He was hunting -- hunting for the scent of some one whom he could kill.
In a few minutes he would be sure to find where Jumper had been,
and then his nose would lead him straight to that tree at the
foot of which Jumper was crouching.
Nearer and nearer came Shadow. He was slim and trim and didn't look
at all terrible. Yet there was no one in all the Green Forest more
feared by the little people in fur, by Jumper, by Peter Rabbit, by
Whitefoot, even by Chatterer the Red Squirrel.
"Perhaps," thought Jumper, "he won't find my scent after all.
Perhaps he'll go in another direction." But all the time Jumper
felt in his bones that Shadow would find that scent. "When he does,
I'll run," said Jumper to himself. "I'll have at least a chance to
dodge Whitey. I am afraid he will catch me, but I'll have a chance.
I won't have any chance at all if Shadow finds me."
Suddenly Shadow stopped running and sat up to look about with
fierce little eyes, all the time testing the air with his nose.
Jumper's heart sank. He knew that Shadow had caught a faint scent
of some one. Then Shadow began to run back and forth once more,
but more carefully than before.
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