficulty in getting to the beaver’s dam, for twice he got lost in the bushes, and had hard work finding the trail again. He lost so much by this that when he reached the dam, he was not surprised to hear his friends shout:

“Hurry! Hurry, Bumper! Spotted Tail’s on his way back!”

The first half of the race was lost to him; but he could not refrain from calling back to his friends: “The race is never decided until it’s finished.”

Fuzzy Wuzz and the others clapped their hands at this confident remark. Instead of losing faith in him they were more certain than ever that Bumper would win.

Well, it didn’t look so to Bumper. He felt that he could never overtake Spotted Tail and beat him to the finish. He might be a quarter of a mile ahead of him, and running like the wind. The disheartening effect of being beaten to the first stake told on his speed, and he ran only half-heartedly.

Then suddenly out of the bushes on his right sprang something red and flashing. Bumper caught sight of it, and his heart gave a great bound of fear. It was Mr. Fox!

Bumper’s fright was so great that he sprang 42over a clump of bushes that he never thought he could clear. Then, with his heart in his mouth, he ran for dear life. The Old Blind Rabbit’s wise remark that “fear makes a rabbit run faster than anything else” never occurred to him. He was too frightened to think of anything. But, oh, how he ran! His feet barely touched the ground. He seemed to be flying rather than running. Never—not even when the Bats pursued him—had he run so fast.

And the fox kept close behind him, gaining a few steps now and then, but losing whenever Bumper took one of his wild leaps. It was a terrible race, in which death or life was the stake. If he weakened or faltered an instant, those red, dripping jaws would have him.

When Bumper came within sight of the burrow near the big rock, he could see the rabbits waiting for the end of the race. They were talking and chatting among themselves. Spotted Tail was not in sight. Perhaps he had already finished.

“Scatter! Scatter for your life!” called Bumper, as he took a wild leap in the air.

“It’s Bumper!” some one cried. Then they caught sight of the red streak in pursuit. “Mr. Fox is after him! Run for the burrow!”

They scampered for shelter just as Bumper 43cleared the starting line and eluded the fox by a narrow margin. Once inside the burrow, he asked: “Where’s Spotted Tail?”

“He hasn’t come yet. You won the race, Bumper!”

And later, when Spotted Tail appeared, he was in a crestfallen mood, for when the race was apparently won by him he had been frightened off the trail by the sudden appearance of Mr. Fox. Instead of running straight ahead, he had dodged into the bushes to hide.

“When you’re racing,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t want to turn aside for anything—not even to save your hide.”