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TH E B IG B L A C K' S T A C K S of the Ilium_ Works of the Federal Apparatus Corporation spewed. acid fumes and soot over the hundreds of men and women who were lined up before the redbrick employment office. It was sun1mer. The Iliu1n Works, already tl1e second-largest industrial plant in A1nerica, was in­ creasing its staff by one third in order to intet armani_ent · con­ tracts. Every ten minutes or so, a co1npany policen1an opened the employment-office door, letting out a chilly gust from the air-conditioned interior and adrnitting three more applicants.

"Next three," said the policen1an.

A n1idcile-sized rnan ·in his late twenties, his young face cam.oufiaged v\rith a mustache and spectacles, was adrnitted after a four-hour wait. His spirits and the new suit he'd bought for the occasion were wilted by the furr1es and the August sun, and he'd given up lu nch in order to keep his place in line. But his bearing re11:1ained jaunty. He \vas the last, in his group of three, to face the receptionist.

"Screw-n1achine operator, ma'a1n," said the first man. "See Mr. Cormody in booth seven," said the receptionist. "IJlastic extrusiOn, miss," said the nex.t rnan.

"Sec Mr. Hoyt in booth two," she said. "Skill?" she asked the urbane young man in the wilted suit. "Milling machine? Jig borer?"

"Writing," he said. "Any kind of writing." "You mean advertising and sales pro1notion?"

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"Yesthat's what I 1nean.'J

She looked doubtful. "Well, I don't know. We didn't put out a call for that sort of people. You can't run a n1.achine, can you?"

"Typewriter," he said jokingly.

The receptionist was a sober young won1an. "The con1- pany does not use rr1ale stenOgraphers," she said. "See Mr. Dilling in booth twenty-six. He just might know of some ad­ vertising-and-sales-promotion-type job."

He straightened his tie and coat, forced a srnile that iin­ plied he was looking into jobs at the Works as sort of a lark. He walked into booth twenty-six and extended his hand to Mr. l)illing, a rr1an of his own age. "Mr. l)illing, ni.y na1nc is David Potter. I was curious to know what openings you might have in

advertising and sales pron1otion, and thought I'd drop in for a talk."

Mr. Dilling, an old hand at facing young men who tried to hide their eagerness for a job, was polite but out\vardly unin1pressed. "Well, you can1e at a bad tirne, I'1n afraid, Mr. Potter. The competition for that kind of job is pretty stiff, as

you perhaps know, and there isn't much of anything open just now.''

David nodded. "! see." He had had no experience in asking for a job with a big organization, and Mr. l)illing was making hin1avvare of what a fine art it \Vas·-if you couldn't run a rnachine. A duel was under way.

"But have a seat anyway, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you." He looked at his watch. "I really ought to be getting back to 1ny P.aper soon."

"You work on a paper around here?"

"Yes. Iown a weekly paper in })orset, abou t ten n1iles fro1n Iliun1."

"Oh-·-you don't say. Lovely little village. Thinking of giving up the paper, are you'"

"Well, no- ·not exactly. It's a possibility. I bought the paper soon after the war, so I've beerf vvith it for eight years,

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and I don't want to go stale. I might be wise to move on. It all depends .on what opens up."

"You have a family?" said Mr. Dilling pleasantly. "Yes. My wifo, and two boys and two girls."

"A nice, big, well-balanced family," said Mr. Dilling. "_And you're so young, too."

"Twenty-nine," said David. He stniled. "We didn't plan it to be quite that big. It's run to twin.s. The boys are twins, and then, several days ago, the girls ca1ne."

"You don't say!" said Mr. Dilling. He winked. "That would certainly start a young rrtan thinking about getting a little security, eh, with a family like that?"

Both of then!treated the remark casually, as though it were no n1ore than a pleasantry between two family rr1en. "It's what we \Vanted, actually, t\VO boys, two girls," said David. "We didn't expect to get them this quickly, bu t we're glad now. As far as security goes-well, maybe I flatter myself, but I think the adrninistrative and writing experience I've had run­ ning the paper would be worth a good bit to the right people, if something bappened to the paper."

"One of the big shortages in this country," said Dilling philosophically, concentrating on lighting a cigarette, "is men who know how to do things, and know ho\v to take responsi­ bility and get things done. I only wish there were better open­ ings in advertising and sales promotion than the ones we've got. They're important, interesting jobs, understand, but I don't know how you'd feel abou t the starting salary."

"Well, I'm just trying to get the lay of the land, now-to see how things are. I have no idea vvhat salary industry might pay a rnan like me, with n1y experience."

"The question experienced men like yourself usually ask is: how high can I go and how fast? And the answer to that is that the sky is . the litl}it for a ni_an with drive and creative ambition. And he can go up fast or slow, depending on what he's willing to do and capable of putting into the job. We might start out a n1an like you at, oh, say, a hundred dollars a -..veek,

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but that isn't to say you'd be stuck at that level for two years or even two inonths.'' ·

"! suppose a man could keep a family on that until he got rolling," said David.

''You'd find the work in the publicity end just about the sarne as what you're doing now. Our publicity people have high standards for writing and editing and reporting, and our publicity re.leases don't \Vind up in newspaper editors' wastebas­ kets. Our people do a professional job, and are weU-respected as journalists." He stood. "I've got a little matter to attend to-­ take ine about ten mi1i_utes. Could you possibly stick around? I'm enjoying our talk."

I?avid looked at his watch. "Oh-guess I could spare an other ten or· fifteen rninutes."

Dilling was back in his booth in three tninutes, chuckling over some private joke. "Just talking on the phone with Lou Flammer, the publicity supervisor. Needs a new stenographer. Lou's a card. Everybody here is crazy about Lou. Old weekly ni_an hi1nse1f, and I guess that's where he learned to be so easy to get along with.Just to feel him out for the hell of it, I told him about you. I didn't conu1it you to anything-----just said what you told me, that you were keeping your eyes open. And guess what Lou said?'·'

"Guess what, Nan," said David Potter to his wife on the telephone. He was wearing only his shorts, and was phoning from the company hospital. "When you come home from the hospital ton1orro:w, you'll be con1ing hon1e to a solid citizen who polls down a hundred and ten dollars a week, every week. I just got my badge and passed my physical!"

"Oh?" said Nan, startled. "It happened awfully fast, didn't it? I didn't think you were going to plunge right in."

"What's there to wait for?"

"Well-I don't know. I mean, .how do you know what you're getting into? You've never workeif for anybody but

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( I )I

( • )yourself; and don't know anything about getting along in a

( • )huge organization. Iknevv you were going to talk to the Iliu1n

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D E E R IN T H E W O R K S

the \Vay you have been-driving around the countryside, get­ ting news and talking and selling ads; coining ho1ne and writing what you want to write, what you believe in. You in the

Works!"

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people about a job, but I thought you planned to stick with

paper another year, anyvvay."

"In another year I'll be thirty, Nan." "Well?"

"That's pretty old to be starting a career in industry.

There are guys my age here who've been working their way up for ten years. That's pretty stiff competition, and it'll be that much stiffer a year from now. And how do \Ve know Jason will still want to buy the paper a year from now?" Ed Jason was David's assistant, a recent college graduate whose father vvanted to buy the paper for him. "And this job that opened up today in publicity won't be open a year from now, Nan. Now was the tirne to switch-this afternoon[ ''

Nan sighed. "I suppose. But it doesn't seem like you. The Works are fine for some people; they seem to thrive on that life. But you've always heen so free. And you. love the paper-·-you know you do."

"I do," said David, "and it'll break my heart to let it go. I t

was a swell thing to do when we had no kids, but it's a shaky living now-with the kids to educate an_d alL"

"1:3ut, hon," said Nan, "the paper is n1aking n-ioney."

"It could fold like that," said David, snapping his fingers. "A d'aily could come in with a one-page insert of Dorset news, or-''

"Dorset likes its little paper too much to let that happen.

They like you and the job you're doing too much." David nodded. "'What about ten years fro1n now?"

"What about ten years fl-om now in the Works? What about ten years from now anywhere?"

"It's a better bet that the Works will still be here. I haven't

got the right to take long chances any tnore, Nan, not with a big fan.Lily counting on 1ne."

"It's what I've got to do./'

"All right, if you say so. I've had my. say."

"It's still journalisn1 , high-grade journalisn 1," said David. ''.Just don't sell the paper to Jason right away. Put him in

charge, but let's vvait a month or so, please?"

"No sense in waiting, but if you really want to, all right." David held up a brochure he'd been handed after his physical examination was con1pleted. "Listen to this, Nan: under the company Security Package, I get ten dolla rs a day for hospital expenses in case of illness, full pay for twenty-six weeks, a hun­ dred dollars fr special hospital expenses. Iget life insurai1ce for about half what it would cost on the outside. For whatever I put into government bonds under the payroll-savings plan, the company will give 1ne a five per cent bonus in company stock-twelve years from now. Iget two weeks' vacation -with pay each year, and, after fifteen years, I get three weeks. Get free m_embership in the co1npany country club. After twenty­ five years, I'll be eligible for a pension of at least a hundred and twenty-five dollars a 1nonth, and - In.uch 1T1ore if Irise in the organization and _stick with it for more than twenty-five years!"

"(;ood heavens!" said Nan.

''I'd be a damn fool .to pass that up, Nan."

"I still wish you'd waited until the little girls and I were horne and settled, and you got used to them. I feel you were panicked into this."

"No, nothis is it, Nan. Give the little girls a kiss apiece for n1c. I've got to go now, and report to 1ny ne\V supervisor."

"Your what?"

.I

"Supervisor."

"It won't be a very happy big.family, darling, if you're not

"Oh. I thought

that's what you said, but I couldn't be

doing what you want to do. I want you to go on being happy

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sure." j

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"Good-by, Nan."

"Good-by, David."

David clipped his badge to his lapel, and stepped out of the hospital and onto the hot asphalt floor of the world within the fences of the Works. J)ull thunder can1e frorn th'e buildings around him, a truck honke at hin1, and a cinder blew in his eye. He dabbed at the cinder with a corner of his handkerchief and finally got it out. When his vision was restored, he looked about hin1self for Building 31, where his new office and super­ visor were. Four busy streets fanned out fro1n where he stood, and each stretched seemingly to infinity.

He stopped a passerby who was in less of a desperate hurry than the rest. "Could you tell me, please, how to find Building 31, Mr. Flammer's office?"

The man he asked was old and bright-eyed, apparently getting as nuch pleasure fro111 the clangor and sn1ells and ner­ vous activity of the Works as David vvou1d have gotten from April in Paris. He squinted at David's badge and then at his face. "Just starting out, are you?"

"Yes sir. My first day."

"What do you know about that?" The old man shook his head wonderingly, and winked. 'Just starting out. Building 31? Well, sir, when I first came to work here in 1899, you could see Building 31 fion1 here, with nothing between us and it but n1ud. No\v it's all built up. See that \vater tank up .there, 3;bout a quarter of a mile? Well, Avenue 17 branches off there, and you follow that aln1ost to the end, then cut across the tracks, and··· Just starting out, eh? Well, I'd better walk you up there. Came here for just a minute to talk to the pension folks, but that can wait. I'd er\joy the walk."

"Thank you."

"Fifty-year man, I was," he said proudly, and he led f)avid up avenues and alleys, across tracks, over ran1ps and through tunnels, through buildings filled with spitting, whin-

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ing, grumbling machinery, and down corridors with green walls and numbered black doors.

"Can't be a fifty-year man no n1ore," said the old man pityingly. "Can't come to work until you're eighteen nowa­ 'days, and you got to _retire, when you're sixty-five." I-le poked his thumb under his lapel to make a small gold button protrude. On it was the nurnber "50" superirnposed on the con1pany traden1ark. "Something none of you youngsters can look for­

ward to wearing some day, no rnatter how much you \Vant one."

HVery nice button," said David.

The old man pointed out a door. "Here's Flammer's of­ fice. Keep your mouth shut till you find out who's who and what they think. Good luck."

Lou Flammer's secretary was not at her desk, so David walked to .the door of the inner office and knocked.

"Yes?" said a µian's voice sweetly. "Please co1ne in." David opened the door. "Mr. Flanuner?"

I.-0u Flammer was a short, fat 111an in his early thirties. He beamed at David, "What can I do to help you?"

"I'rn David Potter, Mr. Flanuner."

Flammer's Santa-Claus-like demeanor decayed. He leaned back, propped his feet on his desk top, and stuffed a cigar, which he'd concealed in his cupped hand, into his large mouth. "Hell-thought you were a scoutlnaster." He looked at his desk clock, which was mounted in a n1iniature of the com_­ pany's nevvest autornatic dishwasher. "Boy scouts touring the Works. Supposed to stop in here fifteen rninutes ago for me to give 'em a talk on scouting and industry. Fifty-six per cent of Federal Apparatus' _executives were eagle scouts."

David started to laugh, but found himself doing it all alone, and he stopped. "Amazing figure," he said.

"It is,n said Flan1rr1er judiciously. "Says so1nething for scouting and son1ething for industry. N ov..7, before I tell you where your desk is, I'm supposed to explain the rating-sheet

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system. That's what the Manual says. Dilling tell you about tl1at?"

"Not that I recall. There was an awful lot of information all at once."

"Well, there's nothing n1uch to it," said Flan1n1er. "Every six m.onths a rating sheet is 1nade out on you, to let you and to let us know just where you stand, and what sort of progress you've been n1aking. 1""hree people who've been close to your work make out independent ratings of you, and then all the information 'is. brought together on a 111aster copy-with car­ bons for you, rr1e, and Persom1el, and the original for the head of the Advertising and Sales Promotion Division. It's very help­ ful for everybody, you most of all, if you take it the right way." He waved a rating sheet before David. "See? Blanks for appear­ ance, loyalty, pron1ptness, initiative, cooperativenessthings like that. You'll 1nake out rating sheets on other people, too, and vvhoever does the rating is anony1nous."

"I see." David felt hin1self reddening with resentment. J--Ie fought the e1notion, telling hirnself his reaction was a srnall­ to\vn inan's-·-and that it would do hin1 good to learn to think as a rr1eniber of a great, efficient team.

"Now about pay, Potter,"·said Flani1ner, "there'll never

be any point in coming ju to ask nic for a raise. T'hat's all done on ·the basis of the rdting sheets and the salary curve." He run11naged. through his drawers and found a graph, vvhich he spread out on his desk. "f--Iere-now you see this curve? Well, it's the average salary curve for rr1en witl1 college educations in the company. See--you can follow it on up. At thirty, the average man 111akes this much; at forty, this much-and so on. Now, this curve above it shows what men with real growth potential can make. See? It's a little higher and curves upward a li ttle £tster. You're how old?"

"Twenty-nine," said David, trying to seo what the salary figures were that ran along one side of the graph. Flanur1er saw him doing it, and pointedly kept them hidden with his forearm. "Uh-huh." Flarnmer wet the tip of a pencil with his

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D E E R I N T H E W O R K S

tongue, and drew a small "x" on the graph, squarely astride the average rnan's curve. "rf here you are!"

( • )David looked at the mark, and then followed the curve with his eyes .across the paper, over little bumps, up gentle slopes, along desolate plateaus, until it died abruptly at the mar­ gin which represented age sixtycfive. The graph left no ques­ tions to be asked and was deaf to argument. David looked frorn it to the human being he would also be dealing with. "You had

a weekly once, did you, Mr. Flarnmer?" i

Flarnrner laughed. "In rny nalve, idealistic youth, Potter, I

sold ads to fee.cl stores, gathered gossip, set type, and wrote p

( r ) ( . )editorials that vvere going to save the world, by God." David smiled adn1iringly. "What a circus, eh?"

"Circus?" said Flan1n1er. ' Freak show, niaybe. It's a good f l

( 0 )way to grov.r up fast. '.fook rne about six rnonths to find out I I

( . i )\Vas killing myself for peanuts, that a little guy couldn't even

save a village three blocks long, and that the world wasn't worth . I

saving anyway. So I started looking out for N umber One. Sold out to a chain,- came down here, and here I a1n."

The telephone rang. "Yes?" said Flamtner sweetly. "Puh­ bliss-itee." f-Iis -benign snllle fJ.ded. "No. You 're kidding, aren't you? Where? Really--this is no gag' All right, all right. Lord! What a time for this to happen. I haven't got anybody here, and I can't get away on account of the godda1n boy scouts." f-Ie hung up. "l::>otter-you've got your first assignment. There's a deer loose in the Works!"

"l)eer?"

"Don't kno\v hovv he got in, but he's .In. P.lun1ber went to fix a drinking fountain out at the softball diamond across from Building 217, and flushed a deer ou t from under the bleachers. Now they got him cornered up around the metallurgy lab." He stood and harrunered on his desk. "Murder! The story will go

( . )all over the country, Potter. Talk about hurr1an interest. Front page! Of all the times for Al Tappin to be out at the Ashtabula

Works, taking pictures of a new viscorncter they cooked up out ,

tht;re! All right-I'll call up a hack photogra her downtown,

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Potter, and get him to meet yon out by tbe metallurgy lab. Yon get the story and see that he gets· the right shots. Okay?"

He led David into the hallway. ''.Just go back the way you came, turn left instead of right at fractional horsepower motors, cut through hydraulic engineering, catch bus eleven on Avenue 9, and it'll take you right there. After you get the story and pictures, we'll get them cleared by the law division, the plant security officer, our departnient head and buildings and grounds, and shoot them right ou t. Now get going. That deer isn't on the payroll-he isn't going to wait for you. Come to work today-tomorrow your work will be on every fron t page i11 the . country, if we can get it approved. The na1ne of tl1e photographer you're going to meet is McGarvey. Got it? You're in the big time now, Potter. We'll all be watching." He shu t the door behind David.

David found himself trotting down the hall, down a stair

way, and into an alley, brushing roughly past persons in a race

. against ti1r1e. Many turned to -watch the purposeful young man with admiration.

On and on he strode, his min_d seething with information:

Flammer, Building 31; deer, metallurgy lab; photagrapher, Al Tappin. No. Al 1appin in Ashtabula. Flenny the hack photagrapher. No. McCa1r1mer. 1Vo. McCarn111er is new supervisor. Fifty-six per cent eagle scouts. Deer by viscometer laboratory. No. Viscon1eter in Ashta­ bU la. Call Danner, new supervisor, and get instructions right. Three UJeeks' vacation efter fifteen years. Danner not neu1 supervisor. Any­ way, new supervisor in Building 319. No. Fanner in Building 39981983319.

David stopped, blocked by a grimy window at the end of a blind alley. All he knew was that he'd never been there be­ fore, that his 1ncmory had blown a gasket, and that the deer WdS not on the payroll. The air in the alley was thick with tango n1usic and the stench of scorched insulation. David scrubbed away some of the crust on the window with his handkerchief,. praying for a glimpse of something that n1ade sense.

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Inside were ranks of women at benches, rocking their he;ids in time to the music, anc::l dipping soldering irons into great n.ests of colored wires that crept past the1n on endless belts. One of them looked up and saw David, and winked in tango rhythm. David fled.

At the mouth of the alley, he stopped a man and asked hin1if he'd heard anything about a deer in the Works. The rnan shook his head and looked at David oddly, making David aware of how frantic he must look. "[ heard it was. out by the lab," David said rr1ore caln1ly.

"Which lab?" said the man.

"That's what I'1n not sure of," said David. "There's rnore than one?"

"Chemical lab?" said the r.nan. "Materials testing lab?

Paint lab? Insulation lab?"

"No-I don't think it's any of those," said David.

"Well, I could st;;nd here all afternoon naming labs, and probably not hit the right one. Sorry, I've go.t to go. You don't know what building they've got the differential analyzer in, do you?"

"Sorry," said David. He stopped several other people, none of whom knew anything about the deer, and he tried to retrace his steps to the office of his supervisor, vvhatever his name was. fie was s\vept this Way· and that by the curents o( the Works, stranded in backwaters, sucked back into the main stream, and his mind was n1ore and 1nore numbed, and the mere reflexes of self-preservation were rnore and n1ore · in charge.

He chose a building at ran.dorn, and walked inside for a momentary respite fron1the sun11ner heat, and was deafened by the clangor of steel sheets being cut and punched, being smashed into strange shapes by great hammers that dropped out of the sn1oke and dust overhead. A hairy, heavily muscled n1an was seated near the door on a wooden stool, watching a giant lathe turn a bar of steel the size of a silo. j

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David now had the idea of going through a company phone directory until he recognized his supervisor's name. He called to the n1achinist fro1n a few feet away, but his voice -was lost in the din. He tapped the man's shoulder. "Telephone around here?"

The man nodded. He cupped his hands around David's

ear, and shouted. "Up that, and through the-" Down crashed a hannner. "Turn left and keep going until you-".An over­ head crane dropped a stack of steel plates. "Four doors down from there is it. Can't miss it."

])avid, his ears ringing and his head aching, walked into the street again and chose another door. f-Iere was peace and_ air conditioning. I--:le was in the lobby of an auditoriurn, \vhere a group of men were examining a box studded with dials and s\Vitches that V\ras spotlighted and rnounted on a revolving plat­ forrn.

"Please, miss," he said to a receptionist by the door,

"could you tell me where I could find a telephone?"

"It's right around the corner, sir," she said. "13ut I'm afraid .no one is permitted here (oday but the crystallographers. Are you with then1?"

"Yes," said David.

"Oh-well, come right in. Name?"

He told her, and a man sitting next to lier lettered it on a badge. The badge was hung on his chest, and David headed for the telephone. A grinning, bald, big-toothed man, wearing a badge that said, "Stan Dunkel, Sales," caught him and steered him to the display.

"Dr. Potter," said Dunkel, "I ask you: is that the way to

build an X-ray spectrogonio1neter, or is that the vvay to build an X-ray spectrogonio1neter?''

"Yes," said David. ''That's the way, all right."

"Martini, Dr. Potter?" said a n1aid, offering a tray.

David en1ptied a Martini in one gloriously hot, tinging

gulp.

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"What features do you want in an 'X-ray spectrogoniome­ ter, Doctor?" said Dunkel.

"It should be sturdy, Mr. Dunkel," said David, and he left Dunkel there, , pledging his reputation that there wasn't a sturdier one on earth.

lri the phone booth, David had barely got through the telephone directory's A's before the na1ne of his supervisor nll­ raculously returned to his consciousness: Flarruner! He found the number and dialed.

"Mr. Flamn1er's office," said a wornan.

"Could I speak to him, please? This is David Potter." "Oh-Mr. Potter. Well, Mr. Flamrner is sornewhere out

in the Works now, but he left a n1essage for you. He said there's an added twist on the deer story. When they catch the deer, the venison is going to be used at the Quarter-Century Club pic­ nic."

"Quarter-Century Club?" said David.

"Oh, that's really something, Mr. Potter. It's for people who'Ve been with the company twenty-five years or 1nore. Free drinks and cigars, an_d just the best of everything. They have a wonderful time."

"Anything else about the deer?"

"Nothing he hasn't already told you," she said, and she hung up.

Davld ])otter, with a third Martini in his otherwise ernpty

stomach, stood in front of the auditorium and looked both ways for a deer.

"But our X-ray spectrogoniom"eter is sturdy, Dr. Potter,"

Stan Dunkel called to him from the auditorium steps.

Across the street was a patch of green, bordered by hedges, David pushed thro1.1gh the hedges into the outfield of a softball diamond. He crossed it and went behind the bleachers, where there was cool shade, and h e sat down with his back to a wire-1nesh fence which separated one end of the Works fro1n a deep pine woods·. There were tv..ro gates in th.e fence, but both

were wired shut.

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])avid was going to sit there for just a nloment, long enough to get his nerve back, to take bearings. Maybe he could leave a message for Fla1nn1er, saying he'd suddenly fallen ill, which was essentially true, or-

"There he goesl " cried somebody from the other side of the diamond. There were gleeful cries, shouted ordCrs, the sounds of rnen running.

A . deer with broken antlers dashed under the bleachers, saw David, and ran fran tically into the open again along the fence. I-le ran with a 1in1p, and his reddish-brown coat was streaked with soot an grease.

"Easy now! Don't rush !Lim! Just keep him there. Shoot into the woods, not the Works."

David came out from under the bleachers to see a great sernicircle of n1en, several ranks deep, closing in slowly on the corer of fence in which the deer "\..Vas at bay. In the front rank were a dozen conipany policen1en with drawn pistols. Other rr1embers of the posse carried sticks and rocks and lariats hastily fashioned fro1n wire.

The deer pawed the grass, and bu cked, and jerked its bro­ ken antlers in the direction ·of the crowd.

"Hold it!" shouted a fa1niliar voice. A company limousine rumbled across the diamond to the back of the crowd. Leaning out of a v\rindovv Was I.,ou Flan1rner, David's supervisor. "Don't shoot until we get a picture of him alive," _con1rr1anded Flan1- mer. He pulled a photographer out of the limousine, and pushed him into the front rank.

Flammer saw David standing alone by the fence, his back to a gate. "Good boy, l)otter," called Flarnmer. "Right on the ball! Photographer got lost, and I had to bring him here my­ self "

The photographer fired his flash bulhs. The deer bucked and sprinted along the fenCe toward David. )avid unwired the gate, opened it wide. A second later the deer's white tail was flashing through the woods and gone.

2 36

D E E R I N T H E W O R K S

The profound silence was broken first by the whistling of a switch engine an.cl then by the click of a latch as David stepped into the woods and closed the gate behind him. He didn't look back.

(1955)

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237

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