Nobody knows where or when this happened, but a legend once circulated around our town. They said that a real deer roamed the forests. And it was no ordinary deer. Unlike its kin, this deer left a golden trail wherever it went. All the hunters believed that the deer was simply stuffed full of pure gold.
They said it had been a young man, punished for his greed. Supposedly, he had stolen from a sorcerer, snatched his golden scepter. And for that he was punished with the heaviest burden: an evil mage transformed him into a deer and filled his belly completely with his beloved gold coins.
Whether it was truth or folk tale, nobody knew, but the fact remained: wherever the swift-footed deer ran, gold was left behind. And so it became a matter of honor for every hunter to catch it and obtain the precious metal.
Jack was no exception. He was considered the best hunter in town: show him any game, he'd shoot it. To his credit were nimble rabbits and swift birds. But despite everything, that hunter was fair. Jack never touched wounded animals. He only hunted animals that troubled people: those that stole cabbage from fields or destroyed crops.
But he couldn't resist such a temptation—to shoot a real golden deer. Without much thought, he slung his rifle over his shoulder and went into the forest. He didn't find the little deer quickly, having to wander through the thicket for several hours. But finally he came to a clearing, and there—lo and behold—sat a young deer.
Jack raised his rifle to his shoulder, but suddenly stopped. The deer turned its head toward him but didn't move—it just froze and seemed to cry. And so piercingly, so humanly…
And then the hunter noticed that the deer's leg was indeed covered in gold. He carefully placed his rifle on a nearby stump, as if to say, look, I won't hurt you, approached the creature and understood what was wrong.
The animal's leg was wounded, and from it flowed not blood—but pure gold. He tried to touch the leg, and the little deer cried even harder. The hunter scratched his head, thought for a moment—and said:
Don't be afraid, I'll help you, so be it.
He picked some healing herbs in the clearing, tore a strip from his clothes and bandaged the animal's leg.
It'll heal soon. Now run along. And don't let me catch you again.
He stamped his foot.
Of course, nobody at home believed Jack. They said in town that he couldn't catch the creature. They gossiped a bit—and forgot about it. But they say he found a mountain of gold right on his doorstep. Is it true? Nobody can say for sure.
