INTRODUCTION TO THE TWILIGHT ANIMAL STORIES
By the Author
All little boys and girls who love animals should become acquainted with Bumper the white rabbit, with Bobby Gray Squirrel, with Buster the bear, and with White Tail the deer, for they are all a jolly lot, brave and fearless in danger, and so lovable that you won’t lay down any one of the books without saying wistfully, “I almost wish I had them really and truly as friends and not just storybook acquaintances.” That, of course, is a splendid wish; but none of us could afford to have a big menagerie of wild animals, and that’s just what you would have to do if you went outside of the books. Bumper had many friends, such as Mr. Blind Rabbit, Fuzzy Wuzz and Goggle Eyes, his country cousins; and Bobby Gray Squirrel had his near cousins, Stripe the chipmunk and Webb the flying squirrel; while Buster and White Tail were favored with an endless number of friends and relatives. If we turned them all loose from the books, and put them in a ten acre lot—but no, ten acres wouldn’t be big enough to accommodate them, perhaps not a hundred acres.
So we will leave them just where they are—in the books—and read about them, and let our imaginations take us to them where we can see them playing, skipping, singing, and sometimes fighting, and if we read very carefully, and think as we go along, we may come to know them even better than if we went out hunting for them.
Another thing we should remember. By leaving them in the books, hundreds and thousands of other boys and girls can enjoy them, too, sharing with us the pleasures of the imagination, which after all is one of the greatest things in the world. In gathering them together in a real menagerie, we would be selfish both to Bumper, Bobby, Buster, White Tail and their friends as well as to thousands of other little readers who could not share them with us. So these books of Twilight Animal Stories are dedicated to all little boys and girls who love wild animals. All others are forbidden to read them! They wouldn’t understand them if they did.
So come out into the woods with me, and let us listen and watch, and I promise you it will be worth while.
STORY ONE
WASHER’S FIRST ADVENTURE
Washer was the youngest of a family of three Raccoons, born in the woods close to the shores of Beaver Pond, and not half a mile from Rocky Falls where the water, as you know, turns into silvery spray that sparkles in the sun-shine like diamonds and rubies. And, indeed, the animals and birds of the North Woods much prefer this glittering spray and foam that rise in a steady cloud from the bottom of the falls to all the jewels and gems ever dug out of the earth! For, though each drop sparkles but a moment, and then vanishes from sight, there are a million others to follow it, and when you bathe in them they wash and scour away the dirt, and make you clean and fresh in body and soul.
Washer had his first great adventure at Rocky Falls, and it is a wonder that he ever lived to tell the tale, for the water which flows over the falls is almost as cruel and terrible as it is sparkling and inviting. But Washer knew nothing of this then, for he was a very young Raccoon, and not quite responsible for all he did. Perhaps it was Mother Raccoon that was to blame, for it was her duty to look after her little ones until they were old enough to hunt for themselves. It is a law of the woods that any mother of bird or animal who neglects its young shall be punished.
The nature of the punishment has never been told, but in the case of Washer’s mother you can easily guess what it was. It was an uneasy conscience that her neglect had caused her child’s death, and she would never see him again.
But Washer apparently had as many lives as a cat, for he was not killed, and he lived long after his mother had given up all hopes of ever seeing him again. No one—certainly no Raccoon—had ever gone over Rocky Falls, and been heard of afterward. Therefore, Washer was dead. Mother Raccoon believed that, and reported the sad news to all her family and friends.
It was a bright, sunny day. Washer had been playing near the edge of the river above the falls with his two brothers—playing very much as three boys or three girls would do if let loose in the woods. They were only baby Raccoons, and could not run very fast, and every time they dipped a paw in the water they squealed and made a great noise.
It was perfectly safe near the shore, for a big tree blown down by the wind cut off the swift current of the river and formed a little back eddy. Mother Raccoon had told them they could wade around in the shoal water, but she didn’t say anything about not going in anywhere else.
Washer did not think he was doing anything wrong, therefore, when growing tired of wading he crawled far out on the end of the big tree lying on its side to watch the swift current flowing by. Pieces of drift-wood, twigs, knots and sticks of wood of all sizes passed him in an endless procession. He snatched at some of these with his paws, and caught one or two.
Each time he was successful, he squealed with delight. Of course, he grew bolder and more reckless until finally he stood on the end of the very last branch of the fallen tree. From there he could reach more sticks floating down stream. One particularly big one attracted his attention. It was a little further out than the others, but Washer was sure he could reach it.
But he missed it by an inch, and the force of the blow with his paw at the stick unbalanced him. He clutched frantically at the tree branch. It broke off close to the trunk, and Washer toppled over into the deep, dark stream.
When he came up to the surface, he squealed as loud as he could: “Help! Help!”
His two brothers playing inshore heard the cry, but they thought it was one of Washer’s tricks, and they paid no attention to it. But Mother Raccoon, who had been dozing in the bushes, was quick to note the cry of alarm, and she sprang up a stump to look around.
She had just one last glimpse of Washer. He was in the river, struggling to crawl upon the big board that had caused his mishap. Then board and Raccoon disappeared in the smother of the rapids, which began just above the falls.
Mother Raccoon ran frantically along the banks of the river, calling to Washer, but she knew there was no help for him. Nothing that she could do would rescue him from the terrible adventure ahead.
Washer himself was more surprised than frightened at first. He was not exactly afraid of the water, and the ducking didn’t bother him; but when he managed to climb upon the board and looked around he began to feel more frightened than surprised. His frail boat was being twisted and whirled around like a top, making him dizzy; the shore was rushing past him, and all about him was foam and spray that sparkled and glittered in the sun-light. But just then Washer wasn’t much interested in things that glistened.
He saw the top of the falls ahead. Toward that he was being hurried, and the further he drifted the rougher grew the waters. His board pitched and tossed, making it difficult for the baby Raccoon to cling to it.
Washer was frightened, and in his fear he called loudly for his mother; but the roar of the falls ahead drowned his voice.
It all happened quickly, and the end came before Washer could call many times for his mother. His board was raised on the crest of a wave, and then tossed over the falls, with Washer clinging desperately to it.
Down, down, they went together, the water blinding and suffocating him. It seemed as if the falls were miles and miles high, and that he would never reach the river below. Of course, they were not as many feet high as Washer mistook for miles. But it was high enough to kill or drown most animals who went over the precipice.
It is hard to say just what saved Washer. Perhaps it was because he was tougher than most Raccoons, or because he clung to the board and when it bobbed up to the surface it had to bring him up with it. Anyway, Washer finally got the spray out of his eyes, and found himself floating down the lower river with the falls behind him.
He had taken the dip of death, and survived it. He was out of all immediate danger. For the first time then he had eyes to admire the sparkling mist and spray rising like a million diamonds from the top and bottom of the falls.
“I must get ashore now, and dry myself,” he said to himself. “I was never so wet in all my life.”
He began paddling with his front paws, and in this way gradually directed his raft toward the shore. When he was near enough he took a flying leap and landed on a log and clung to it.
But he was in a strange country, and far from home, and he began to be afraid again. Just when he thought he would break down and cry, he heard a sniffing noise in the bushes, and looking up he found himself face to face with a big, shaggy animal, whose fierce, glaring eyes sent the shivers all through him. It was Sneaky the Wolf, who had been watching him land, and in the next story you will hear of what Sneaky did to him.
STORY TWO
WASHER IS CARRIED TO THE WOLF’S DEN
Washer felt his little heart throb at the sight of the yellow eyes watching him, and the shaggy body of Sneaky seemed bigger than that of any animal he had ever dreamed of in the North Woods. Washer gave a frenzied little squeak, and tried to hop back upon his raft; but he did not get far. Sneaky pounced down upon him, and the double row of white teeth closed upon his back and scruff of the neck.
“Oh, please—please, don’t kill me!” shrieked Washer, almost fainting from fear.
But Sneaky paid no attention to his appeal. The powerful jaws held him a prisoner. Every moment Washer expected they would close tighter and crunch his bones.
But apparently the Wolf had no idea of killing him right away. Washer, young as he was, knew that many of the wild animals of the woods teased and tortured their victims before killing them. Some of his own people had been guilty of this very cruelty. Washer, knowing now how it felt, decided that if he ever escaped he would never torture any one—no, never, not as long as he lived!
Sneaky picked him up in his mouth, and began trotting away through the bushes, carrying Washer as easily as a cat carries its kittens. The jaws of the Wolf were closed uncomfortably tight on his neck, but after all they did not actually hurt the poor little Raccoon. The sharp, white teeth did not go through his thick fur and tough skin.
For a long time Sneaky trotted along in a mechanical lope, never once opening his mouth to speak, although Washer kept pleading with him, hoping that he would loosen his hold on his neck the minute he opened his mouth to say a word. Sneaky was too wise for that, for no Wolf can talk and still keep his mouth closed. He can growl and grumble, but not actually talk.
They passed through the thickest part of the woods, and then began climbing a rough trail among the rocks and stones. Then they came to a brook, which Sneaky crossed by jumping from stone to stone, and after that the Wolf followed a path that lead to the mouth of a cave.
When Washer saw this he opened his mouth in a series of pitiful cries, for he knew this was the entrance to the Wolf’s den. He could tell this by the peculiar smell of the place. The air was filled with odors that made the baby Raccoon hold his breath.
But Sneaky was still silent and dumb. He trotted through the entrance and disappeared in the darkness of the cave. At first Washer could see nothing, but then gradually his eyes grew accustomed to the place, and his last hope vanished when he saw another Wolf almost as big as Sneaky and three little cubs playing at her feet.
“What have you here, Sneaky?” Mother Wolf growled when her lordly mate appeared.
Sneaky deposited Washer at the foot of Mother Wolf, and spoke for the first time. “A nice little dinner for you and the children,” he said. “I brought him home alive so you could show the babies how to kill. It will be great sport watching them.”
At the sound of his voice, Washer made a desperate effort to escape, but Sneaky’s paw came down on his back and held him.
“He’s a lively little Raccoon,” Sneaky remarked, grinning so his white teeth showed.
Mother Wolf looked at Washer, turned him over with a paw, and sniffed at him. Then she raised her head and looked at her mate. “He’s only a baby Raccoon,” she said. “Where’d you find the nest? And what did you do with the others? Ate them up, I suppose! That’s why you’re so generous in bringing this one home to us.”
Washer thought there was a look of disgust in the eyes and voice, and Sneaky evidently thought so, too, for he looked a little crestfallen, and then said: “No, I didn’t find his nest. He was floating down the river on a board, and when he landed I caught him.”
Mother Wolf sniffed again, and looked a little incredulous. She turned Washer over again. “He’s a mere baby,” she murmured, “not much older than our dear little ones.”
“Yes, and he’ll be sweet and tender,” added Sneaky, stretching himself. “It won’t hurt our children to eat part of him after they’ve killed him.”
Mother Wolf did not seem anxious to kill Washer, nor was she ready to teach her little ones to kill. “We won’t kill him today,” she said finally. “My little ones are well fed, and they couldn’t eat more without hurting them. We will keep him until tomorrow.”
Sneaky was a little hurt at this remark, for he had planned to help with the feast when the others had eaten all they wanted, and he growled disconsolately: “What’ll we do with him over night? He’ll try to escape from us when we’re asleep.”
“Put him in with the children, and I’ll watch him,” replied Mother Wolf. “I never sleep with both eyes shut.”
Mother Wolf was boss of the den, for Sneaky grumblingly picked up Washer once more and carried him into the darkest corner of the cave and dropped him down among the little sleeping cubs. Their warm bodies felt good to Washer, and he crawled up close to them. He knew that he would not be killed until the next day, and he was very tired and sleepy.
Within ten minutes he was sleeping as soundly as the Wolf cubs, snuggling close up to them with his little body half buried from sight by the legs and paws of his strange bed fellows. He did not know that once or twice in the night time, Mother Wolf came over and looked down at him, with a very, very queer expression in her eyes. Each time, she walked away, grumbling to herself: “He’s only a baby—a little baby.”
It was morning before Washer opened his eyes, although it was so dark in the cave he could not tell that the sun was shining outside. Sneaky and Mother Wolf were still sleeping, snoring away so that the den was filled with queer echoes. But if the parents were asleep, the three little Wolf cubs were wide awake. They were rolling and tumbling over each other, pulling and hauling each other’s tails, and pretending to bite and scratch. Before Washer realized it he was being hugged and squeazed and jerked around as if he was a baby wolf, and not a baby Raccoon.
Of course, his first idea was to snap and bite at the cubs, but on second thought he decided, not to. If he hurt one of them Sneaky or Mother Wolf would pounce upon him and kill him in a flash. No, he had to play carefully with his bed-fellows.
They were soft, warm little bodies rolling all over him, and they never scratched or bit, but merely pretended to. Washer took care that he was as gentle, and pretty soon he was so absorbed in the play that he forgot they were his enemies.
Suddenly he looked up, and saw Mother Wolf standing over him. She had been watching him for some time. Fearful lest she had come to kill him, he doubled up in a ball and began to shake and tremble. From another corner, Sneaky yawned and came forth to look at the cubs. Mother Wolf turned to him.
“He’s very playful,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll kill him today. You must go out and get me something else to eat.”
Sneaky growled his disapproval, but obeyed, and the minute he was gone Washer felt all his fear vanish. What happened in the cave next will appear in the following story.