“That is Whitefoot the Fawn,” said the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands. “She grazes with my goats but none of my gillies can bring her into my goat-house. Here is your first task--run down Whitefoot the Fawn and bring her with my goats into the goat-shelter this evening.” When he said that the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands went away laughing to himself. “Good-by, my life,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “I might as well try to catch an eagle on the wing as to run down the deer that has gone out of sight already.” He sat down on the ground and his despair was great. Then his name was called and he saw Fedelma coming towards him. She looked at him as though she were in dread, and said, “What task has my father set you?” He told her and then she smiled. “I was in dread it would be a more terrible task,” she said. “This one is easy. I can help you to catch Whitefoot the Fawn. But first eat what I have brought you.” She put down bread and meat and wine, and they sat down and he ate and drank. “I thought he might set you this task,” she said, “and so I brought you something from my father’s store of enchanted things. Here are the Shoes of Swiftness. With these on your feet you can run down Whitefoot the Fawn. But you must catch her before she has gone very far away. Remember that she must be brought in when the goats are going into their shelter at sunset. You will have to walk back for all the time you must keep hold of her silver horns. Hasten now. Run her down with the Shoes of Swiftness and then lay hold of her horns. Above all things Whitefoot dreads the loss of her silver horns.” He thanked Fedelma. He put on the Shoes of Swiftness and went into the wood. Now he could go as the eagle flies. He found Whitefoot the Fawn drinking at the Raven’s pool. When she saw him she went from thicket to thicket. The Shoes of Swiftness were hardly any use to him in these shut-in places. At last he beat her from the last thicket. It was the hour of noon-tide then. There was a clear plain before them and with the Shoes of Swiftness he ran her down. There were tears in the Fawn’s eyes and he knew she was troubled with the dread of losing her silver horns. He kept his hands on the horns and they went back over miles of plain and pasture, bog and wood. The hours were going quicker than they were going. When ‘he came within the domain of the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands he saw the goats going quickly before him. They were hurrying from their pastures to the goat-shelter, one stopping, maybe, to bite the top of a hedge and another giving this one a blow with her horns to hurry her on. “By your silver horns, we must go faster,” said the King of Ireland’s Son to the Fawn. They went more quickly then.