For a long way no one saw him, for no one was about.
Yet all that way Whitefoot twisted and dodged and darted from place to
place and was just as badly frightened as if there had been enemies
all about.
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!" he kept saying over and over to himself.
"Wherever shall I go? Whatever shall I do? However shall I get
enough to eat? I won't dare go back to get food from my little
storehouses, and I shall have to live in a strange place where I
won't know where to look for food. I am getting tired. My legs ache.
I 'm getting hungry. I want my nice, warm, soft bed. Oh, dear!
Oh, dear! Oh, dear me!"
But in spite of his frights, Whitefoot kept on. You see, he was
more afraid to stop than he was to go on. He just had to get as far
from Shadow the Weasel as he could. Being such a little fellow, what
would be a short distance for you or me is a long distance for Whitefoot.
And so that journey was to him very long indeed. Of course, it
seemed longer because of the constant frights which came one right
after another. It really was a terrible journey.
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