232 ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDERNESS 
his proud, sensitive nose into it, and daintily filled 
his mouth while the mittened hand of Johnny 
touched gently, with admiration and a little awe, 
his branching horns. OJ Buck shook his head 
angrily. He resented this familiarity. Johnny 
respected his feelings—and respected his horns— 
and withdrew his hand. But Ol’ Buck did not 
go away. He took another mouthful of oats. 
After all, this was Johnny. Johnny was a man, 
but a different kind of man. He did not shoot— 
he fed. Men could be kind and friendly, as well 
as cruel and hostile. Ol Buck was confronted 
with the same paradox which has confused the 
philosophers and theologians, through all the 
centuries—and, like them, he was making the 
best of it, while the kindness held out! 
Would it always hold out? He did not know. 
Perhaps he did not wonder. He at least was sure 
of Johnny now—and the oats. He, the wildest, 
most wary of his clan, was eating from a dish held 
in the lap of ahuman! Ol Buck was tamed. 
But when the snow melted and the natural food 
supply was again uncovered, and the sap stirred 
in the maple shoots, Ol’ Buck was off through his 
