dodged into that hole in the dead tree just as Butcher
the Shrike all but caught him. For a few minutes he did nothing but
pant, for he was quite out of breath.

"I was right," he said over and over to himself, "I was right. I was
sure there must be a hole in this tree. It is one of the old houses of
Drummer the Woodpecker. Now I am safe."

Presently he peeped out. He wanted to see if Butcher was watching
outside. He was just in time to see Butcher's gray and black and white
coat disappearing among the trees. Butcher was not foolish enough to
waste time watching for Whitefoot to come out. Whitefoot sighed happily.
For the first time since he had started on his dreadful journey he felt
safe. Nothing else mattered. He was hungry, but he didn't mind that. He
was willing to go hungry for the sake of being safe.

Whitefoot watched until Butcher was out of sight. Then he turned to
see what that house was like. Right away he discovered that there was a
soft, warm bed in it. It was made of leaves, grass, moss, and the lining
of bark. It was a very fine bed indeed.

"My, my, my, but I am lucky," said Whitefoot to himself. "I wonder who
could have made this fine bed. I certainly shall sleep comfortably here.
Goodness knows, I need a rest. If I can find food enough near here, I'll
make this my home. I couldn't ask for a better one."

Chuckling happily, Whitefoot began to pull away the top of that bed so
as to get to the middle of it. And then he got a surprise. It was an
unpleasant surprise. It was a most unpleasant surprise. There was some
one in that bed! Yes, sir, there was some one curled up in a little
round ball in the middle of that fine bed. It was some one with a coat
of the softest, finest fur. Can you guess who it was? It was Timmy the
Flying Squirrel.

It seemed to Whitefoot as if his heart flopped right over. You see at
first he didn't recognize Timmy. Whitefoot is himself so very timid that
his thought was to run; to get out of there as quickly as possible. But
he had no place to run to, so he hesitated. Never in all his life had
Whitefoot had a greater disappointment. He knew now that this splendid
house was not for him.

Timmy the Flying Squirrel didn't move. He remained curled up in a soft
little ball. He was asleep. Whitefoot remembered that Timmy sleeps
during the day and seldom comes out until the Black Shadows come
creeping out from the Purple Hills at the close of day. Whitefoot felt
easier in his mi