Spotted Tail was so chagrined by losing the race that he immediately began to scheme to humiliate Bumper in some other way. He was confident that the race hadn’t gone to the swiftest and strongest, but he could not convince the others of this. The story of how the tortoise beat the hare in a race, because the latter had lain down to sleep on the way, was an old joke among the rabbits, and Spotted Tail’s excuses only aroused mirth and derision.

No, clearly, Spotted Tail could not redeem his lost glory by challenging Bumper to another race. But there were other ways to discredit him in the eyes of his people.

“Oh, Bumper, King of the rabbits!” he exclaimed one day in mock courtesy. “The Lion is called the King of the beasts, and he won that title by his bravery and courage. Do you think that should make one king?”

“Courage is a quality that every king and leader should have,” replied Bumper, cautiously.

“Greater than that of any of his subjects?”

45Bumper hesitated, for he feared a trap; but when all the others looked at him, waiting upon his words, he felt that he had to assent.

“Yes, I suppose he should be the bravest of his people.”

“Then,” smiled Spotted Tail, “you must be the bravest of all the rabbits in the woods—braver than Old Blind Rabbit ever was, or any of the young ones here.”

“I shouldn’t like to claim that,” faltered Bumper, modestly.

“Then you shouldn’t be king. Isn’t that the law of the woods?”

“A leader should be as brave as any of his people,” Bumper answered, “not braver. Perhaps that would be impossible.”

“Well said,” muttered the Old Blind Rabbit. “There are many of my people who are brave as any king, and more could not be asked of their leader.”

Spotted Tail licked his lips and smiled. “We should make a test,” he added, “to see who are the brave ones among us. All who choose can enter it. Has any one a test to suggest?”

There was absolute silence. Spotted Tail knew no one would think of a suitable test on the spur of the moment. So he proposed one himself, one that he had had in mind for some days.

46“Suppose, then,” he added, still smiling, “we cross, one by one, Swinging Bridge, and those who get over safely will be entitled to be called brave.”

There was a gasp of surprise and consternation. Swinging Bridge was a small tree that had fallen across Rocky Ford where the river cut deep through a narrow gorge. The tree seemed almost suspended in mid-air by the vines and bushes, and was very dangerous. Every wind swung it back and forth like a hammock strung between two trees.

No rabbit had ever dared to cross it. It was supposed to be an impossible feat. The tree was so small and slippery that it afforded small chance for an animal without claws to walk across it. It hung fifty feet from the river’s bed so that a fall from it meant almost sure death.

It was foolhardy to try it. Bobby Gray Squirrel could run across it easily, but that was because he had claws with which to cling to it. Sleepy the Opossum and Washer the Raccoon could likewise walk across the bridge without fear of falling. But for a rabbit, whose feet were not made to climb, it was a dangerous undertaking.

“Oh, no, not that!” exclaimed Fuzzy Wuzz, shuddering.

47“Why not?” asked Spotted Tail. “It will be a wonderful record for any rabbit who can do it. What do you say, Bumper?”

“I’m willing if you are,” Bumper replied, feeling that he could not withdraw from the challenge.

“Then we will draw lots to see who goes first,” promptly added Spotted Tail, who had arranged the whole thing.

“That isn’t fair,” interrupted one of Bumper’s followers. “The challenger should go first.”

“Since when was drawing lots unfair?” queried Spotted Tail. “I appeal to your judgment, Old Blind Rabbit. Isn’t it fair?”

The old leader of the rabbits hesitated for a moment, but he had to admit that this form of selection had been common with his people as long as he could recollect.

So when he decided in favor of Spotted Tail, the work of choosing their order of going across the bridge began. There were ten who stepped forward to accept the challenge. The Old Blind Rabbit held the sticks as each one stepped up to choose. Bumper got the short one, either through chance or through some trick Spotted Tail had arranged. No one could say which it was, but a murmur of dissent went up at once.

“It wasn’t a fair drawing!” they cried. “Try 48it over again. Spotted Tail played a trick on Bumper.”

“No,” interrupted Bumper, “we’ll not draw lots again. I’ll cross Swinging Bridge first.”

This decision was accepted with applause, and the rabbits trooped through the woods to Swinging Bridge. Bumper’s first sight of it made him shiver. It was worse than he had imagined. The chasm was at least thirty feet across, and the butt end of the tree was not more than eight inches in diameter, while the smaller end seemed to dwindle away into a mere whip. In fact, the tree could never have remained in its position if it hadn’t been for the vines suspending it.

“I’ll begin on this end,” Bumper said, choosing the butt end of the tree. His quick eye had seen the only possible chance for crossing. Half way across, where the tree grew smaller rapidly, there was a crotch which offered a firm footing. Bumper decided to walk out to this, and then reach the other side in one tremendous hop. That would be crossing the bridge, for nothing in the terms had been said about the manner of going.

While the others held their breath, and Fuzzy Wuzz shook and trembled with fear, Bumper hopped on the tree, and began making his way slowly along. He dared not look below where 49the river rolled and tossed over the rocks. He kept his eyes on the crotch ahead.

He reached this without accident. Then paused. The rest of the way was too perilous for any rabbit to proceed. Spotted Tail smiled to himself. He knew that it would be the last of the white rabbit if he attempted it.

Bumper crouched low, fastened his hind feet firmly in the crotch, and then, to the surprise of all, leaped into the air in one tremendous spring that carried him clear across to the other side. His heart was beating at a lively rate, but when he realized that he had performed the difficult feat a little glow of triumph spread over his face.

“Wonderful! Good for Bumper!” were the cries from the other side that reached his ears.

“Now Spotted Tail, it’s your turn!” some one said.

But Spotted Tail was white and trembling. He had never expected to be called upon to attempt it. With the death of Bumper in the river below, they would call the test off. It would be suicidal for another to try it. But now all was changed. Bumper was safe on the other side, and they were calling on him to cross. He crouched in abject fear, and seemed ready to ask for mercy when Bumper spoke.

50“No,” he said, “it isn’t safe. It’s a foolhardy thing to do. I forbid any one else trying it. You understand, Spotted Tail, I forbid it!”

Spotted Tail raised his head hopefully, and a cunning, cringing expression came into his eyes.

“The king must be obeyed,” he said.

Then boastfully, walking away: “But I could have crossed without jumping half the way. That was not included in the terms of the test.”