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During Chaffer's life, his wife had left it to him to defend her, but, deprived of his help, and bereft of her little one, she stood at bay no longer the gentle, timid chamois, but an indignant, furious animal, ready to defend her kid with her life. Not being sure whether the baby chamois was dead or not, the hunters tried to make the mother leave the small body, but in vain.
But they were hunters, and it was their living, and so in due course of time Chaffer's fine pair of horns were sold, the skin of his wife was turned into soft, yellow leather, and the skin of his little one was made into gloves. Jinks lay at his master's feet, his forepaws stretched out in front of him, and his sharp-pointed, black nose nestling comfortably on them.
Chaffer tried this plan now, and with good effect for a time, but he could smell the man coming nearer and nearer, and began to be terribly frightened. Timid and nervous to a wonderful degree, and of a cautious, suspicious nature, Chaffer's excitement grew intense, and his small, pointed ears quivered painfully.