“I’ll help you!” Ginger was out of the saddle, down beside him, her arms about the madly struggling body. It had been more than she could bear, Dean Wolcott had calculated surely. “I’ll hold him. Get your rope off. And boy, Scout”--she looked at him earnestly across the head of the fawn, just as he slipped the hair rope clumsily off--“never keep anything--tied or in a cage! Never keep anything--that--that doesn’t want to stay!” “I guess I won’t,” said Elmer Bunty, soberly. “I thought I could take awful good care of him, but-- Look! _Looky!_” The baby deer was trotting unsteadily back in the direction from which he had come, making all the speed his weakness and weariness would allow, but at the bend in the trail he paused and looked back over his shoulder; he stood there, looking back at them for a long instant. “He’s thanking you,” said Ginger, gently. “He’s thanking you--_both_.” Now the boy was free to give his undivided attention to the dead lion, and he joined the Airedale in his sentry go, and now Ginger was aware of being off her horse, aware that she was--good heavens, what had the doctor said about “not lingering”? He had known, of course, and planned it all, and Aunt Fan had known--and perhaps the very blond girl had known, and the whole camp--the whole gay, jovial, joking camp had known.... She blushed, swiftly and scorchingly, and sprang into her saddle. “I must go,” she said, curtly. “It’s a good two hours--” She gave Ted his head, and he sprang forward on the trail. She could not even say good-by. “Oh--wait!” Dean Wolcott called after her, but she pretended not to hear. She was in a hot fury; she had been tricked and fooled; this was why Aunt Fan had brought her down here; they were all waiting for her now at camp, talking her over, laughing, conjecturing. “_Ted!_” She flecked the shining flank with her _ramal_ (sacrilege, this!) and they sped fleetly up the trail. She heard him following her; Ted heard, too, and laid back his ears; there would be no passing him on the trail--no catching up with him. She could not forbear a look behind; she must see him on Snort; it was not enough to hear the thundering hoofs, to imagine him. The instant she turned her head he waved his hand with something--a paper--a card in it. “Your--permits!” he called. “The doctor’s camp-fire permits.” Then she must wait, pulling in the mettlesome Ted, furious at herself for forgetting, for betraying her confused bewilderment. The crisping color stayed in her face, but she had a cool hold on her voice. “Thank you--I’m sorry. Seeing the lion, and the fawn--it went out of my mind--”