STORY FOURTEEN
WASHER IS TREED BY STRANGERS
Now Washer had not been sleeping long, although it seemed a great while to him, when a peculiar rustling noise below awakened him. With one eye still closed, and the other only half opened, he called sleepily:
“Is that you, Mother Wolf?”
There was no answer, and Washer opened both eyes. If it was Mother Wolf who had made the rustling sound, she would have answered his question immediately. Washer concluded that it was somebody else. Then he thought of the cubs. It would be like them not to answer, but try to steal upon him to give him a fright.
“I know you’re down there, Brothers,” he added. “You can’t frighten me. I’m up the tree, and no wolf can climb up here.”
There was still no response, and the silence of the woods suddenly made Washer a little afraid. He became wide awake. He remembered now what had happened to him; how he had been rejected by the wolves, and how Mother Wolf had brought him to the grove of Silver Birches to find his own people.
He also remembered that the wolf pack had declared they would hunt him down and kill him. They were thirsting for his blood, and now that Mother Wolf had left him they had followed his tracks and treed him.
Yes, down below there were undoubtedly many of the wolves—the whole pack for all he knew—and the moment he came down they would pounce upon him. Washer shivered, and crawled to a higher crotch. The moon had gone down, and the woods were wrapped in darkness. It was impossible for him to see anything below; but the thought that wolves could not climb trees brought a sense of security. He was safe there from Sneaky, Gray Wolf and the whole pack.
He waited a long time for a repetition of the noise, and then decided that he would resume his sleep. If the wolves couldn’t climb the tree what was the use of worrying about them? He closed his eyes with a sigh of relief.
Then came the rustling noise again—this time much nearer the trunk of the tree. It came nearer, and finally reached the tree itself. There was a slight jar that made the leaves tremble. Washer thought it was a wolf leaping up, trying to reach the lower branches; but it was followed by a steady rustling, scraping noise that puzzled him.
For a long time he was uncertain what to make of it, but when it came nearer and nearer, and finally seemed to be in the tree itself, he grew terribly frightened. Somebody or something was climbing the tree!
When Washer made this discovery his alarm was genuine. With a little squeak of fear he ran to the top branch of the tree. But the scraping, rustling noise followed him. It first came from the lower branches; then from the middle ones, and now it was approaching the top.
Washer strained his eyes in the darkness to see this unknown creature that was slowly crawling toward him. In time he could make out a dark form; then another and another. There were three creatures climbing the tree!
Washer’s terror reached a climax. He ran so far out on a branch that it threatened to break with him. He was panic-stricken! It would not have been at all surprising if he had lost his hold and fallen to the ground below. There was no other tree near enough for him to reach, and it was either a matter of holding on and fighting his enemies up there among the top-most branches or dropping to the ground thirty feet below.
“Who is that?” he demanded between chattering teeth.
Then in a little panicky voice he added: “If you don’t get away I’ll call Mother Wolf, and she’ll eat you up.”
That threat had the effect of loosening the tongue of one of the animals, for a voice said in a low growl: “Hear him! Didn’t I tell you he was a friend of the wolves? Now he’s going to call them to kill us. But wolves can’t climb trees. Come on, we’ll catch him! He can’t get away!”
Now Washer recognized that voice at once. It was that of the raccoon he had saved from the cubs, and who in return for his kindness had bitten him. In some way he had discovered Washer’s presence in the tree, and had summoned his friends to kill him. For a moment Washer was more afraid of his own people than of the wolves. Then he decided he would make matters plain to them.
“Please don’t come any further,” he said in a shaking voice. “You just listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Listen to that!” sniffed the big raccoon. “He promises not to hurt us. Well, I don’t think we’ll give him a chance. But we’ll hurt you.”
“But why do you want to hurt me?” asked Washer.
“Because you’re a friend of the wolves, and you’re sent here to betray us to them. We saw you come in the grove of Silver Birches with a big wolf, and then say farewell to her. We knew it was all a trap. You nearly had me killed that day when—”
“No, no,” interrupted Washer, “I saved your life when the cubs had you treed. If it hadn’t been for me they’d caught you.”
“No wolf can catch me when I’m up a tree,” growled the raccoon.
“No, but they would have watched and waited at the foot of the tree until you were starved out,” replied Washer. “You don’t know how patient a wolf can be.”
“I don’t, eh?” snapped the raccoon. “I was treed by one once, and he kept me there for nearly a week, but he got hungry before I did and went away.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Washer asked more interested in this question than what happened to the big raccoon one day.
“We’re going to punish you, and then drive you back to your friends—the wolves.”
“The wolves are not my friends any more,” pleaded Washer.
“Wasn’t that wolf who came here with you a friend?”
“Why, yes, that was Mother Wolf,” stammered Washer.
“What did I tell you?” cried the big raccoon. “He admits it. If you’re a friend of a wolf you’re the enemy to all raccoons.”
“No!” interrupted Washer. “Let me explain!”
“Now we’ve got him!” interrupted the raccoon, who had been creeping nearer. “Shake him off the branch! If the fall doesn’t kill him our people will catch him. He can’t escape.”
The three raccoons sprang toward the swaying branch and began shaking it. Washer clung to it desperately, and it was impossible to dislodge him.
“Bite it! Gnaw it off!” cried the leader of the raccoons.
To Washer’s horror, they began biting and gnawing at the branch, which soon sagged lower and lower. It snapped under his weight and the next moment broke off close to the trunk. Washer felt himself going down, down, down!
He let out a little squeak of fear as he felt himself falling through space. His head struck a lower branch, and his feet got entangled in a few small twigs, but they could not check his fall. He went down, down, down until he landed with a loud plump on the soft earth. When he got up to run he found himself surrounded by a circle of raccoons, each one swishing his tail and gnashing his teeth. In the next story Washer saves his people from a terrible death.
STORY FIFTEEN
THE CUBS LISTEN TO WASHER’S PLEA
Washer was severely bruised by his fall from the tree, but fortunately no bones were broken. He limped a little, and felt a peculiar sensation in one of his front paws; but these small pains were nothing to the fear that possessed him when he saw the angry circle of raccoons.
They were facing him on all sides so there was no chance for him to escape. He turned around several times to find an opening, but his only hope was to jump over the backs of his enemies, which was something he felt unequal to. Even so they would catch him, for he could not expect to jump higher in the air than the others.
He felt the best way out of the difficulty was not to fight, but to stand his ground and try to explain. “Wait!” he cried in a trembly voice. “Please do not touch me until you’ve listened to my story. I’m a raccoon myself, and I’ve come—”
“Don’t listen to him!” cried the big raccoon up the tree. “Catch him and bite him!”
There was a sound of gnashing teeth all around which made Washer shiver. One of the raccoons sprang forward and snapped at his tail.
“I’m your friend!” cried Washer, drawing his tail up under him.
“He’s a friend of the wolves!” shouted the one from the branches of the tree. “Don’t believe him! He came here with a wolf, and he said the wolf was his friend. Therefore, he’s no friend of the raccoons.”
“No! No!” cried several. “He deserves death.”
Washer knew they would not listen to him. They were so excited that in their anger they might kill him before he could tell his story. Clearly then he had to make a desperate effort to escape. If Mother Wolf was only near, she would protect him. In his desperation, he cried:
“O, Mother Wolf, help me! Help me!”
“Listen to him!” said several. “He’s calling to the wolves to help him. Now we know he’s a traitor.”
And with that they made a rush for him. They all seemed to spring forward at once. Instead of trying to leap over their heads, Washer ducked down low as if to hide.
This was the only thing that saved him. The circle of raccoons springing toward a common center came together with a plump, and some of them were knocked over by their own weight. They bit and scratched at each other, supposing that they had Washer, and before they could recover from their surprise Washer was crawling stealthily between their legs to the outskirts of the crowd. No one noticed him until he was clear of the mass of wriggling, fighting animals.
Washer started on a run for the woods, hoping to get away in the darkness and hide. But the big raccoon dropping out of the tree saw him, and started in pursuit.
“There he goes!” he shouted. “Don’t let him escape! Run after him!”
In a few moments the whole colony of raccoons were after him. Now Washer felt he had an even change in a race to escape. His long training with the wolf cubs had taught him to run with great speed. The way he stretched his legs made even the big raccoon wonder if he could ever overtake him.
Out of the grove of Silver Birches he ran, and when he reached the thick woods beyond he plunged desperately into them. Big trees were all around him, but he dared not climb one, for his pursuers would then corner him. They could climb trees as well as he. No, he had to escape by running and hiding.
The race was going to be a long one, for Washer was fleet of foot and strong of muscle, and he was running for his life. But his pursuers were equally determined to catch him, and they came after him in a straggling line, the bigger and stronger ones leading the way. Gradually the weaker ones were left behind, and not more than half a dozen were in sight.
Suddenly Washer came to a clearing in the woods. In the center of this was a pile of rocks. The thought that he might find a hole under them where he could hide induced him to leave the woods and cross the open space.
But the pursuing raccoons saw him, and ran pell mell into the opening. Washer reached the rocks first, but to his dismay there was no hole under them—not even a tiny crevice in which he could hide. It looked as if the race was ended, and he was cornered. In a last desperate effort he scrambled on top of the rocks, and waited.
The other raccoons followed him up there, and the leader shouted triumphantly: “Now we’ve got him!”
Washer squealed as one of them nipped at his tail and another at his front paws. “Please, please—” he began, whimpering with pain.
Now whether it was his cry, or the loud noise made by the scampering raccoons, it is impossible to say, but there were other eyes and ears in the woods that had been drawn to the scene, and Washer’s words were hardly out of his mouth before several dark forms shot out of the woods and crossed the open space. At the same moment the hunting cry of the wolf pack startled the raccoons and made them crouch in terror on top of the rock. They forgot Washer, and turned their attention to the wolves.
To their dismay there seemed no chance of escape. The wolves had them surrounded on all sides as they broke from the cover of the bushes on four sides.
That terrible, blood-thirsty hunting cry of the pack terrified the cornered raccoons so they could not move. They flattened down on the rock and waited for the end.
But Washer had recognized the familiar hunting cry. He knew those voices. They came from his own foster brothers—Mother Wolf’s cubs. Fortunately Sneaky wasn’t with them. Neither was there any other member of the pack.
Washer took courage, and raised himself on the top of the rock. “Brothers,” he called as loudly as he could, “please don’t hurt me or any of my people.”
The cubs stopped short at the foot of the rock, and looked up. “Why, it’s Little Brother!” they cried in a chorus.
“Yes,” answered Washer, “I’m up here with my people. When the pack said they would kill me, Mother Wolf and Black Wolf took me home. Then I asked Mother Wolf to bring me back to my people. I knew I couldn’t live with the wolves any longer, and Mother Wolf knew she couldn’t protect me forever from them. So she said she’d bring me to my own people. I came to Silver Birch grove, and she left me there.”
“And you found your people?” asked the cubs.
“Yes, they’re here with me now.”
“And do they treat you well, Little Brother?” asked the oldest of the cubs. “We thought we heard you crying for help. If they don’t treat you well, we’ll kill them and eat them. We’re very hungry.”
“Oh, they’re going to treat me well, Brothers,” replied Washer. “If you promise to go away, and not hurt them they will treat me well.”
The cubs were silent for a moment. Then one of them spoke for all. “If what you say is true, Little Brother, we won’t kill them. We’ll go away, and leave them this time.”
“Please do,” pleaded Washer.
And the cubs, because they loved Little Brother, nodded their heads and trotted off in the woods. In the next story Washer finds his real brothers and mother.