Wongo And The Wise Old Crow — A Daring Plot 2: Wongo Has A Wild Night, The Sad Tale Of Old Grouch
WONGO HAS A WILD NIGHT
Left alone, with the Navaho dogs and the Indian man-house so near at hand, Wongo hesitated for a moment before deciding to go up to the hole in the mysterious house, but this mighty appeal to his curiosity overpowered his fears, and he started toward the spot of light.
[Illustration: _Wongo put his eye to the hole_] His heart beating wildly with excitement, he reached the little hole in the wall of the hogan and cautiously put his eye to it.
What a sight met his startled gaze!
There were several Navaho men in the house, and two or three little men--Kaw had called them boys.
The first thing that caught Wongo’s wondering attention was the fire.
There it was, right in the center of the man-house.
It was alive, and was eating sticks and bits of bark that popped and cracked as they died!
And as it ate it seemed to leave a white dust that danced up into the light, when the men prodded the fire with a stick.
Heat seemed to come from it, like the heat from the sun.
Wongo had never seen anything like it before.
On the floor around the fire sat the Indians and the voice of one of the boy-men drew Wongo’s attention away from the fire.
One old man was making something with straight sticks and the boy-man asked, “Why must the feathers be put on the end of the arrows, father?
” “It is the tail feathers of the bird that makes the bird fly straight, and it is the feathers of the arrow’s tail that makes it go straight when it leaves the bow string,” replied the old man.
“Why do you make long little grooves on the sides of the arrow, father?
” asked the boy-man.
“When the arrow goes into the deer the grooves let the blood come out at the sides.
If no grooves are there, the arrow fills the wound, and the deer may run far and get away before he is dead.
” Wongo drank in this information and put it into the back of his thoughts for future use.
Then his eye wandered around the circle of men, some holding long sticks in their lips, from which came little blue clouds like the larger clouds from the fire.
This was confusing, and he could not understand it.
Then his gaze fell suddenly on a man unlike any he had ever seen before.
He sat back on the farther side of the fire against the wall of the man-house.
His skin was white, and the lower part of his face had long hair on it, like the hair on the throat of the timber wolf in winter, only the man-hair was black.
Just back of the man with the white skin was a long, shining stick, standing against the wall.
Suddenly the thought came to Wongo that the white-skinned man was the “squaw-man” and the shining stick of strange shape was the gun thing that could shoot to kill a bear.
A little shiver of fear crept over him, when the silence was broken again by the boy-man, who asked, “Would the arrow from a strong bow kill a bear, father?
” “We do not send the arrow at the bear witch,” said the man.
“It would not kill, but would anger the witch to great madness, and trouble--_big_ trouble of much sickness--would come upon us all.
” Then came the strange voice of the squaw-man, and all of the others in the hogan listened closely as he spoke.
“Do my red brothers go with me to get the live bear when the sun is up to-morrow?
” he asked.
No one spoke for some time, and then an old man near the fire replied: “We will go and make much noise with the drum and rattle, and will beat the ground with the sticks as you wish, but we will not help to catch the bear witch, nor send arrows at him.
We do not go if you are to kill the bear witch, and we go only near the bear cave; not close.
” “That is all that I ask,” said the squaw-man.
Suddenly there came a great noise from the other side of the man-house, followed by the loud barking of running dogs, and the snort of frightened horses.
Running quickly toward the sheep corral, Wongo jumped over the low gate and made a grab in the darkness.
“What luck,” he thought, as he lifted an animal into his arms, and holding it tight around the neck he made off with it at top speed.
But he had gone only a short distance when he discovered that there was something wrong with the sheep.
It seemed too slick to hold easily and its legs and neck were longer than any of the sheep he had stolen before.
Suddenly the animal began to squirm, and to kick and twist about in so vigorous a manner Wongo could scarcely hold it at all.
It seemed to be all legs and feet.
It went through such rapid contortions that the little bear was forced to change his hold on it so many times he became confused in the darkness, and could not, for the life of him, tell whether he held the sheep right side up, or upside down.
But that point was decided for him a moment later by the animal itself, who, with a sudden twist, jabbed its horns so hard into his lowest ribs that he gave a grunt of anger and disgust.
“You are a common, cactus-eating goat!
” cried Wongo, addressing the animal, “and it’s too late to take you back, and I can’t kill you here, or turn you loose,” he added desperately.
“Ba-ah-ah!
” bleated the goat feebly, but loud enough to frighten Wongo into making a sudden grab for its neck, for he had been holding it tightly about the hind quarters, thinking he gripped it around the throat.
With a great effort he swung the animal up on his shoulder, with head well forward where it could do no damage, and had started on with a fresh spurt of speed, when he suddenly tripped over a vine and down went bear and goat in a tumbling heap.
Wongo had sufficient presence of mind to keep a tight hold upon his prisoner when he fell.
The goat, having turned a complete somersault, lit squarely on his feet facing Wongo, who, having but three feet to use, had fallen awkwardly in a sitting position on his haunches, one fore-leg extended with the paw tightly holding his prisoner back of the horns.
Thus, although the goat could not go backward, nothing prevented him from going forward and, acting on the instant the thought came to him, he gave a lunge, head downward.
“Woof!
” ejaculated Wongo, as the animal’s head landed against the pit of his stomach, and to keep himself from going over backward with the shock of the blow, he was forced to use all four feet, thus giving the goat the chance it wanted.
Off it sped like a white streak through the sage, and in an instant Wongo was in pursuit.
[Illustration] Confused with fear, the goat headed straight for the mouth of the canyon up which lay the trail.
Having secured a little start of the bear, the goat was running for his life and making good time.
Realizing that they were going in the very direction he would have to carry his prisoner anyway, Wongo kept just close enough to the goat to frighten it into greater speed, knowing that once in the canyon the goat would stick to the path where there was fair footing, rather than attempt to plunge into the rocks or thick bushes on either side.
On into the canyon sped the two animals; the goat, as Wongo had guessed, keeping to the trail.
The goat was becoming less frightened.
Had he not butted the bear over?
Had he not run for some time faster than his pursuer could run?
He was suddenly filled with confidence, and felt that he had a chance--a good chance--to get away from his enemy.
As they sped upward, Wongo began to realize that they were nearing old Grouch’s patch of forbidden ground, and he had just caught the outline of the big, vine-covered rock, over which he was to jump after leaving his sheep, when he heard a savage growl from just ahead, and he suddenly realized that his old enemy had met them on the trail.
Stopping instantly, Wongo began to walk backward as fast as he could to the big rock, and as he did so he heard a surprised “Woof!
” from out of the darkness ahead; a sound of tumbling in the brush; then a sharp clatter of small hoofs that seemed to retreat over the rocks far to the left of the trail.
Jumping quickly over the big rock, Wongo ran at top speed around the side of the mountain.
He had run but a little way when his sensitive nose told him that Kaw’s friend, the polecat, had kept his promise.
On ran Wongo, never stopping until he had circled the mountain and reached the flat-topped rock near his cave.
He had scarcely stretched himself out for a short rest when he heard the flapping wings of Kaw, who flew up, singing as he came: “Two plotters, they plotted a plot, And their plans were all laid to the dot!
Then they said, ‘let us meet, In a chosen retreat, And see if our scheme works or not.
’” “Well,” said Kaw, as he ended the last line of his rhyme with a chuckle, “my crow friends and I surely aroused that peaceful little Indian camp in great shape.
We flew so low and kept up such an uproar, the dogs followed us for half a mile, and we gave the squaw-man’s horses such a scare it is going to take all of the men about the place to round them up if they want to make an early start in the morning.
” Wongo then told Kaw of _his_ adventures since the crow had left him near the hogan, not omitting a single detail of his experience with the goat, nor of the final meeting with old Grouch.
At the end of the little bear’s recital the crow seemed so delighted he could scarcely contain himself for mirth.
Dancing around, first on one foot then on the other and keeping a peculiar kind of time by flapping one wing against his side, he sang in a high key: “‘Oh, Mister Quack, you’re out of luck,’ Said the cunning little froggie to the spoon-bill duck, ‘Excuse my haste, for I must away, Or there’ll be no ceremony on my wedding day.
’ “Old Grouch will surely be out of luck to-morrow unless all signs fail,” he added, as he settled down into a more serious attitude.
“Did you say that after you and the goat met old Grouch you heard the clatter of the goat’s hoofs as though he were running away?
” he asked incredulously.
“Yes,” said Wongo.
“When the goat met old Grouch there was a dull-sounding bump, and the old rascal gave a surprised grunt and seemed to thrash around a moment beside the trail.
Then I heard the clatter of the goat’s hoofs on the rocks at the other side, and he sounded as though he were going like the wind.
” “Well, well,” said Kaw, shaking again with mirth, “I never expected to hear anything like that, and I thought I was used to unexpected things, too.
There is still work to be done before the night is over.
It’s time you were warning the other bears on the mountain, and I must be off to find that goat and tell him how to get back to his friends in the corral below, before some night-prowling timber-wolf runs across him.
He certainly has earned his life, and besides,” he added thoughtfully, “I may want to use him sometime and it’s just as well to do him a good turn as part pay for the service he unknowingly rendered us to-night.
Have you many calls to make before your trip of warning is over?
” he asked.
“A good many,” said Wongo.
“There is old Mrs. Black, who has her cave about a mile above mine, the two Brown brothers who live over on the point, Mrs. Grizzly who lives with her two cubs over on the other side of the hill, and perhaps ten or twelve of our various friends who live across the valley, and I must not forget our friend ‘Long-ears,’ the crippled jack-rabbit, who lives in the brier thicket.
The Indians might try an arrow on him.
” “Needn’t waste your sympathy on him,” said Kaw.
“He committed suicide last week.
” “Why!
” exclaimed Wongo in surprise, “I can’t believe it.
How did it happen?
He was always such a good-humored rascal.
” [Illustration] “Well,” said Kaw, “he found a gray timber-wolf asleep in front of his den and, thinking it would be a good joke, he playfully kicked him in the ear!
” “Umph!
” grunted Wongo sadly.
“He was a droll fellow, but too thoughtless, I suppose.
” “Where will you advise our friends to go to-night?
” asked Kaw.
“There is only one good place where there will be food and plenty of water for all of us, and that is over the two ranges to the north.
” “Good place,” said Kaw.
“Better than this, in fact.
I know every inch of the big valley, and the stream there runs into a beautiful lake far over to the north, beyond the black hills.
Let’s see, when the sun is straight overhead to-morrow, you will have reached the big aspen grove on the east side of the second mountain.
I will meet you there and tell you all about the squaw-man’s big hunt for the live bear.
I expect to watch the fun from the top of the tall pine that stands by the side of old Grouch’s cave, and if you were not so touchy about roosting, I might ask you to join me there,” he added with a grin.
“But I will try and give you a full account of all that happens.
” And so the two friends separated, each to continue his night’s work.
CHAPTER 4 THE SAD TALE OF OLD GROUCH
When the sun looked down from over the mountain the next morning it saw an unusual sight.
A long, though peaceful, procession of bears, foxes, wolves, and even coyotes, went stringing along a dim trail leading toward the north.
A large herd of timid deer, sensing the fact that there must be danger somewhere, or the other animals would not be leaving the country at this season of the year, trailed cautiously in the rear.
Over the foothills and plains and little ravines traveled the procession, headed by Wongo.
Through groves of big clean pine trees and over long stretches of sage-covered hills they went, never slackening the speed of their shuffling trot.
It seemed to Wongo that it was the longest morning he had ever spent, and he was just wondering if the sun could be standing still, just by way of playing a joke on him, when on rounding a sharp point he saw the big aspen grove a little way ahead.
Then he noticed that he was stepping squarely on his shadow as he ran, and he could do that only when the sun was in the middle of the sky.
As they entered the edge of the first group of beautiful white trees, Wongo looked all around for Kaw, but it was evident he had not arrived, as he never waited for Wongo to look for him, as his sharp eyes could see the bear a long way, and he always knew where the bear was long before Wongo knew his crow friend was in the same neighborhood.
Weary with the work of the night before, and the long journey of the morning, the little bear stretched himself out luxuriously on the beautiful yellow carpet of the aspen leaves.
He would rest a bit, he thought.
He would not sleep--no, sleep was not to be thought of--for Kaw might come along at any moment now, and if he were asleep the crow might not find him.
Shielding his eyes from the sun with his paw, he began to think of the experiences of the night before by way of keeping himself awake, but his thoughts wandered into a jumble of Indians with horns, goats on fire, and the squaw-man catching crows with arrows that had wings--a confusion of thoughts that led him into the land of slumber.
How long he slept he did not know, but he suddenly became conscious that someone was speaking to him, or laughing at him, and he sat up with a jerk.
On a stump a few feet away sat Kaw, going over his wing feathers with his beak by way of straightening himself up a bit after a long flight.
He was mumbling to himself and keeping up, all the while, a low chuckle that occasionally rose to a laugh.
Seeing that Wongo was awake he said, “It is well that you take kindly to sleep, friend Wongo, as it is about the only thing that has ever defeated your curiosity.
” “Oh, I was just resting a bit while I was waiting for you to come,” said Wongo apologetically.
“Just resting!
” remarked Kaw dryly.
“So I have observed for the past twenty minutes.
” “Have you been on that stump for twenty minutes?
” asked Wongo sheepishly.
“Yes,” replied Kaw.
“Thought I had better let you sleep for a while.
You and that goat must have had a ripping hard run last night.
I didn’t find the poor animal until about daybreak this morning.
He was dragging himself slowly down the mountain, many miles the other side of the canyon, and was the most forlorn looking beast I have ever looked upon.
Although he looked quite thin and dejected, he still had some fire in his eye.
When the poor rascal caught sight of me he suddenly changed his limping shuffle into an upstanding walk, and attempted a swagger that was surely funny.
I had considerable difficulty in persuading him that I wished to tell him how to get home, for he was going in exactly the wrong direction.
After I told him a bit about your experience with him, he was so surprised that I should know of it he listened to reason quite readily.
When I finally left him he was still holding to the swagger for my benefit, and as he disappeared in the brush I thought to myself, if he hasn’t been the boss of that sheep corral in the past he will be from now on.
” Wongo did not wish to be impolite enough to interrupt the crow’s recital about the goat, but he was fairly squirming inside with desire to know all about the squaw-man’s hunting trip.
Seeing that the crow had finished his account of the goat, he asked: “Did the squaw-man and the Indians go on their hunt?
And did they find my trail?
And--” “One question at a time,” interrupted Kaw.
“Now that you have told all of the other bears about our experience of last night, they will be as interested in the outcome as you are.
Go call them, and I will tell the story to all of you.
” Wongo lost no time in rounding up the other bears that had come with him, and all seemed eager to hear what had happened during the squaw-man’s hunting trip.
As the bears lined up in a row, Kaw took a commanding position on a low limb of a tree that stood just in front of them and from the half dreamy, half droll expression in his eyes, Wongo could see that his friend had something very interesting and perhaps humorous to relate.
Pausing a moment for absolute quiet, Kaw began: “It was just about daylight when I flew up to the tree near the den of old Grouch.
I watched from my lookout for quite a long time and was beginning to get restless when I saw the hunters coming in long, single file.
The squaw-man, with his dogs, was in the lead.
He was holding the dogs back with thongs that were tied around their necks.
The Indian men had rattles and tom-toms, though they made no noise.
The boys had clubs and sticks and some had bows and arrows with which to shoot at small game.
Far back of the squaw-man came the Navahos.
They kept to the trail, and your tracks were very clear, Wongo, for they followed them easily.
When they came to the place where you and the goat met old Grouch they stopped for a look.
Then they ran back and forth, and they whispered and talked.
They looked all around and it was plain they were not sure about your tracks.
I suspect the goat tracks confused them, for _your_ trail stopped at the rock and bear tracks seemed ended while goat tracks went on.
It got on my nerves when they started to gather about the high point where you jumped over the vine-covered rock, but just about that time the dogs got the scent of old Grouch and in no time the squaw-man caught sight of his den.
He told the Indians to go around the den to the rear.
He said, ‘When I signal, you start the big noise.
’ Then he handed the leather rope that led his dogs to one of the boys.
“Well, soon all the Indians were back of the den, all ready to start at the squaw-man’s signal.
Suddenly there broke loose a most unearthly noise.
I have never heard anything like it.
Talk about giving old Grouch a scare!
Well, he was the most frightened animal I ever saw in my life.
At first he let out a half-hearted growl, but that soon changed to a sound that was half whine and half yelp!
In a terrible panic he started out of the cave and down the trail, lickety-clip, and I thought, now the hunter will use his gun, but he didn’t. He had in his hand what he called a rope.
Then I thought, ‘Well, old Grouch, you’ve got a chance to get away.
’ One end of the rope was tied fast to a tree and I soon saw what the squaw-man was to do with the other end.
He swung that rope around his head, and just what happened next I couldn’t see, for a cloud of dust arose just where the rope and old Grouch met!
But when the dust settled enough to see--well!
” and Kaw chuckled as he thought of what had occurred, and lapsed into rhyme as the only medium that would do justice to the occasion: “Well, there was old Grouch, like a cat in a fit;
He thrashed and he tumbled, he scratched and he bit!
But his efforts were vain, the rope held him tight;
Surely never was bear in more comical plight.
Pawing the air, on his hind legs he rose, But the rope tripped his feet and he lit on his nose.
And then he got up with a look of surprise, And the fire of his anger blazed up in his eyes.
He growled and he snorted, he kicked up the dirt;
Though he’d had many bumps, ’twas his pride that was hurt.
Well, when he had fought ’till he’d worn himself out, They tied up his legs with a thong good and stout, And rolling him onto a thing called a sled, Down through the bed of the canyon they sped.
” By the time the crow had finished, the bears were laughing until the tears ran down their cheeks.
They danced with glee, and rolled over on the ground in fits of mirth, all of which was thoroughly enjoyed by Kaw, who looked down upon them with a comical twist of his head that showed he felt fully satisfied with his adventure and the outcome.
After the noise of laughter had died down, Wongo, who was still curious as to the fate of old Grouch, asked: “Do you suppose they got the old rascal into the cage thing, all right?
” “Well, I wanted to make sure of that myself,” replied Kaw, “so after I had had my breakfast, and a bath in the pool at the foot of the canyon, I flew out over the foothills to see what was going on.
There were the squaw-man’s horses trailing along over the plain with the wagon thing rolling along behind them in a little cloud of dust.
As I neared the wagon thing I saw our old friend Grouch, safely inside the cage, and pacing back and forth like a bee-stung bobcat.
I could not resist having a bit of fun with the old beggar, so as I came up alongside I called out to him: “‘Come outside, my old friend!
A bear of your age Should enjoy a walk through the cool, green sage.
’ “I had to shout it out pretty loud to be heard above the rumble of the wagon, but he heard it, all right, and the way he looked at me was something to be remembered.
He growled and butted his old head against the sides of the cage thing in such a temper I said, ‘Oh, well, if you must be going, I won’t try to detain you any longer.
’ Then I called out to him as the wagon rumbled away: “‘Good-bye, my old friend; a dozen good-byes!
To see you depart brings tears to my eyes!
As onward you go, may your speed never slack, But let me suggest that you never come back!
’” When the crow had finished the account of his farewell to Grouch, he flew slowly out over the hills, and Wongo was to see him no more until they would meet beyond the Black mountains to visit the cave of Cho-gay, the Indian boy.
[Illustration] Cho-gay of Timbertangle CHAPTER 1
