Read Online Fabulous Creature by Zilpha Keatley Snyder - Free Book Online

yet—not really like. With a thrill of some unnameable excitement, James realized that there was nothing on the wall in the Jarrett’s trophy room—not even the head that Jarrett had presented as his own personal record—that came even close in size and symmetry. This stag was obviously one in a million. A wise and noble prince of the forest.
    Digging into his pockets, James took out an apple and several slices of bread. He put them on the ground and backed away slowly and carefully, taking care not to make any sudden sound or movement. He hadn’t gone far when the deer moved forward to accept his offering.
    The apple went first and then the bread. The deer chewed calmly, his lower jaw working from side to side. Between bites he regarded James thoughtfully. He was still watchful, but obviously less wary and suspicious. When the last scrap was gone, he turned with calm dignity and retreated into the shadows of the grove.
    James went back then to his favorite observation post on the flat-topped boulder. For almost an hour he sat quietly absorbing the ongoing dramas of the wilderness community, the teeming life of what might seem at first glance to be a deserted valley—the naively joyous energy of large families of birds, the timid bravado of chipmunk rivals and the constant half-seen, half-sensed, life and death scurry of the tiny, many-legged things beneath the grasses of the valley floor. He was lying on his stomach with his head hanging over the edge of the boulder watching a small army of ants attacking an enormous beetle when some mysterious sensing, not connected to ears or eyes, told him to raise his head.
    The stag had returned. No more than fifty feet from the boulder he stopped, looked in James’ direction and then, lowering his head began, calmly, to graze. Now and then he raised his head, looked again and went on grazing. It was almost like a conversation.
    It was a very strange thing. Even more remarkable when you realized that a buck that had lived so long in an area overrun yearly by hunters must be not only cleverer but also more wary than others of his kind. Was he unafraid now because he somehow sensed that James meant him no harm? Or had he, perhaps, always lived safely in this almost inaccessible valley and never needed to learn fear in order to survive?
    But, of course, the valley wasn’t really inaccessible. The western end of the small box canyon seemed to have been blocked off, probably centuries before, by a tremendous landslide, so that the only entrance was by way of the cliff above Peter’s Creek. But although the narrow path, high up on the cliff face, was dangerous, it was not impassable. Where James had come, others could come. And then, too, it seemed likely that the food supply in the small valley would be insufficient in the dead of winter. It seemed most probable that the deer came to the valley by way of the path at certain times, at the times perhaps when tourists and hunters invaded the mountains.
    There was no way of knowing for sure. What did seem true, however, was that this deer, James’ noble stag, was wiser and cleverer than others of his kind. Wise enough not only to have managed to stay alive for a long time, but also to know that James was a friend. The thought was suddenly and surprisingly eye-tingling and throat-tightening. James blinked, swallowed hard and said out loud, “You don’t have to worry about me, old man. I won’t betray you.” A little later, when he got to his feet, the stag raised its majestic head and watched with calm curiosity as James saluted, bowed, slid down off the boulder and headed for home.
    It was only ten or fifteen minutes later that James first saw Griffin Donahue. He had reached the highest point of the trail across the cliff face, a slightly wider spot where he usually stopped to catch his breath and enjoy the view, when he was suddenly aware of a strange sound. Looking down to the creek bed, he saw a mystifying sight. Someone was