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Beginning
Spring Boot 3
Build Dynamic Cloud-Native Java
Applications and Microservices
—
Second Edition
—
K. Siva Prasad Reddy
Sai Upadhyayula
Beginning Spring Boot 3
Build Dynamic Cloud-Native Java
Applications and Microservices
Second Edition
Introduction������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������xix
iii
Table of Contents
iv
Table of Contents
v
Table of Contents
vi
Table of Contents
vii
Table of Contents
viii
Table of Contents
ix
Table of Contents
Chapter 19: Spring Boot with Kotlin, Scala, and Groovy��������������������������������������� 393
Using Spring Boot with Groovy������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 393
Introducing Groovy�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 393
Creating a Spring Boot Application Using Groovy���������������������������������������������������������������� 397
Using Spring Boot with Scala���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 402
Introducing Scala���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 403
Creating a Spring Boot Application Using Scala������������������������������������������������������������������ 404
Using Spring Boot with Kotlin��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 410
Introducing Kotlin���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 410
Creating a Spring Boot Application Using Kotlin������������������������������������������������������������������ 411
Summary���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 417
x
Table of Contents
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 439
xi
About the Authors
Siva Prasad Reddy Katamareddy is a software architect with 16 years of experience
in building scalable distributed enterprise applications. He has worked in banking
and e-commerce domains using Java, Kotlin, GoLang, Spring Boot, JPA/Hibernate,
microservices, REST APIs, SQL, and NoSQL databases. His current technical focus
is on modern architectures, including microservices, CI/CD, and DevOps, as well as
infrastructure automation using Jenkins, Terraform, AWS CDK, and Pulumi.
xiii
About the Technical Reviewer
Preethi Vasudev earned an MS in Computer Information Systems and Cyber Security
from Auburn University, Alabama. She is an Oracle-certified Java 8 programmer with
more than 15 years of industry experience in investment banking, healthcare, and other
areas. She is interested in Java and related technologies and enjoys participating in
coding competitions.
xv
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my wife, Neha Jain, and my family members for their continuous
support all the days I spent writing this book.
I would like to express my gratitude to the Apress team, specifically to Steve Anglin
and Mark Powers, for their continuous support throughout the journey. I would also like
to thank the reviewers for providing valuable feedback that helped improve the quality of
the content.
I would like to thank and dedicate this to my lovely wife, Sowmya, for her continuous
support and my father, Phani Kumar, my mother, Malliswari, and my sister, Anusha.
I would like to also thank Mark Powers and Shonmirin for their continuous support
and patience throughout the journey. Special thanks also to the reviewers for the
valuable feedback.
xvii
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
Having got Mrs. Puma out of trouble we will follow White Tail in
the next story.
STORY IX
Young Black Buck Has an Accident
It is hard work to starve out Puma the Mountain Lion when treed,
and perhaps harder yet to imprison him on the side of a steep cliff.
Timber Wolf knew this, and after the escape of Mrs. Puma up the
tree, he grew uneasy, and decided that it was safer for him to lead the
pack back to their own hunting ground.
When they had gone Mrs. Puma leaped down to the ground, and
ran to the edge of the ravine to see what had become of her mate. She
was not greatly surprised when she saw that he had slowly made his
way to the bottom of the chasm, and was looking up to see where she
was. With a little cry of joy she trotted down to the end of the ravine
to rejoin him.
Meanwhile, of course, White Tail and Young Black Buck were
running like the wind, anxious to get as far away from their pursuers
as they could. They didn’t know what had happened at Black Ravine,
and they couldn’t stop to investigate. The fear that the wolves and
Mountain Lions might still be on their trail kept them going until
they were nearly exhausted.
One mile, two miles, three miles they ran without stopping or
looking around, fear lending speed to their legs. Then something
happened which brought them to a sudden halt. Young Black Buck
stumbled, and plunged headfirst to the ground. When he tried to get
up again, he groaned with pain, and held a fore-leg in the air as if it
hurt him.
“Oh, I’ve broken my leg!” he cried. “I can’t run another step.
They’ll catch me now, I know! I can’t escape them!”
White Tail, whose momentum had carried him some distance
ahead, stopped and turned around.
“Let me see it,” he said, sniffing at the leg. After quickly examining
it, he added; “No, it isn’t broken—only sprained. Can’t you stand on
it?”
“No, not for an instant. Oh, what will become of me! Hark! Isn’t
that Puma growling?”
“No,” replied White Tail, listening with his head flung back and his
nose in the air.
“Then it’s Timber calling, I’m sure it is.”
White Tail listened again. He was trembling himself, for the fright
and exhausting run had made him very nervous.
“It’s something, but I don’t think it’s Timber Wolf. He hasn’t had
time to run around the end of Black Ravine.”
“But he’ll be here soon,” whined Young Black Buck.
“Then we must be going. We can’t stay here. You must run on
three legs. You can do it.”
“Not so fast as Timber Wolf or Puma can run on four legs. Oh, you
won’t leave me, White Tail, will you? I shall die of fear if you do. I’ve
always been your friend.”
“I won’t leave you yet,” replied White Tail. “Lie down in the
bushes, and I will run back and see if I can find Timber or Puma. If
they’re coming—”
“Don’t leave me,” interrupted Young Black Buck.
Just then, when White Tail was uncertain what to do, and so
nervous that he couldn’t stand still, Downy the Woodpecker
appeared. He fluttered in a tree just as if he had been there waiting
for them all the time.
“Oh, Downy,” cried White Tail, “where are they? Are they on our
trail yet? Did they get across Black Ravine?”
Downy finished hauling a grub out of its hole in the tree bark
before he answered. “No,” he then said, “they didn’t get across Black
Ravine, but Puma got in it. And he’s there now, screaming with
rage.”
“He jumped and fell in it?” asked Young Black Buck.
“Yes,” nodded Downy. “He tried to show Timber’s family what he
could do, and he made a pretty sight of himself. He missed the
opposite side by a few inches, and if it hadn’t been for a small tree
growing on the rocks he would have fallen to the bottom, and been
killed.”
“I wish he had,” said Young Black Buck.
“Well, he wasn’t,” added Downy, “so it’s no good wishing for what
didn’t happen. He’ll roll down, and get on his feet again. It’s pretty
hard to kill Puma.”
“What did Timber and his pack do?” asked White Tail.
“They did just what you might expect of them. They jeered and
laughed at Puma, and then Mrs. Puma interfered.”
“I thought that Timber and Puma were friends,” said White Tail.
“Such selfish friendship as they had for each other doesn’t amount
to much. It only takes a little for them to fall out and begin fighting
each other. And that’s just what happened. Timber thought it was a
good time to attack Mrs. Puma, and his whole pack jumped at her.”
“And what happened then?” breathlessly asked White Tail.
“Mrs. Puma jumped too, and as she could jump faster and farther
than Timber she got away and ran up a tree. There I left her, with the
wolves howling underneath.”
“I think then they’ll give up the chase,” remarked White Tail. “It’s
very fortunate for us, for Young Black Buck has sprained his leg, and
will have to limp the rest of the way.”
“I can’t limp far on three legs,” whined Young Black Buck. “And we
are far away from the herd, aren’t we, Downy?”
“Yes, so many miles I can’t count them. You’ve been running away
from where you started, and it will take you a long, long time to get
home.”
White Tail and Young Black Buck were greatly distressed by this
information, for night was coming on, and to be caught after dark
away from the herd in the heart of a strange woods was a most
unpleasant outlook. White Tail might have made it by hard running,
but Young Black Buck could never do it, and White Tail wasn’t going
to leave him alone in the woods. He was too loyal for that.
“There doesn’t seem to be any choice in the matter,” White Tail
said. “We’ve got to stay here, and make the best of it.”
“But you could get home alone, White Tail, if you started right
away,” suggested Downy. “It will be moonlight early in the evening,
and you can find your way once you reach the shallow stream.”
“Yes, I know the way, but I couldn’t leave Young Black Buck
behind. No, I couldn’t think of it. We’ll find a resting place among the
bushes, and stay here until morning. Then maybe his leg will be
better.”
Downy nodded his head, and began pecking away at the bark of
the tree for another grub. Young Black Buck looked thankfully at the
speaker, but said nothing.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you soon,” Downy remarked after a
while. “I’m a long distance from my home, and I don’t see that I can
help you any by staying.”
“No,” smiled White Tail, “except to give us warning of danger
when it comes.”
“There’s no danger now unless—”
He stopped and listened attentively.
“Unless what, Downy?”
“I don’t know that I should say it, for I don’t want to frighten you,
but there are man hunters in this woods. They’ve pitched a camp a
few miles back of here. But if they haven’t dogs with them they won’t
find you. Just keep quiet here in the bushes until morning.”
“We certainly will,” replied White Tail. “I dread the man hunters as
much as Puma and Timber, especially if they have dogs.”
And all through the night, he thought and dreamt of the man
hunters, but nothing happened until morning, and then the distant
baying of a dog startled him.
STORY X
White Tail’s Magnanimous Act
White Tail could not mistake the sound of the dogs in the distance.
Neither could Young Black Buck, who was instantly on his feet. The
dread sound had more to do in curing the sprained foot than the
night’s rest, and he followed White Tail, trotting around and sniffing
the air in every direction.
“Are they coming this way?” Young Black Buck asked.
“It’s hard to tell,” replied White Tail. “I haven’t picked up their
scent yet, but I don’t need to. I hear them.”
“We must be going before they find us.”
“Is your lame leg strong enough?”
“Yes, it’s all right again—a little lame, but not much. Which way
shall we go?”
Unconsciously Young Black Buck had been depending upon White
Tail ever since danger first threatened them, and this was a sure sign
that he recognized qualities of leadership in his rival that he did not
possess. And White Tail had accepted it without giving it much
thought.
“I think,” he said finally, “they’re off to the right where Downy said
the white hunters had their camp. Then we should go to the left.”
“But that will take us to the hunting grounds of Puma and Timber
Wolf,” protested Young Black Buck.
“Yes, I know, but we can swing around north of them before we
reach their woods. At any rate we can’t run right into danger.”
White Tail took up the lead, and Young Black Buck followed. They
stole away in the woods almost as silently as shadows. A well worn
trail led into the darkest and thickest part of the forest, and as this
kept going straight away from the man hunter’s camp they stuck
close to it.
“Maybe this is Puma’s trail,” Young Black Buck remarked after
they had gone a considerable distance. “No deer have been this way.”
“No, of course not. This isn’t our woods, but Puma hasn’t been
here. I could smell him.”
“Then Timber Wolf and his pack made it.”
“No, it hasn’t Timber’s smell either.”
White Tail had his nose close to the ground, and while he couldn’t
quite make out whose trail it was he felt confident that it wasn’t that
of either Puma or Timber.
Still it is always dangerous to follow an unknown trail. It’s against
the law of the herd for the leader to do so, and had White Tail known
it he would have taken to the thick woods. But he thought he was
doing right, for it was much easier to travel faster in this way.
He was jogging along cautiously when the trail became suddenly
very strong and fresh. He stopped and flung up his head. That animal
odor that had caught his nose, startled him.
But the sight which met his eyes startled him more than the
strange odor. There standing directly in the broad trail, grinning at
them, was Buster the Bear. What a shock it gave him! Buster seemed
to tower up so big that he looked like a giant of a bear.
With a snort of fear, White Tail turned and sprang out of the trail,
clearing a clump of bushes in a beautiful jump, and calling to Young
Black Buck to follow. The latter didn’t need this advice, for he was
already out of the trail, running for dear life.
Now back in the broad trail, Buster, who had been nearly as much
surprised as they, suddenly roared with glee, his fat sides shaking
and wobbling. “Ho! Ho!” he laughed. “What a scare I gave them! And
I didn’t open my mouth. I wonder what they’d done if I’d roared like
this.”
He let out a roar that shook the leaves off the bushes, and made
White Tail and Young Black Buck run harder than ever. To them it
seemed as if that roar was trying to catch them, and they couldn’t
dodge its echo.
But, of course, Buster wasn’t pursuing them. In the first place, he
knew he couldn’t overtake them, and in the second he wasn’t
particularly hungry and rarely killed deer or bucks. He was too kind-
hearted for that. But he did enjoy a joke, and he thought it was a
huge one to scare them half out of their wits.
White Tail and Young Black Buck ran without knowing which way
they were going. In fact they might have run straight into the camp of
the man hunters if they hadn’t been stopped by the sudden baying of
the dogs.
This time the dogs were so close that they couldn’t expect to throw
them off their scent. In fact, one of them saw White Tail’s head, and
immediately gave the signal. He rushed for them with wild yelps of
delight, and two others followed him.
The two bucks swung around in another direction, and ran pell-
mell through the woods. The fear of the dogs made them forget
Buster. Indeed White Tail realized his mistake now. He knew that
Buster could not overtake him in a race, but the dogs of the man
hunters might. They would follow them night and day until
exhaustion killed one or the other.
“We’re in for it now,” White Tail said to his companion, breathing
hard. “The dogs are fresh, and we’re not. We must find a river to
throw them off our scent.”
But finding a river in a strange woods was not an easy thing to do.
So far as they knew there was no river there. They were completely
turned around, and hardly knew which direction to take to reach
home.
Young Black Buck soon began to show signs of weariness, and his
lame leg hurt him again. In vain White Tail urged him on, but he
couldn’t run any faster. The dogs would certainly soon overtake him.
Then White Tail did a magnanimous thing. He couldn’t bear to
leave his companion behind to be pulled down by the dogs, while he
escaped. No, no, that would never do for one who some day expected
to be leader of the herd!
“Young Black Buck,” he said, running along by the side of the
panting creature, “you run straight on as hard as you can. I’m going
to stop here until the dogs see me. Then I’ll lead them off to the left.
So long as they can see me they’ll follow me and forget the scent.
When I get them far enough away I’ll run faster, and get away from
them. You understand?”
Young Black Buck nodded his head. He was too tired to reply in
words. “Then go on! I’ll wait here until the dogs come up.”
It was a risky thing to do, but White Tail felt that alone he could
outrun the dogs. At any rate he was going to do that much for his
companion.
He didn’t have long to wait. The baying hounds soon appeared,
and catching sight of White Tail they started for him with yelps of
delight. White Tail sprang away in the bushes, but not so fast that the
dogs lost sight of him. He noticed that all three were chasing him.
Then, when some distance away from the fork in the trail, he
increased his speed.
In a very short time he was out of sight again, but the hounds were
on his scent. They had lost Young Black Buck’s, and there was no
chance of their picking it up again.
Away on the wind White Tail flew. His tremendous strides carried
him far in the lead. Mile after mile he covered, his proud head flung
back, his nostrils distended. It was a killing pace, but the dogs held
on behind. How long could he stand it? Another mile, and the pace
began to tell on him. He was growing weary and exhausted. But the
dogs were still coming!
When he began to fear he could not escape, it began to rain, falling
gently at first, and then more heavily.
In the next story you will read of how the rain helped him.
STORY XI
White Tail’s Adventure in the Camp
The rain made White Tail’s difficulties worse, for the logs and
stones were so slippery that he stumbled time and again, and to
avoid a fall he had to slacken his pace. The dogs on the other hand,
kept up their pace, as the slippery things did not seem to bother
them, and they began to gain on the fleeing buck very rapidly. Their
deep baying drew so near that White Tail became startled.
But all this time the rain was planning to help the buck, although
he did not know it at the time. He was feeling very uncomfortable, as
well as frightened. The steady downpour soaked him to the skin, and
the driving wind splashed the rain-drops in his eyes, half blinding
him.
When the dogs drew so near that White Tail felt they would soon
see him, he turned abruptly around, and ran at right angles to his
former course. He had not tried dodging before, but had kept on a
straight course.
To his surprise he heard the barking of the dogs grow suddenly
fainter, and then very confused. The fact was the heavy downpour of
rain had nearly blotted out his trail, and the dogs could not readily
pick it up again. So long as he kept on in straight course, the dogs
had followed him.
But now, by dodging, White Tail found he could easily elude them,
so faint was the scent he left behind. The rain washed that away, and
completely baffled the dogs.
It was a great blessing, for White Tail was badly winded. He was so
tired that as soon as he left the dogs far in the rear he sought shelter
from the rain. He was almost exhausted with his efforts, and a bed of
leaves or grass would be the greatest blessing in the world.
Directly ahead of him, he saw an old deserted open camp standing
in a partial clearing. It was built of pine logs, with the bark left on,
and a roof and three sides. The front was left open, with an old camp-
fire place of stones and rocks a few feet away.
At first White Tail stopped and looked at the camp suspiciously. If
the man hunters lived in it, he should avoid it as he would Puma or
Timber, but if it were deserted there would be no harm in seeking
shelter under its roof. He watched, listened and sniffed for a long
time before he dared approach it.
Then by degrees he walked closer until he had a chance to look
inside. There was no one there, and it had not been inhabited for a
long, long time. White Tail could tell this by the absence of any odor.
“I think it’s safe,” he muttered after another close examination.
“I’ll spend the night here. I’m dreadfully tired, and so wet I’m cold
and shivery.”
He walked under the sheltering roof, and found a bed of sweet-
smelling spruce boughs in one corner. They were perfectly dry, and
White Tail gave a grunt of satisfaction. It was a dry shelter, with a
soft, dry bed already prepared for him. He dropped down on it with a
sigh of intense relief.
It rained hard all night. White Tail could hear the floods of water
pouring on the roof of his shelter, but under it the place was dry and
warm. Darkness came early in the woods, and it was soon pitchy
black.
He felt perfectly safe if none of the night prowlers appeared. The
rain, however, was a protection to him, for even Puma and Timber
rarely ventured forth in such a storm. They preferred to do their
hunting on clear, dry nights when the scent of their prey was clear
and distinct.
“I don’t think anybody will disturb me until morning,” White Tail
said, “and I can rest here in peace.”
But of course you can never tell what may happen in the
wildwoods. Suppose Puma or Timber Wolf should be caught away
from home in the rain! If they were, and saw the open camp, they
would very naturally seek it for shelter just as White Tail had done.
It was quite early in the evening when White Tail was awakened
from slumber by a thump, thump outside. It came nearer and nearer.
White Tail was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe. He
trembled in every limb. Some animal was coming around the side of
the open camp.
Before White Tail could leap to his feet to run, a head was thrust
around the corner, and a pair of wonderful eyes looked at him. At the
same instant the owner of them caught sight of White Tail’s.
“Hello, Bumper!” White Tail exclaimed, when he recognized
Bumper the White Rabbit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m White Tail the Deer.”
“Well, I’m mighty glad of that,” replied Bumper, approaching.
“You gave me an awful start at first. I thought you were Mr. Fox or
Sneaky the Wolf or Puma.”
“And I thought you were Timber Wolf or the man hunters or their
dogs.”
“Seeing that we were both wrong then,” said Bumper, “we might
share this camp between us. You have no objection, I hope.”
“No, I’m glad to have company. I’m dreadfully excited and
alarmed.”
Then he told the White Rabbit about his adventures, ending up
with the pursuit by the dogs, and his escape to the deserted camp.
“You certainly did have a hard time of it,” said Bumper when he
had finished. “And you’re a long way from home. I do hope you can
get back without accident. What’s that?”
Bumper stopped, and White Tail raised his head in alarm. There
was a scream outside, and then a wild commotion in the bushes. The
next moment something came rushing in the camp, and flopped
down right at White Tail’s feet.
It was Rusty the Blackbird. “Help! Help! Oh, help me!” Rusty
cried. “Great Horn the Owl is after me! Here he comes now!”
And out of the darkness swept a shadowy figure that hardly made
any noise; but the moment it saw White Tail it stopped and circled
around his head. White Tail raised his head, and swung his big
antlers threateningly at Great Horn.
“Look out,” he said, “or I’ll hit you! Don’t come any nearer, Great
Horn!”
“Is that you, White Tail?” asked Great Horn. “I didn’t know you
were here. Well, I won’t disturb you. I’m after Rusty there at your
feet. Let me have him, and I will leave at once.”
“You will leave at once without Rusty,” replied White Tail. “He’s a
friend of mine, and I’m going to protect him.”
“Hoot! Hoot!” shouted the Owl in laughter. “I’ll take him whether
you want me to or not.”
He made a swift dive for poor Rusty, but White Tail’s big antlers
swung around and knocked him over. One prong hurt Great Horn so
that he flew back to a safe place.
“If you come nearer, I’ll hurt you worse the next time,” warned
White Tail.
Great Horn sat there and considered for some time, his great eyes
blinking and winking. “What are you doing here, White Tail?” he
asked finally. “Don’t you know you’re on Puma’s hunting grounds?
Well, if you don’t know it you ought to. I think Puma might be
interested in knowing it. Now give me Rusty at once or I’ll fly away,
and tell Puma.”
This threat made Rusty tremble, and Bumper shiver in his corner
where he was hiding under the boughs; but White Tail did neither.
“Go, and tell him, Great Horn,” he replied. “I won’t give up Rusty. I’ll
protect my friends.”
And Great Horn flew away. What he did will appear in the next
story.
STORY XII
White Tail Escapes
The moment Great Horn the Owl flew out of the open camp to tell
Puma of White Tail’s hiding place, Bumper hopped from his place in
the corner, and Rusty jumped to a perch on one of the buck’s antlers.
“Oh, dear,” began Rusty, “I’ve brought trouble upon you, White
Tail! Great Horn will guide Puma here. I wish now I’d never flown in
here.”
“No, you don’t wish that, Rusty,” replied White Tail. “If you hadn’t
come here Great Horn would have killed you.”
“And now Puma will kill you.”
“Not if I can help it,” smiled White Tail. “He’s been on my trail
before, and I shook him off.”
Then he told Rusty of his adventures.
“You’re wonderful, White Tail,” the Blackbird said when he had
finished. “You saved Young Black Buck’s life, and nearly lost your
own. Now you’ve saved my life, and got yourself in more danger. I
wish I could do something to help you in return.”
“Probably you can, Rusty. Who knows? I’m terribly mixed up in
these strange woods. I hardly know which way to go to find home.
Perhaps you can direct me.”
“Yes, I can do that easily.”
“Thanks! That’s one good turn you can do me. Now for another. Is
there any river or stream near here that I can reach? If so I can go to
it before Puma comes, and then wade down it to throw him off my
scent.”
“Why, yes, there’s a shallow brook only a mile from here. I can take
you to that.”
“Which way shall I go—up or down the brook?”
“Go down it a couple of miles until it runs in the stream where
Father Buck let the herd feed on the rushes this morning—the place
you started from when you ran the race with Young Black Buck.”
“In that case,” replied White Tail, “I think I’ll be going right away.
I’m anxious to be off.”
“But it’s a dreadful night outside. Hear it rain.”
“Yes, but it would be more dreadful to stay here until Great Horn
and Puma appeared. Puma would kill me, and Great Horn would
pounce upon you.”
“Yes, of course, we must go—right away, rain or no rain.”
Bumper, who had been listening to the conversation, hopped to
the entrance, and then came back. “If I’m any judge,” he said, “I don’t
think you’ll have such a wet trip. That shower was the last. The
clouds are breaking away, and the moon will soon be out.”
White Tail was instantly on his feet, and beat Rusty to the front
where the two of them gazed up at the rain clouds now growing thin
and ragged in places. They saw a star twinkle in the east, and then
another and another. The storm was, indeed, over, and the night trip
through the woods would not be so disagreeable.
“I must be off at once, Rusty,” White Tail said. “Puma may be back
any minute.”
“You can’t start any too soon to suit me, White Tail, for if Puma
comes Great Horn will be with him. Come on! I’m ready.”
“It seems to me,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t consider me at all.
I’m not even invited to go with you.”
“We thought you’d prefer to stay in this dry camp,” replied White
Tail. “It’s very comfortable here, and you can hide under the spruce
boughs.”
The White Rabbit sniffed. “How long do you suppose it would take
Puma to find me?” he asked. “When he found you’d gone, he’d eat
me up instead. A rabbit makes only a mouthful for Puma, but it’s
better than nothing. No, I’m going with you.”
So the three started forth, leaving the shelter of the camp for the
wet trail of the woods. And how wet everything was! The trail was
soaked with water, and every leaf and bough was dripping with
moisture. Every bush they touched threw a shower of rain-drops all
over them.
Rusty led the way, hopping and flying from bush to bush, with
Bumper following next, and White Tail bringing up the rear. Bumper
was as familiar with the woods as Rusty, and White Tail really
followed him, although at times the White Rabbit took short cuts
through narrow paths which the buck could not tread.
It was very quiet and solemn in the woods. After the rain the
stillness seemed intensified by the occasional splatter of water, as
some overladened tree branch dipped its load and let it fall to the
ground. No birds or animals were abroad, and they made half the
distance without accident or alarm.
Then back of them came a fearful roar that startled the echoes of
the wildwoods. It was Puma the Mountain Lion.
“He’s found we’ve escaped!” cried Rusty. “Oh, do hurry! He’ll pick
up your trail, and Great Horn will find me. Hurry! Hurry!”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed White Tail. “Can’t you find a hiding
place, Rusty?”
“Yes, many of them, but I must show you the way to the shallow
brook.”
“No, you tell me how to find it,” interrupted White Tail. “I can run
much faster alone.”
“It’s straight ahead, White Tail.”
“Then find a hiding place in the bushes. Good-bye, and thank you!”
“Are you going to leave me, White Tail?” asked Bumper.
“Yes, Bumper, for you travel too slow for me. You must find a
burrow, and run for it. There must be one around here.”
“Yes, there’s a good one not far from here. But don’t you need me?”
“No, Bumper, I can outrun you, and if you come along Puma may
overtake me. Good-bye, and thank you! I’m off now.”
Bumper waited until White Tail was out of sight and hearing. Then
he sought a safe burrow, and stood at the entrance to watch and
listen. Pretty soon he heard a crash in the bushes, as Puma came
dashing along. Close behind him was Great Horn the Owl, flitting
from tree to tree.
“I wonder where Rusty is,” Great Horn was saying. “I don’t see him
anywhere.”
“Neither do I see White Tail,” roared back Puma, “but I smell him.
I’m on the right trail.”
“I wish I could smell Rusty. My eyes are good, but my nose isn’t as
sharp as yours, Puma.”
“I don’t care where Rusty is,” was the reply. “I want White Tail,
and I’m going to catch him this time. He can’t escape as he did
before.”
They swept past Bumper, and made their way down the trail. The
White Rabbit sighed, and said: “I do hope White Tail will escape.”
And White Tail hoped so too. Meanwhile, he was running with all
his might. As soon as he had left his two friends, he leaped through
the bushes or over them, with his head aimed straight for the brook.
He heard the roar of Puma behind him, and this spurred him on to
greater speed.
When he finally reached the shallow brook, he waded in and
rapidly followed it down toward its mouth where it joined the wider
stream. When Puma reached the brook he was baffled. The scent he
had been following suddenly stopped.
“Which way has he gone?” he growled. “Up or down? I’ll go up,
Great Horn, and you go down. If you see him hoot to me, and I’ll
come.”
Puma crossed the stream and ran up it on the opposite side, and
Great Horn flitted down it. Of course, Great Horn found White Tail,
but what happened then will appear next.
STORY XIII
White Tail Hears Unpleasant News
Great Horn found White Tail a long way down the stream, but by
that time morning was dawning, and the light began to hurt the
Owl’s eyes. He caught a glimpse of something moving through the
bushes, and flew toward it, for he could not in the early light see very
far.
“Ah! I’ve found you, White Tail!” he cried. “I knew it was you.”
“How did you know it, Great Horn?” asked White Tail. “I know you
can’t see very well in this light. I don’t believe you can see me yet.
You only hear me.”
“The idea!” snapped Great Horn. “I can see you as well as you can
see me.”
“I don’t believe it,” replied White Tail. “Can you see Rusty sitting
on the end of my antlers?”
“Rusty! Rusty! Is he there?” exclaimed Great Horn excitedly. Now
the thought of being so near to his prey made him very hungry, and
he flew straight at White Tail’s head. This was what the buck wanted,
and when the Owl was close enough he swung his antlers around
swiftly and caught Great Horn on the end. The blow was enough to
knock the breath out of the bird, and he fell with a plump in the
bushes.
“That’s for betraying me to Puma,” White Tail said. “Now call to
him when you can get back your breath. I’m off.”
And through the bushes he ran, leaving Great Horn so surprised
and stunned that he couldn’t call to Puma for a long time. White Tail
had made good his escape.
A few yards through the woods he came upon the other stream, the
broad river which he knew so well. He crossed this, and made his
way up the other embankment. Then, with the woods before him
familiar to his eyes and nose, he ran rapidly toward home. He had
made his way out of Puma’s hunting and through the higher
timberland to his home.
His appearance was hailed with delight by all his friends. “Oh,
White Tail, we thought you were dead!” exclaimed one.
“Dead! Huh! Why should you think that?” he sniffed.
“Young Black Buck said you were. He left you, and he was sure the
dogs would catch you. He was sorry for you, but you couldn’t keep up
with him, and he didn’t want to die because you couldn’t run as fast
as he.”
“What!” exclaimed White Tail. “Has Young Black Buck returned?
And did he tell such a tale?”
“Why, yes, that’s what he said.”
With a roar of rage at this falsehood, White Tail pushed his way
into the middle of the herd, and stood face to face before Young
Black Buck.
“You have been spreading more false stories about me, Young
Black Buck!” he said. “After the way I saved you from the dogs, you
lie about me!”
Young Black Buck stood all atremble at the sight of White Tail. He
had truly believed that the dogs would catch him, and he thought
there would be no harm in telling a story of his escape that would
hurt White Tail and help himself.
“Listen!” White Tail added, swinging around and facing the herd.
“Listen to a story of treachery. Young Black Buck has lied to you, and
you must hear me. When he stumbled and sprained his leg, I stayed
with him until it healed. Then when the man hunters started the
dogs on our trail, we ran together until Young Black Buck’s weak leg
crippled him again. The dogs would have caught him, but I waited
for them, and when they saw me I led them off on my trail. Young
Black Buck escaped while I led the dogs a merry chase. I saved his
life, and he rewards me for it by lies—nothing but lies!”
The commotion that followed these words was great, and the herd
gazed from one speaker to the other.
“I challenge you to deny it!” continued White Tail, facing Young
Black Buck. “See he cannot deny it! He knows it to be the truth!”
Young Black Buck, indeed, looked guilty. His limbs were
trembling, and his head drooping. For once he had no ready story to
explain his lies.
“To punish you for it, Young Black Buck, I challenge you to a
fight!” went on White Tail, now so enraged that he wanted to punish
his rival.
It was then that Black Buck interfered.
“Cease your quarreling over such petty things,” he said. “There are
greater things for the herd to consider than this.”
“What can be greater than a question of honor?” interrupted White
Tail boldly. “Your son has spread falsehoods about me, and I
challenge him to prove it by fighting.”
“And I tell you to cease your quarreling,” added Black Buck. “You
may need your strength for a different kind of challenge. Know you
not what has happened?”
White Tail looked mystified. Suddenly it occurred to him that he
hadn’t seen Father Buck or Mother Deer. They hadn’t come forth to
greet him. Had anything serious happened to them?
“No, I don’t know what has happened,” White Tail admitted. “I
have been away, and know nothing.”
“Then listen!” replied Black Buck. “Our leader has failed. He
stumbled in the chase, and missed his footing. When we crossed the
brook he failed to clear it. He is no longer our leader. He’s old and
broken. Tomorrow we meet at the Council Tree to choose a new
leader.”
White Tail stood dumbfounded. Father Buck had been disgraced!
He had fallen and missed his footing! He had failed to cross the
brook in a single jump! He was to be deposed as leader!
It seemed incredible, and White Tail was on the point of saying so
when he remembered the words of Father Buck, and his prediction
that some day he would fail through old age and weakness. The thing
had happened then in his absence. White Tail was glad of that, for it
would have been hard for him to witness the leader’s downfall.
Without another word to Black Buck, he whirled around to hunt
up Father Buck and Mother Deer. He wanted the truth from their
lips, and not from one who found pleasure in it. The sneer in Black
Buck’s words angered him.
He found the two quietly resting under a tree back of the herd, a
little to one side as if they had already been cast out and ignored by
those who had so recently looked up to them. Mother Deer rose and
ran to greet her son.
“It is well, White Tail, that you’ve come back at this time,” she said
quietly. “You have heard the news?”
“Yes, I’ve heard it. It is true then—that—that—”
“Yes, my son,” interrupted Father Buck, “I have led my last chase.
Never again will the herd follow me. What must come to all of us at
some time has befallen me. There is nothing to regret. One and all
must face it sooner or later. Why should we not accept it
complacently?”
White Tail was surprised, and yet pleased, by the quiet acceptance
Father Buck took of his downfall. It softened the load that he was
carrying in his own heart.
“I prepared you for it, you remember White Tail,” the old leader
continued. “Well, tomorrow they will choose a new leader. They will
demand that I step aside. But until then I’m leader, and no one shall
dispute that right.”
He rose and shook his huge antlered head, looking for all the world
like a leader, and when he bellowed an order every one started. He
was not yet deposed. In the next story what happened at the Council
Tree will be told.
STORY XIV
Choosing A New Leader
The call for a meeting at the Council Tree was issued to the herd by
Father Buck himself. It was his duty to do this, for the law of the herd
is that a leader is still in command, and his word must be obeyed,
until he has been deposed and another chosen.
White Tail had been twice at the Council Tree before, but never on
such a momentous occasion as this. His own initiation into the
secrets of the council was nothing compared to the choosing of a new
leader. He felt the weight of responsibility that was laid upon him,
for the time had come for him to succeed his father or fail forever.
The choosing of a leader did not happen often. Once in a life time
was the average. Unless something happened to a leader to cut him
down accidentally in the prime of his life, or Puma or Timber pulled
him down in the chase, no successor was chosen until he grew too
weak and decrepit to lead. The event was, therefore, an important
one, and long to be remembered by those who took part in it.
Father Buck had led the herd for so many seasons that none but
the older ones could remember when he was not their leader. In all
those days and seasons he had been shrewd, wise and courageous so
that few accidents had happened to any of the deer. His had been the
most successful leadership that any could recall.
When they assembled at the Council Tree, Father Buck was there
ahead of them, standing lonely and aloof in the place of honor under
the big tree. His lordly head, with its great spread of antlers, was held
high, so that some of those who had come to scoff and laugh at him
felt a sudden awe. There was none of the meekness and humility of a
fallen leader in his attitude.
Black Buck and the other older bucks, who had long years before
contended with Father Buck for leadership, were impressed by his
looks, and they took their places in the semi-circle in uneasy silence.
Suppose Father Buck should challenge again for leadership despite
his failure of the previous day! Could any of them win in a mighty
battle with him? They, too, were growing old, and their limbs and
eyes were not as strong and sure as when they were young.
“You know the law of the herd, and of my people,” Father Buck
announced when all the deer were there. “Yesterday I failed you. It
was the first time since I became your leader. Now the call is for a
new leader unless I challenge for it again, and win it by my might.”
He swung his antlered head around at the half circle of older
bucks. There was a menace and challenge in the beautiful eyes.
“We want a new leader!” bellowed Black Buck angrily. “You can’t
lead us again, Father Buck! You have failed in the chase. Twice you
failed within a day. A new leader is what we demand!”
There was a chorus of approvals, and Black Buck gained courage
by the backing his words received, but Father Buck cut him off short.
“Be silent!” he said. “I am still leader, and my word is law! If I
choose to challenge again, the right is mine. It is the law of the herd.
Who speaks otherwise?”
There was no disputing this. The law of the herd was very simple,
and it had to be obeyed. Even Black Buck knew this, and if he chose
Father Buck could challenge and prove his right to remain leader if
he proved himself better than all others.
“If you challenge again,” began Black Buck, “you must do battle
with the young bucks as well as the others. That’s the law isn’t it?”
“It is!” replied Father Buck. “Young and old may meet the
challenger. But I first issue my challenge to the older ones. That is
my right. I may be old and weak, my eyes may be growing dim, and
my legs less active and sure; but I am still leader, and I issue the first
challenge. All you bucks more than three seasons old step forth! It is
to you I issue this challenge. Come and accept it. I will fight for the
leadership!”
An uneasy thrill swept the multitude. Each turned to look the other
in the eye. Who would accept Father Buck’s challenge? Black Buck
hesitated, measuring the sturdy limbs of the leader with his own, and
comparing the thick-set neck and head of antlers with those of his
immediate neighbors. There was not one qualified to enter the lists
and hope to carry off the honors.
“I hear no one!” shouted Father Buck. “The challenge is not
accepted. So be it! Then we come to the second challenge. Here, too,
the law gives me the right to fight with the younger bucks for
leadership. We have many of them—young, sturdy, bright-eyed
offsprings of ours who will some day win honors in the chase. They
have eyes as keen as ours were at one time; limbs as straight and
strong; minds as active and intelligent. We have taught them the
ways of the woods, and they come to the Council Tree today to prove
their rights.”
He stopped and gazed around at the big assembly. His words and
commanding figure had made even Father Buck’s worst enemies
respectful. The outcome of the meeting was still uncertain and
wrapped in mystery.
“Therefore,” the leader continued after a pause, “it is for them to
decide the leadership. I have no wish to challenge them. I could not
conquer them if I chose. It shall be as they decide. Who of the
younger ones challenges for the high honor of leader to take my
place?”
A thrill of excitement passed around, for the crucial moment had
now arrived. Father Buck did not intend to fight to retain the
leadership. There was an instant pause in which you could have
heard a twig snap, and then Young Black Buck, with head held high,
stepped to the center of the semi-circle. He trotted gracefully around
several times, and then halted before Father Buck.
“I, Young Black Buck, son of Black Buck of Dismal Swamp,
challenge for the leadership! I shall prove my right to it by the one
test that is required by the law of the herd—a battle with all comers!”
“It is well, Young Black Buck!” replied Father Buck, looking at the
haughty eyes of the challenger. “You have been the first to challenge.
Is there any other?”
The aged leader turned his head just a little so that his eyes could
rest upon White Tail, but it did not need this look to inspire his son.
White Tail had already started forward, and with no less pride and
dignity than Young Black Buck he trotted into the center of the
clearing.
“I, White Tail, son of your great leader and of Mother Deer, accept
the challenge. As I have proved greater than Young Black Buck in the
chase, in the long jump, and in other ways, I shall prove to you in
combat that I am better fitted to lead the herd than he.”
The excitement reached a climax when White Tail had finished his
challenge, but Father Buck raised his head again to speak.
“Who next challenges! The law of the herd permits any one under
three seasons. Who speaks?”
There was no answer, and no one stepped forward. The aged
leader cast his eyes slowly around the crowd to make sure he had
missed none, and then returned to the two challengers.
“So be it!” he said. “The leadership shall be settled between these
two—White Tail and Young Black Buck. The herd must accept the
victor as their leader.”
In the next story will come the combat.
STORY XV
The Great Combat
Now the law of the herd says that the challengers for leadership
shall fight until one or the other is victor. If it takes hours or days or
weeks it must continue until one is beaten and can no longer fight.
The rules are simple. He must prove himself the victor by strength,
cunning, intelligence, trickery or any other way. The leader must be
supreme so that none again dare challenge his authority.
It is always a battle royal in the woods. It never ends in a draw,
except in those few sad but rare cases when horns and antlers get
interlocked, and neither can pull away until both starve. Then a new
challenge must be issued, and another leader chosen. Of this, both
White Tail and Young Black Buck knew, and above all they sought to
keep their horns and antlers from becoming interlocked. It availed
the victor little to conquer if he starved with the vanquished.
When they sprang toward each other with lowered heads, they
kept a wary eye out for the other’s twisted antlers. It was a light
charge at first, a mere test of skill and strength; but their heads came
together with a shock that sounded throughout the woods.
Then they withdrew, and trotted around each other, waiting for a
favorable opening. Both knew that one blow against the side or limbs
of the other would cripple his antagonist so the fight would be short.
After circling White Tail three times, Young Black Buck launched his
head straight for the flanks of his enemy, and for a moment it looked
as if he would gain a great advantage; but at the critical instant White
Tail turned and met the charge head-on. The clash of antlers was
terrific but neither went down.
Next they butted in short, sharp swings of the head, slashing,
cutting and pounding with all their might. It was like a close-in
sparring match between two skilled boxers, each waiting for an
opening to deliver a fatal blow. But both were as swift in defense as
in offense.
They withdrew from the conflict, and trotted around each other
once more. This time White Tail led the attack. Rearing on his hind
legs, he brought all the weight of his body in a downward blow that
made Young Black Buck shake and tremble. For a moment neither
could recover from the terrible shock, so swift and powerful had the
blow been. A thrill of excitement went through the assembled herd.
“Well done!” exclaimed Father Buck.
“But not better than my son can do!” echoed Black Buck.
To prove the truth of his father’s words, Young Black Buck turned
a complete circle, suddenly reared, and brought his head down in
another terrific blow. White Tail received it, and for a time their
horns and antlers became locked. They pulled and jerked, pushed
and twisted all over the open space to free their heads. With a sudden
snap, the antlers loosened, and they were free once more.
The battle grew more vigorous now that the two combatants were
warmed to the fray. They began to put more speed in their motions,
and more force in their blows. Confident that neither one could take
advantage of the other, they fell back to hard hitting. In this strength
counted, and it was soon seen that they were pretty evenly matched.
Again and again they received and administered punishment.
It may have seemed cruel to one not acquainted with the laws of
the wild deer, but not so to the spectators nor to the fighters. The
leadership had to be decided in this manner, and either combatant
had the right to stop it by yielding to the other. But neither White
Tail nor Young Black Buck had any intention of doing this.
The blood of the older ones was warmed by the sight. Father Buck
recalled the day when he fought Black Buck for leadership, and he
was proud of his son now fighting over again his own battles. Even
Mother Deer, tenderhearted as she was, admired and applauded
White Tail. She knew the battle once decided in his favor would
never have to be repeated.
White Tail suddenly delivered a crushing blow upon his enemy’s
head that brought him to his knees. For an instant every one held his
breath, but before White Tail could take advantage of it with another
blow he slipped and nearly fell to his own knees. Young Black Buck
was up in an instant, and made a wild rush for his adversary. White
Tail was prepared, and received it steadily.
The combat continued for an hour, two hours, three hours, until
the flanks of both were covered with foam. And still they butted and
bucked, and fought with all their might! Their breath was coming in
short gasps, and their eyes flashing defiance.
All that morning the fight continued, with slight intervals for rest.
Then they returned to it, each more determined than ever to defeat
his rival. Young Black Buck soon showed signs of weakening, and his
father noticing it, called out:
“Let them rest until another day! They have done enough today!”
“No! no!” shouted a dozen voices.
“The combat must go on!” replied Father Buck. “Not until they
both ask for a rest can it stop.”
It was renewed with greater vigor. Growing weak by the strain,
they fell more often to their knees. The crashing of horns in mighty
blows could no longer be resisted so easily. They were longer in
recovering from the blows, and slower in getting to their feet.
“Shall we put it off until another day?” asked Young Black Buck
suddenly to his rival.
“No, it shall be settled today,” replied White Tail, breathing hard.
“I can fight for weeks yet. I remember your lies about me, Young
Black Buck. I recall your treachery in the woods! I think of how you
lost me in Dismal Swamp so I might be disgraced! And now you shall
be punished for them! I shall fight you until you can’t get up again!”
“That will never happen, White Tail! You can never do that!”
But this boast was hard to make good. Young Black Buck was
showing weariness. Again and again he stumbled and fell to his
knees. And each time White Tail sprang at him and delivered a series
of mighty blows with his head.
Once Young Black Buck failed to get quickly back to his feet, and
White Tail rushed him. With all the speed and power he could
summon he delivered a crushing blow, and knocked his rival down
until all four legs were doubled up under him.
White Tail stood over him. “Call me leader!” he snorted.
“Never!” grunted Young Black Buck, and tried to rise. White Tail
knocked him flat again before he could rise.
“Call me leader!” he challenged again.
“Never!” came a fainter cry.
Again White Tail flattened him out, and issued the challenge the
third time, and once more Young Black Buck refused.
Four times White Tail flattened him on the ground, and the fifth
time Young Black Buck could not rise.
“Call me leader!”
There was no response. Young Black Buck was too weak to answer.
White Tail stood over him. Three times Young Black Buck tried to
rise, but fell back. He was too weak to respond to the challenge or to
get to his feet. The battle was over! White Tail was victor!
“Who challenges my leadership now!” White Tail bellowed, glaring
around. And none replied! Their very silence made him their choice.
In the next story White Tail succeeds his father and becomes leader
of the herd.
STORY XVI
White Tail Made Leader of the Herd