"I was right," he said over and over to himself, "I was right. I
was sure there must be a hole in this tree. It is one of the old
houses of Drummer the Woodpecker. Now I am safe."
Presently he peeped out. He wanted to see if Butcher was watching
outside. He was just in time to see Butcher's gray and black and
white coat disappearing among the trees. Butcher was not foolish
enough to waste time watching for Whitefoot to come out. Whitefoot
sighed happily. For the first time since he had started on his
dreadful journey he felt safe. Nothing else mattered. He was
hungry, but he didn't mind that. He was willing to go hungry for
the sake of being safe.
Whitefoot watched until Butcher was out of sight. Then he turned to
see what that house was like. Right away he discovered that there
was a soft, warm bed in it. It was made of leaves, grass, moss, and
the lining of bark. It was a very fine bed indeed.
"My, my, my, but I am lucky," said Whitefoot to himself. "I wonder
who could have made this fine bed. I certainly shall sleep
comfortably here. Goodness knows, I need a rest.
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