STORY NINE
WASHER SAVES ONE OF HIS OWN PEOPLE
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 raccoon in 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,” he called, “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 have gone, 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 the raccoon 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 dropped down 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.
STORY TEN
MOTHER WOLF LISTENS TO WASHER’S STORY
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. “There are 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 there he 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 bit me. 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 him to the council and pleaded with and defied the leader of the wolf pack.
STORY ELEVEN
WASHER IS INTRODUCED TO 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 was pleased 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 to their 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.