Thereafter there was a different feeling between the Wolf cubs and Washer the Raccoon. The former could not help feeling that Washer was an outsider, and while they tried to conceal their feelings they were not entirely successful. He was not only not their real brother, but he was a different kind of an animal—not a wolf at all.
One day when they were down by the brook, Washer plucked a rich, juicy root to eat, for there had not been enough meat to go around that day, and Washer was hungry.
“What are you going to do with that, Little Brother?” one of the cubs asked, watching him carry the root away in his mouth.
“Why, eat it, of course,” was the reply.
“What a funny thing to eat! I never ate a root before.”
It was a fact that wolves never liked roots or leaves, while raccoons frequently eat both. Washer felt a little embarrassed, but he carried the root to the brook and dipped it in. The Wolf cubs followed him.
“What are you doing that for?” added another,as the raccoon continued to dip the root in the water.
“Washing it, of course, before eating it,” was the reply.
Once more there was surprise and curiosity on the faces of the cubs. Washer had unintentionally betrayed a trick of all his ancestors. The raccoons nearly always dipped and washed their food in water before eating it. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to do it, but it was not until he saw the look of wonder in the eyes of his playmates that he realized this little act indicated once more what a wide difference there was between them.
“Do all raccoons wash their food before eating it,” continued one of the cubs.
Washer nodded his head and began daintily chewing the soft root. The cubs bit at the other end of it, but they saw nothing in it to appeal to their taste.
“What funny creatures raccoons must be, Little Brother!”
Washer was a little annoyed and angered by this remark, for he was a raccoon, and he wasn’t going to have his people ridiculed.
“They climb trees,” continued the speaker, “and wash their food before eating it. Isn’t it funny, brothers!”
They all set up a laugh, which increased Washer’s anger. “They’re no funnier than Wolves,” he blurted out suddenly. “You hunt in packs as if afraid, and sneak upon your victims instead of fighting them face to face. I thing that cowardly. Now raccoons don’t do that.”
“We didn’t mean to offend you, Little Brother,” replied the first cub, seeing Washer’s anger. “Next to being a wolf we’d rather be raccoons. Yes, indeed!”
The others repeated this until Washer felt sorry for his show of anger. Still he was quite sad, for he began to realize that he could not always be with his little brothers. The day would come when he would have to leave them. They were growing so big and so rough in their play that many times he had to retire and look on. Then, too, they were beginning to take long hunting trips through the woods, and he could not keep up with them. Sneaky in particular took delight in running him out of breath, and then laughing at him.
“Listen, Brothers,” he said, turning sorrowfully upon them, “I am a raccoon and you are wolves. Some day you will have to hunt without me. Then I shall return to my own people, for it isn’t right that a raccoon shouldlive with wolves. But I shall always have a tender feeling for you in my heart, and shall always remember you.”
“No we won’t hunt without you,” interrupted one of the cubs. “You can’t leave us. You’re our Little Brother, and you’ll always be that!”
Washer was greatly pleased by this show of affection for it made him very sad to think of leaving the only home he had lived in since a small baby; but right down in his heart he knew that he would some day leave them and go back to his own people.
Washer had only a dim remembrance of his own real brothers. The accident on the river when he was carried over the falls seemed so long ago that it was more like a dream now than anything else. He couldn’t even remember what his mother looked like, and as for his brothers they were only tiny baby raccoons then and now they had grown up he would not recognize them.
A few days after this conversation, the Wolf cubs were playing near the brook when one of them suddenly raised his nose in the air and began sniffing. The others immediately stopped their play and sniffed the air also.
“What is it?” asked Washer.
“I smell something good,” replied the first wolf. “It’s over this way.”
“Then we’ll go around the other way and head him off,” said another cub.
Washer knew their method of hunting an animal they had once winded. They would spread out in a wide circle, and creep upon him from all directions. Sneaky had taught them this trick, and when they hunted together in this way it was hard for anything to escape them. No matter which way the hunted animal went he was pretty sure to run into one of the pack.
Washer had caught the odor on the wind, but he was not sure just what kind of an animal it came from. The smell seemed familiar, and yet he could not place it. It annoyed and puzzled him. Was his memory growing short?
He decided to follow the cubs in the chase and for a time he managed to keep up with them; but when they finally caught sight of their prey they broke from the cover of the bushes and ran in full tilt after him. Washer was quickly left behind.
In a short time he could tell by their howls that they had run their victim to earth. They were yelping and howling, but not entirely with pleasure.
“What’s the matter?” Washer asked himself. “Have they stalked Buster the Bear or Loup the Lynx? I must hurry and see.”
He ran as fast as his short legs would permit, and in a few minutes he came out into an opening in the woods. In the center of this was a small tree, around which the Wolf cubs were circling wildly, leaping up as high as they could every now and then, but always falling short of their mark.
Washer came up, panting and gasping; “What is it, Brothers?” he called. “Where is it?”
“Up the tree!” shouted one of the cubs. “We can’t reach him, but you can Little Brother. You can climb the tree and drive him down. Now I know we’ll always need you when we go hunting. Hurry up and drive him out of the tree!”
Washer saw a dark, fuzzy ball high among the branches of the small tree. He could not make it out at first, but there was something familiar about it, and the odor!—why, he knew that odor! He had always known it!
But he stopped suddenly and glanced up at the pair of frightened eyes looking down at the wolves. He gave a gasp and shudder. It was a raccoon the cubs had treed—one of his own people. How could he betray him to the greedy cubs, and if he didn’t what would his wolf brothers think of him? In the next story you will read about what Washer did for the raccoon.
It was a raccoon the cubs had treed
It was a raccoon the cubs had treed
When Washer discovered that it was one of his own people driven up the tree by the wolves, he felt a queer sensation stealing over him. For the first time he seemed to realize how cruel the Wolf cubs were in their hunting, and how terrible the hunted must feel. It was almost as if he was up that tree with a lot of wolves below howling for his blood.
Something like anger and disgust for the cubs sprang up in his heart. What right had they to chase every weaker animal in the woods and kill him! Why couldn’t they let other animals live in peace in the woods!
While he sat there thinking of these things, the young wolves were leaping up at the treed raccoon and howling dismally every time they fell short of reaching him. Finally one of the cubs turned to Washer.
“Why don’t you go up the tree and drive him down?” he asked. “Hurry up, Little Brother, for we’re hungry. Go up and shake the branch, and we’ll catch him as he falls.”
Washer began to tremble, not with fear, but because he knew he had to save the raccoonin some way, and he couldn’t think of any trick that would do it. The cubs mistook his trembling for fear, and one of them exclaimed:
“Little Brother’s afraid to go up the tree! See, he’s trembling all over!”
“When was Little Brother afraid before?” asked another. “Surely he’s not afraid of that animal.”
Washer saw that they had not recognized the animal up the tree as one of his own people. They hardly knew a raccoon from any other animal. This fact gave Washer new hope. He didn’t want to betray to them his feelings.
“Are you afraid, Little Brother?” added another, standing before him. “I don’t believe it.”
“No, I’m not afraid,” replied Washer finally, recovering from his embarassment. “When was I afraid of anything! Have I not played and fought with you all, and did you ever know me to beg for mercy? Then why should I be afraid of that small animal?”
“I knew it, Little Brother,” replied the last cub. “Now you’ll go up the tree and shake him down to us.”
Washer rose to his feet and trotted away from the tree. “Come here, Brothers,” hecalled, “I want to talk to you, and we must not be overheard. Now listen,” he added, when they were at a safe distance from the tree, “you’ve heard of Billy Porcupine, haven’t you?”
“Billy Porcupine! Oh, you mean the animal with the prickly thorns! Yes, we’ve heard of him.”
Washer nodded his head. “Then you remember that Mother Wolf and Sneaky always told you to beware of Billy Porcupine. If you didn’t he’d run his thorns in your nose, and it would take days and days for the wounds to heal up.”
“Yes, they told us that!” they exclaimed in unison. Then in little frightened voices they added; “Is that Billy Porcupine up the tree?”
Washer did not answer directly, but he looked very wise. “Now, listen again,” he added, “there’s only one thing to do. You must run back to the den and tell Mother Wolf or Sneaky. They will know what to do. I’ll stay here and watch, and if Mother Wolf tells me to go up the tree I’ll go even if I get stuck full of quills.”
The cubs were greatly impressed by these words, for they had heard many tales of the wounds inflicted by Billy Porcupine’s quills,and they shuddered at the thought of getting them in their mouth and nose.
“I’ll stay here with you, Little Brother,” the oldest of the cubs said. “If he comes down we’ll corner him and hold him until Mother Wolf comes.”
“No you must go with your brothers,” replied Washer. “I can watch him alone. I’m not afraid of him.”
“You’re a brave Little Brother!” they exclaimed in a breath.
Washer urged them to hurry, and after a while they decided to race back to the den and summon their parents. Washer promised to stand guard under the tree until they returned.
Their great discovery excited the cubs, and they were anxious to see how Mother Wolf or Sneaky would handle this strange animal that went around in the woods armed with sharp quills. They disappeared in the bushes, each anxious to beat all the others to the cave.
The moment they had gone, Washer ran back to the tree and looked up it. The raccoon was still crouching there in a high branch. Washer looked curiously at him, and then called:
“Raccoon! Little Raccoon, come down now, and run away. My wolf brothers havegone, but they’ll soon return. Run and hide in your hole or find a bigger tree.”
There was a noise in the branches overhead, and the raccoon crawled down a few feet. Washer looked at him, and then retreated a step or two. It was not a little raccoon, but a big one, with sharp claws and fine, white teeth. He was so much bigger than Washer that he felt a little awe of him.
“Why do you call the wolves your brothers?” the raccoon asked. “You’re a raccoon, aren’t you? Then the wolves can’t be your brothers. They’re the enemies of my people.”
Washer looked a little embarrassed. “Yes, I’m a raccoon,” he replied, “but the wolves saved me, and Mother Wolf brought me up as one of her own. I’ve always lived with her in her den. She’s been kind to me, and I love her.”
The big raccoon showed his teeth and crawled down another branch. “You love a wolf!” he said angrily. “Then you’re a traitor to your own people!”
Washer was greatly surprised and distressed by this remark. “No, I’m not a traitor. Because I love Mother Wolf for what she’s done for me isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t love my own people.”
“I hear them coming back!” snapped theraccoon in the tree. “I must be off or they’ll catch me. This tree is too small. I’ll find a bigger one.”
“Yes, do hurry! I hear them howling now. They’ll be here soon.”
The big raccoon dropped to the ground and stood by the side of Washer. He was so much bigger that Washer felt like a baby alongside of him. He was a fierce old creature, too, for he kept gnashing his teeth and switching his tail.
“Well, aren’t you coming with me?” he asked. “If you know the woods you might lead me to a good hiding place.”
“No, I can’t go with you,” replied Washer a little sadly. “I must wait for my brothers and Mother Wolf. They’re all the friends I have.”
“The wolves are your friends?” snapped the big raccoon. “Then you’re a traitor to your people! I believe this is only a trick to deceive me. I’ll teach you to betray us!”
Before Washer realized what he meant, the big fellow leaped toward him and bit him two or three times on the body and front paws. Then with a grunt of delight, he ran away and disappeared in the woods. Frightened by this sudden attack by one of his own people, Washer gave a squeal of pain and droppeddown on the ground bleeding. Just then the wolves broke through the bushes and came racing toward the tree, with Sneaky in the lead.
In the next story Washer confesses to Mother Wolf, and she decides to take him to the council rock to meet Black Wolf.
Mother Wolf was close behind, but Sneaky reached Washer’s side first. There was a suspicious leer on his face, but the sight of the blood on the raccoon’s body seemed to puzzle him. He stopped and glanced up at the tree.
“Where’s Billy Porcupine?” he asked. “I don’t see him in the tree.”
“He ran down and escaped,” replied Washer. “I couldn’t stop him.”
Sneaky licked his chops, and added: “Quite likely!” He sniffed among the lower branches of the tree. “If my nose doesn’t deceive me there’s been no porcupine around here. No, sir; nothing but raccoons.”
He turned and smiled at Mother Wolf and the youngsters. He felt quite proud of his spying quality. “I smell nothing but raccoon up that tree,” he added. “Therefore, it was a raccoon, and not a porcupine, that you treed.”
“But little brother said it was Billy the Porcupine,” interrupted one of the cubs.
“How’d Little Brother know it was a porcupine?”asked Sneaky. “When did you ever see one?”
Now Washer was feeling very miserable, first, because his wounds hurt him, and second because one of his own people had turned on him and attacked him after he had saved his life. So he spoke without thinking. “I don’t know,” he stammered. “Maybe I never saw one.”
“Ah! ha!” scoffed Sneaky. “I thought so. It was only a trick to deceive us. I see now what it means.”
He turned to the tree again, and looked up it, and began sniffing at the trunk and limbs. “Nothing but raccoon odor,” he added. “No porcupine has been here.”
“For goodness sake,” interrupted Mother Wolf, wiping the blood from Washer’s face, “what are you wasting your time about? Why don’t you help Little Brother? He’s all bloody, and we must help him home.”
“Ah, bloody! So he is! Then if it was Billy the Porcupine we should find quills sticking in him.”
He examined Washer’s wounds a little roughly, smiling all the time. Of course, there were no porcupine quills, and this seemed to please Sneaky immensely.
“Just as I thought,” he said finally. “Thereare no quills. Therefore, there was no porcupine here. Then why did Little Brother deceive you?”
He turned to the cubs, who were watching him curiously.
“I’ll tell you, my children,” he continued. “It was a raccoon you had treed—one of Little Brother’s own people. He knew it all the time, and he didn’t want you to have him for your dinner. So he told you this little story about a porcupine, and sent you home to call us while his friend could escape in the woods. See, he’s gone. There’s nothing up the tree.”
They followed the direction of his pointing nose. The tree was empty. Then they turned their eyes toward Washer.
“Can you deny that, Little Brother?” Sneaky added in a beguiling voice. “Of course you can’t.”
“But how’d he get hurt?” asked one of the cubs. “See, he’s bleeding all over.”
Mother Wolf interfered at this moment. “Sneaky, you run down to the brook and get some water,” she commanded. “If Little Brother didn’t meet a porcupine, he ran into something just as bad. We won’t stop to discuss that now. Hurry up with that water!”
Sneaky dropped his tail between his legs and started for the brook, but half way therehe stopped and said: “It wasn’t a porcupine, I know that. Therefore, it was a raccoon. Little Brother deceived my children to save his life. No wolf will stand for that. He’s not a friend of my people. I’ll tell Black Wolf that.”
Mother Wolf, who had been busy cleaning the blood from Washer’s fur, looked a little disturbed. Sneaky had another argument against admitting Washer to the wolf pack.
“Little Brother,” she whispered, “it is true what Sneaky says? Was Billy Porcupine up that tree?”
Washer could not deceive Mother Wolf. She had been too kind to him. “No,” he answered, “it was a raccoon, and I couldn’t bear to see him killed. He belonged to my own people.”
Mother Wolf nodded her head, showing that she understood his feelings. “But these wounds,” she added, a little puzzled. “How did you get them?”
Washer was greatly distressed at this question. If he told the truth, he would have to condemn one of his own people of ingratitude, but even that was better than deceiving Mother Wolf.
“It was the raccoon,” he answered after a pause. “When he came down the tree he bitme. He thought I belonged to the wolf pack, and he called me a traitor. I don’t suppose he understood.”
“He didn’t deserve the kindness you showed him,” was the quick retort. “If he was near here I’d send the children and Sneaky after him. He deserves punishment. Do you know where he’s hiding?”
“No! He ran away in the woods and that was the last I saw of him.”
Mother Wolf had such confidence in Washer that she did not doubt his word. She knew that Little Brother would not deceive her to protect one of his own people.
“Well, I’m glad he isn’t here,” she added, sighing. “Sneaky would hunt him down, and I don’t suppose you’d like to see him killed, even if he did bite you.”
“No, I don’t wish him harm.”
Washer’s voice was a little trembly, and a tear stood in one of his eyes. “What is it,” asked Mother Wolf sympathetically, “that makes you so sad, Little Brother? Do your wounds hurt you so much?”
“No, I was thinking of my people,” replied Washer. “They won’t have me. They’ll turn against me because I was brought up in a wolf’s den, and your people won’t have me. I’m an outcast—without a home or people.”
“Don’t say that,” whispered Mother Wolf. “You’re my adopted child, and I shall always look after you. My people will have to take you. If they don’t—”
Her eyes flashed, and Washer knew that she was prepared to fight for him. But he had no desire to bring trouble to her, and he said: “No, no, don’t do that. Let me go away in the woods. I’m old enough now to make a living. You must not introduce me to the pack. I shall always remember you and my Wolf Brothers, but no good can come of trying to make me a wolf. I’m only a raccoon.”
“Little Brother, don’t talk like that. I’m going to take you tomorrow to the council, and Black Wolf shall listen to me. My people must protect you. If Black Wolf says so none of them will dare harm you. Come now, and don’t feel sad any more.”
Washer tried to dry his eyes and look cheerful, but it was not very easy to do this. His own people had denied him, and he dreaded appearing before the wolf pack. He knew that Sneaky would condemn him, and try to drive him away, and the very thought of Black Wolf made him shudder. What kind of a leader was he, and would he listen to Mother Wolf’s pleadings? In the next story you will read of how Mother Wolf took himto the council and pleaded with and defied the leader of the wolf pack.
Washer was taken with the cubs the following night to the wolf council where they were to be introduced to the pack and formally admitted as members. All young wolves when they reach the hunting age had to be introduced by their parents, and the leader of the pack then announced their acceptance and gave to each a name. Until that time they were simply cubs, unfit to hunt with the older wolves.
The council was held in the deepest, thickest part of the woods where no wild animal or hunter would be likely to disturb them. Once a month in the full of the moon the pack assembled around a big flat rock overlooking a pool of water. Here they waited until Black Wolf, their leader, came and called the council to order.
Mother Wolf was anxious to get to the council early, and she started her family off long before moon was up above the tops of the trees. Sneaky led the way, with the cubs filing behind him, and Mother Wolf bringing up the rear.
They were so early that they met none of the other wolves on the way, and Mother Wolf gave a sigh of relief when she found no one ahead of her. She drew up her little circle of young ones in the shadow of a clump of birches on the right of the council rock, and then dropped down to rest.
All was quiet in the woods. Not even Hoot the Owl or Whip-Poor-Will was abroad to disturb the silence of the great woods. Occasionally a shadow drifted across the flat rock, and a wolf would take his place in front or on one side of it. The moon rose slowly until it cast a flood of white light upon the top of the rock. Almost at the same moment there was a howl nearby, and out of the thickets sprang Black Wolf, the leader. He stood a moment looking at the crouching pack, and then he leaped to the top of the council rock. The whole pack rose as one and gave vent to their hunting cry.
This was their way of recognizing their leader. Black Wolf stood a moment, a tall, gaunt, powerful creature, in the white moonlight, as if challenging any opposition, and then he dropped down with his front paws curled under him.
“The council is open,” he announced.“Has any one a message for the pack? We’re all here.”
Sneaky rose from his position near Mother Wolf, and trotted in front of the rock. “O Black Wolf, noble leader of the pack,” he began, “I bring my cubs for your inspection. May they please you, and prove worthy of their sire.”
“Bring them forth!” replied Black Wolf. “They should be good cubs if they take after you, Sneaky.”
The different members of the pack craned their heads forward to see Sneaky’s cubs, which, at the bidding of their parent, filed out in a row and stood before the council rock. Black Wolf surveyed them in silence, inspecting them with his fierce dark eyes.
“You have done well by the pack, Sneaky,” he announced finally. “I name the first one Curly because his beautiful fur curls backward at the tips. The second one shall be known as Spotted Wolf, for I see gray spots under his neck. And the last one shall be known as Tiger Wolf because of the fierceness of his eyes. I have named them, and so shall they be known to the pack.”
He stopped and looked hard at Sneaky, as if expecting him to say more; but Sneaky waspleased with his presentation, and backed slowly away.
“Is there any more, Sneaky?” the leader asked.
Before Sneaky could reply, a tall, gaunt figure of a wolf rose from the shadows of the birch trees. It was Mother Wolf. She was going to speak for her foster child, and not let Sneaky introduce him. She trotted to the front, and swung around to face the pack an instant, and then turned to the council rock again.
“O Black Wolf, mighty leader of our pack,” she began, “I have another child, which I have nursed and brought up in my den, and I wish to admit him to the pack. A foster child brought to me one day by Sneaky. I have cared for him and loved him as my own. I have taught him the ways of our people, and with us he must hunt, for his own people have cast him out.”
All the wolves pricked up their ears at this strange announcement, and Black Wolf half rose from his sitting attitude; but his eyes had narrowed and darkened, for he knew from what Sneaky had told him that this thing might occur.
“O Mother Wolf, you have spoken well, but we must see this foster child of yours,”he said. “Is he a wolf cub from another pack?”
“What matters it if he’s from another pack or no pack at all?” replied Mother Wolf. “A mother’s love is great enough to take to herself any child that is homeless and friendless. Is it not on record that long ago a Mother Wolf nursed and brought up a man child, giving to him as much as she gave to her own offspring? Then, if she can adopt a man child, why can she not take the offspring of any other animal of the woods—of Puma the Mountain Lion, for instance, or—”
“Puma’s offspring would bring disaster to us if we adopted him,” replied Black Wolf hastily, and the others shuddered at the mere mention of Puma’s name. “No, we could never admit a Puma as a member of the hunting pack.”
“No! No!” cried many voices.
They jumped to their feet, ready to enforce their protest by actions. A young Puma would stand little chance in that company of angry wolves.
“It is not Puma’s offspring,” replied Mother Wolf, smiling. “I could never learn to love anything that came out of Puma’s den.”
“What animal is it then? Where is this foster child?” several cried.
“You hear them,” added Black Wolf. “What have you to say? Where is this one you plead for?”
“He is yonder in the shadow of the birches. I shall call him out if you’ll give him protection. If not—”
“He shall be protected,” interrupted the leader. “It is the law of the council.”
Mother Wolf turned her head ever so slightly, and called: “Little Brother, come here!”
Washer, with his heart beating fast, but confident that Mother Wolf would protect him, emerged slowly from the shadows and trotted toward her. At first the wolves could see nothing, so small was he, and then they could make out only a shadow that seemed to drift between them and the woods. But when Washer reached the foot of the council rock, the bright moonlight fell full upon him.
“Here is my foster child!” exclaimed Mother Wolf proudly. “And my love for him is as great as for my own cubs. He is as wise as they, as brave, and as quick-witted. Look at him, and accept him.”
Black Wolf rose to his feet and stared down at Washer. All the other wolves leaped totheir feet and closed in to get a better view. Then suddenly, before their leader could speak, a howl of derision went up from a score of throats.
“A raccoon!” they shouted in merriment. “A raccoon! And he wishes to hunt with the pack!”
For a moment the gale of merriment was so great that no one could be heard. Black Wolf tried to preserve order and his own dignity. Washer felt suddenly abashed and frightened, and wished there was a tree near that he could climb. In the next story the wolf pack try to kill Washer, but Mother Wolf comes to the rescue.
Mother Wolf was even more annoyed and dismayed than Washer by the sudden outbreak of merriment when the pack caught sight of the raccoon standing before the council rock. Sneaky, from a position behind apparently enjoyed the embarrassment of his mate, for a broad grin spread over his face and he chuckled with the others. The young cubs stood by their father, but as the scene was a little puzzling to them they remained silent and motionless.
“Give me the raccoon for my hunting companion!” shouted a big gray wolf. “I won’t go far then for my dinner!”
The others began crowding around the council rock. “No! No! We want him!” they cried. “Turn him over to the pack!”
Mother Wolf swung around and faced the circle of wolves, displaying her teeth and growling angrily.
Black Wolf arose to his hind legs and let out a roar that brought the whole pack to its senses. The cries stopped, and every member slunk back to his position. The big leaderglared hard at them and waited a full minute to see if any dared oppose his authority.
Then he turned slowly to Sneaky, and said: “Sneaky, do you bring this raccoon as your foster child?”
“No, O mighty leader, he is none of mine,” was the prompt reply. “I brought him to my den for food one day after I’d fished him out of the river. I wanted to kill him for the children, but Mother Wolf protested. I had nothing to do with his rearing. He would have died long ago if I’d had my way.”
The members of the pack nodded their heads, and Black Wolf turned to Mother Wolf. He looked at her in silence for some time. Then, in a low voice, he said: “No foster child can hunt with the pack unless he’s a wolf. It’s against the law of the woods. If we permitted it Puma the Mountain Lion would be filling our homes with his young so they might grow up with us and destroy us. And Loup the Lynx would do the same so that he could betray our hiding places. There would be no safety for us after that.”
“But Little Brother is a raccoon,” pleaded Mother Wolf. “Surely you’re not afraid of the raccoons. They could not hurt us nor betray us.”
The whole pack sniffed in disgust at theidea of the raccoon tribe hurting the wolves.
“That is true, O Mother Wolf,” replied Black Wolf, “but if we let you introduce a raccoon as a foster child, we could not prevent another bringing a young Puma or Lynx. We must obey the laws of our tribe, and keep from it all other animals.”
A great sadness settled on Mother Wolf’s face. She looked down at Washer and began licking his head. She knew that Black Wolf’s words were law, and she could not defy them.
“Then must I give up my foster child?” she asked.
“No,” replied the leader, “you can take him home and keep him, but he is not under the protection of the pack. If they hunt him down and kill him you can blame no one. I cannot interfere.”
There was a murmur of applause, and every wolf began licking his lips as if in anticipation of the feast ahead. The sight of their cruel greediness aroused Mother Wolf. She raised her head proudly, and said:
“They will not dare touch him in my cave—not one of them! I shall protect him!”
There was an ugly, defiant look in the eyes which made more than one wolf cower and slink back out of sight. Mother Wolf was a big, gaunt, powerful creature, and no onecared to measure his strength with her when she was defending her young.
“The council is ended then?” she added, turning to the leader. “You refuse to accept Little Brother in the pack?”
“It is so decided, Mother Wolf. And the law cannot be changed.”
“Then I shall go home. Come, Little Brother, we must start at once before the moon grows dark. It is a long way, but—”
“One moment!” cried a big gray wolf. “Does the law of the woods give us the right to hunt for our food now? We’re hungry, and if the council has ended we may begin the hunt at once. Is it not true, O Black Wolf?”
Now the leader and Mother Wolf both understood the meaning of this challenge. The pack wanted to pounce upon Washer at once and devour him before he could ever reach the cave. Even Washer knew what was coming, and a great trembling seized him. He looked around him, but there was no tree near the council rock, and the whole pack stood between him and the woods. He had no chance to escape them.
Black Wolf seemed troubled by the gray wolf’s questions, for he knew that he had no authority to change the law. Once his decision was given there was nothing more for himto do. The whole pack had a right to fall upon Washer and kill him in sight of Mother Wolf. It was a dangerous situation.
But Mother Wolf suddenly changed her attitude. She backed up against the council rock, with Washer behind her, and bared her white teeth to the pack. The hair stood up straight on her head, and the bushy tail began swishing slowly back and forth. The yellow eyes were so luminous in the moonlight that they seemed to shoot sparks of fire.
“If you’re hungry,” she growled, “and want to eat Little Brother, you must do so over my dead body. Not one of you shall touch him until you’ve felt the sting of my teeth. Come on now, Gray Wolf, and I’ll show you what mother love can do to save her young!”
Gray Wolf hesitated, backing off a little, for Mother Wolf was a powerful antagonist. Alone he could not overcome her. Indeed, in her present frame of mind, she could probably whip two or three ordinary wolves. She was crouching for the spring, with dripping jaws snapping defiantly.
“Why should we be defied by one wolf!” cried the big gray fellow. “We must have the raccoon. Close in on him on all sides. Sneaky, you lead on that side, and I’ll do the same here.”
Mother Wolf cast a look at Sneaky that made him hesitate, but at the same time the wolves on the outside of the circle began crowding in. They pushed and shoved until the circle was narrowed. Those in the front came within a few feet of Mother Wolf.
With a growl she snapped at the nearest and caught him by the front paw. With a howl of pain, the wolf leaped over the backs of the others and disappeared in the woods. Mother Wolf sprang at another and sunk her sharp teeth in his neck.
But in spite of all this the circle was growing smaller. The pack was clamoring for the blood of Washer, and it was only a question of time before they would overcome Mother Wolf. She could not hope to fight off the whole pack. She seemed to realize this, but she was determined to die in the defense of her foster child.
“Close in!” cried Gray Wolf. “Come on, Sneaky, do your part, or we’ll believe you love the raccoon too.”
Now the battle would have ended shortly if something hadn’t happened to surprise all. With a roar of rage and challenge, Black Wolf leaped from the top of the rock and landed by the side of Mother Wolf. Facing the pack, he cried:
“Not as your leader, but as one fighting for fair play, I shall defend Mother Wolf. The first one that touches her shall pay with his life. Back now, or fight me!”
There was a moment of silence; then a low murmur of voices as the circle broke and fell back, leaving only Gray Wolf and Sneaky in the front. Finding themselves deserted by the pack, they quickly ran, too, and disappeared in the woods. In the next story Mother Wolf takes Washer to the Silver Birch grove where his people live.
Black Wolf’s unexpected defense of Mother Wolf and Washer saved them from what might have been sure death to the latter and serious injury to the former. None of the pack dared to offer battle to their leader, and the moment he sided with Mother Wolf they broke ranks and ran off into the woods.
When they were gone, Mother Wolf turned gratefully to the big leader, and said: “You have saved my life, Black Wolf. What can I do to repay you?”
“Hurry home with your foster child, Mother Wolf, before the pack changes its mind and returns. I will accompany you.”
More than ever grateful now for seeing that she got back to her den in safety, Mother Wolf led the way through the woods, with Washer close behind her, and the leader of the pack bringing up the rear. Silently and noiselessly they stole single file through the woods, with eyes and ears alert to catch any unusual sound.
But nothing happened on the way. They reached the cave in safety, where Black Wolfstopped. “I’ll not go in,” he said. “Now you’re home you’ll know how to defend yourself.”
“Yes, I can defend my home,” she replied. “I’ll not need any help now. Thank you a thousand times for helping me.”
“I did it, Mother Wolf,” replied the leader, “because I remember how we used to play together when young, and because I wanted to see justice done. But now that you’ve got your foster child home, what are you going to do with him? He can’t hunt with the pack, and not being under their protection they will hunt him down and kill him. Wherever he goes they will follow. You can’t always stay in the den watching him. You must hunt with the pack at times to get your share of food. If you stay here alone you’ll starve.”
Mother Wolf looked troubled, and said nothing. She knew how true Black Wolf’s words were, and she had not taken them lightly. When he finally left her, she walked into the cave with Washer by her side. It was empty. Sneaky and the cubs had not yet returned.
“They’re out hunting, and won’t return until morning,” she said. “Now, Little Brother, we can find some rest.”
But Washer was not anxious for rest—notin the Wolf’s den. He felt that the nights adventure had broken up his old home. There could no longer be any ties to hold him to it. In time the cubs would side with pack and turn upon him.
“I can never stay here,” he said suddenly. “If I do I’m in constant danger, and you, too, will be in trouble. The whole pack will turn against you. I must leave.”
“But where can you go, Little Brother?” asked Mother Wolf anxiously.
“I must return to my own people.”
“But they won’t have you. Didn’t you say one of them bit you and threatened your life?”
“Yes, but he didn’t know me. I must find one of my real brothers, and he will understand.”
Mother Wolf sat down and considered. After a while she got up and paced back and forth in the den. “Maybe you’re right,” she said finally, stopping before him. “There would be nothing but danger here for you, and in time my own children would drive you out and perhaps kill you. Yes, it’s better that you should return to your own people. But if they won’t have you, I’ll still protect you.”
Washer rose excitedly to his feet. “Then I must go at once—before the cubs and Sneaky return. They must find me gone, and if youdon’t tell them where I am they’ll never know.”
“That’s true, Little Brother. But where shall we go tonight?”
“To the Silver Birch grove where my people live. It’s above the falls where I fell in the water. Take me there, and I’ll watch and wait for them.”
“But suppose some of the wolves found you in the Silver Birch Grove?”
“What matter’s that?” laughed Washer. “I can climb a tree which is more than any of the wolves can do. I’ll go up the biggest tree, and laugh at them.”
“Yes, Little Brother, you can do that. I’d forgotten that your people are tree climbers. Well,” sighing heavily, “it’s the only thing to do, but it makes me sad to lose you. I shall mourn you every day you’re away.”
“Not more than if you saw me killed by your own people,” added Washer, smiling up into her face.
She nodded her head and began licking his fur. In a short time she was ready to accompany him to the grove of Silver Birches. This was some distance from the cave, and they had to be wary in their movements, for the whole wolf pack was abroad on the hunt. They heard their distant howls on the clearnight air, but by keeping away from them they soon got beyond their echo.
They trotted along through the moonlight, following the river toward the falls. Just below them they stopped, while Washer pointed out where Sneaky had found him when he jumped ashore from his raft.
“That must have been a terrible adventure, Little Brother,” Mother Wolf said. “I never heard of any animal coming over the falls and living. It must be you have a charmed life.”
“If so it’s because I’ve had such a good foster mother,” replied Washer. “You saved me from Sneaky, and tonight you saved me from the pack. You’re as brave as you are kind and loving. I shall never forget you.”
Mother Wolf was greatly affected by these words, and she showed her gratitude in her eyes. Once more she slicked down the soft fur of her foster child and murmured gentle words of love. Then they started off once more on their journey.
They climbed the steep rocks that led to the upper part of the falls, and once on their summit they headed directly for the grove of Silver Birches. In the soft moonlight the birches glistened and shone like twinkling stars, the leaves showing white and silvery. It was almost like a fairy scene, and Washerraised his head in delight. He was near his original home, in the land of his own people, and his little heart beat with excitement.
What would his own people do? Would they receive him or drive him away? The very thought of this made him shiver. He would then be without a home or country of his own. He would be an outcast, which is the worst thing that can be said of man or animal.
“I shall wait here in this big birch until some of my people appear,” Washer said when they stole silently under the shadow of the grove. “I am safe here. I shall climb up in that crotch and sleep until morning. No wolf can get me.”
“No, not even Black Wolf could reach you up there. None of my people could jump that high. Are you quite sure you can climb that high?”
“I’ll show you,” laughed Washer. “You never saw me climb a tree before.”
He wanted to show her how well he could run up the tree, and he was proud of his accomplishment when she watched him in silence, and then said: “Wonderful, Little Brother! I wish my cubs could do as well. Now, if you’re safe I’ll go. Good-bye!”
Washer waved a paw to her until she had disappeared from sight, and then with a sigh of contentment he curled up in a round ball and went to sleep. He was very tired after the night’s adventure, and was glad to get a few hours of sleep before morning dawned. He was safe from the wolves. In the morning he would see if he was safe among his own people. In the next story Washer meets an enemy that can climb trees.