THE FOX AND THE WOLF
In the afternoon of the day following the visit of the coyotes to the
cave of Cho-gay, a dapper little red fox and a gaunt, one-eyed, old
timber-wolf trotted over a narrow trail that led along the rim of a
canyon.
They were Sandy, or Red-eagle Fox, as he loved to call himself, and
Rip, the veteran outcast of a once great pack. Why this strange pair
hunted together was a mystery to all but Kaw, the crow. He knew that
it was because the conceited little fox, who never tired of boasting
of his supposed skill as a hunter, felt it a great compliment to be
permitted to hunt with a real wolf, and that old Rip endured the
companionship of the boastful little fox for the simple reason that
when game is to be found, two sharp, young eyes are better than one old
one. In truth, the old wolf knew that his days of hunting alone were
gone.
The alert little fox, filled with false pride and great vanity, formed
a strange contrast to Rip, for even a casual observer would have
noticed that the old wolf had passed a long way beyond the prime of
life. Old Rip’s left eye had been lost in one of the numerous battles
he had been called upon to fight, but the right eye still retained some
of its former fire; a part of one ear was missing, but he could hear
with it very well. As he ran, it could be seen that his joints were
not just as limber as they once had been. His greatest characteristic
was an insatiable appetite; he was always hungry. But, in spite of all
this, he was a wolf, and that fact made him great in the eyes of Sandy,
the fox.
While on hunting trips, the luck of this strange pair was a very
uncertain thing, but usually the little fox managed to catch a rabbit
or some birds, and old Rip was always careful to pay his partner some
gruff compliment before devouring the larger portion of the game.
Secretly Kaw enjoyed the fox and wolf, as they afforded him many a
quiet chuckle, of which they were ignorant. Because of his interest,
Kaw frequently helped them to find game when hunting was poor, and the
two learned to look upon him as a valued friend.
On this particular afternoon, the hunters were in no pleasant mood, for
it was growing late and they had killed nothing since early morning but
a small grouse, which did not satisfy their appetite for long.
[Illustration: _Sandy, the fox, and Old Rip, the timber-wolf_]
As they stuck close to the trail, it was evident that, though hungry,
they were on some business other than hunting.
“How much farther is it to this bear’s den?” growled Rip, who was
beginning to weary of the journey.
“Only a little way now,” replied the fox. “Soon we will go up the
mountain side a short distance, and then we are there.”
The old wolf made no reply to this, but trotted doggedly along after
his companion. Wishing to turn Rip’s thoughts to less tiresome things
than trails and distances, the little fox asked, “How did you learn
that Kil-fang and his pack are returning to the Black Hills?”
“I have ears, haven’t I?” growled Rip. “When there is news of a kill
abroad, I hear of it, and there will be good hunting for many of us
when the pack comes down the north canyon. All animals will run over
the hills to the broad valley to get out of the way of Kil-fang, and it
is there _I_ shall be before them.”
“I also will be there,” remarked the fox, and each of these brave
hunters had visions of the great number of rabbits, squirrels, and
small animals that would swarm over the hills and into the valley to
the east, as the wolf pack came through the canyon that opened into the
Black Hill region on the north.
“When does the pack come?” asked the fox.
“Yap-kii, the coyote, gave me the news,” replied Rip, “and he says the
pack now numbers more than fifty, and that they will come into the
Black Hills when the moon is again at the full. I have no liking for
this Cho-gay, but I have less for the strutting Kil-fang, and I shall
howl the death howl with great happiness if the Indian man-child kills
him and drives his boastful pack again into the north.”
“It is not many days from now that the moon is at the full,” said the
fox, “no more than a dozen, at most. Does anyone but Yap-kii and you
know about the coming of the pack?”
“No one,” replied Rip, “for he does not dare to tell Fearful and his
brothers, as they talk too much, and the rabbits and squirrels have
sharp ears.”
Suddenly a voice that came from the limb of a cottonwood tree above
their heads called out:
“Two bold, brave hunters are we,
As all who will look can see.
To fight the fierce rabbit,
With us is a habit;
We fear nothing that’s smaller than we--
Let’s see--
We mean smaller and _weaker_ than we!”
At the sound of Kaw’s voice, for it was he, the spirits of the two
hungry hunters began to rise, for _now_ there was hope of finding
something to eat.
“Where are we going, so far from home, on so fine an afternoon?”
inquired the crow. Then without waiting for a reply, he continued,
“I’ll guess you are just out for a quiet stroll after eating a nice
meal of fat mountain sheep and jack-rabbit.”
At the mention of such delicious food old Rip licked his chops, and the
little fox squirmed uneasily. As usual he spoke for the two:
“We certainly _would_ have had a fine meal if we had been on one of our
regular hunting trips, for as you know I always bag my game, and there
is no greater hunter than--”
“Then you have had poor hunting to-day?” broke in Kaw, who did not care
to hear the boastful remarks that he knew the little fox was getting
ready to make.
“Yes, that’s just it,” replied the little fox. “As I was saying, we
are on our way to make an important call, and though we have come a
great distance, there has been nothing good to eat within sight or
sound of us since dawn.”
At that moment the keen eyes of the old crow caught sight of a short
line of moving animals far back along the canyon rim, but though
his eyes twinkled as he realized that Fearful and his brothers were
trailing the little fox, to tell him of Cho-gay’s order, he said
nothing to the two hunters, who were ignorant of the fact that they
were being followed.
“Well,” said Kaw, “as I flew over the sage that is just around the
point ahead of you, I saw a number of jack-rabbits that were headed up
the mountain. If you cut in above the trail you will head them off!”
Instantly the two hunters sprang forward toward the place indicated,
each trying to be first, and neither remembering to thank the old crow
for the information he had given them.
“So they are making an important call,” said Kaw to himself, as he
watched the odd pair loping away up the mountain side. “It’s quite
plain who they are calling upon. I wonder what kind of a plot is in the
wind now.” Then he looked back far down the canyon trail, where the
small line of coyotes were slowly approaching, and chuckled to himself
as he flew off over the mountain.
Less than half an hour later, Rip and Sandy had managed to kill two
jack-rabbits, and were trotting along the well-worn little trail that
led to the cave of Wongo, the bear. Suddenly the fox, who was in the
lead, stopped beside some jack-oak bushes and spoke to his companion:
“You can wait here, friend Rip, while I talk to Wongo, for you see he
must not know that you are in this plan of ours. If he learns that you
are interested in the escape of the mountain sheep, or I should say in
eating the sheep after it has escaped, he would tell Cho-gay. If this
Indian man-child hears of it, you would never get the sheep, and my
brother might not be set free in time to escape Kil-fang and his pack.”
“I keep my word,” replied Rip, who was in a better humor after the meal
of the jack-rabbit. “But remember,” he added warningly, “I am to have
the mountain sheep in return for telling you the news of Kil-fang and
the pack. Go on; I’ll wait for you here.”
Sandy trotted up the trail, leaving his companion, who was glad enough
to rest his weary bones after so long a journey.
A few minutes later the fox, after announcing his presence with a
short bark, poked his head into the bear’s cave and called out, “A good
evening to you, Brother Wongo. I hope I am not interrupting a nap.”
“No,” replied the little bear, who was suddenly curious to know why
Sandy was so far from his own hunting grounds, “but I am just getting
ready to take a walk into the canyon. What brings you to the cave of
Wongo?”
“I have just been on one of my famous hunting trips,” replied Sandy. “I
often make long journeys when in search of big game, for, as you may
know, I am one of the greatest--”
“All right,” cut in Wongo, who had learned from Kaw about Sandy’s habit
of boasting, “but what brings you here?”
“As I was just saying,” replied the fox, “I was passing this way, and
thought I’d just drop in to see you, and perhaps ask a question or two
that you might be able to answer.” Sandy looked anxiously at the little
bear.
“Go on,” said Wongo, whose curiosity was growing.
“I have just heard that you visited the cave of Cho-gay, the man-child,
yesterday, and it may be that you can tell me something about him. They
say that he has many animals that he keeps as prisoners in little holes
in the rocks near his cave, and that he does not let them out. Is it
so?”
“He has only three animals,” replied Wongo, “and he keeps them shut up
because they steal, and so have not kept the law. One is a mountain
sheep, who stole his corn, another is a young bobcat, who stole or
tried to steal dried meat from his cave, and the third is a fox who has
twice stolen from him, but will not steal again very soon.”
The little fox remained silent for a few moments, not knowing just how
to gain the real information he had come for, but just as the impatient
Wongo was about to ask him to go on, he remarked, “All say that this
Cho-gay knows all animal talk, that he can do strange things, and that
he carries a long, sharp claw with which he can kill very quickly when
he wishes to. Is it so?”
“That he can do strange things is true, and the thing you call a claw
is a knife,” said Wongo, and he took on a superior air as he gave this
information, for he was quite proud of his knowledge of Cho-gay.
“Could he kill the gray-wolf pack if it should come?” asked Sandy.
“That is a silly question,” replied Wongo. “No one could kill the pack
single handed, unless he had as many heads and as many teeth as the
pack, and of course we know that no such animal lives in Timbertangle.”
“Would Cho-gay shut _me_ up if I went to tell him something he would
like to hear?” inquired Sandy.
“No, if what you tell is true. But why not tell me, who knows him, and
I can tell him for you,” suggested the little bear, whose curiosity was
now thoroughly aroused.
“No,” replied Sandy, “I have reasons why I must tell him myself; I have
valuable information to give him and--well, it _may_ be that I will ask
him for something in return.”
“Oh, very well,” said Wongo with pretended indifference. “I can’t see
that the matter concerns me, so I will bid you good----”
“Yes, yes!” broke in the fox quickly, “It _does_ concern you, as I want
you to take me to this Cho-gay, for I have never seen him except from
a great distance and--well, you could tell him who I am, you know, and
that we are close friends, and about my reputation as a great----”
“Ho, ho!” grunted Wongo. “You mean that we are _acquainted_ because we
both happen to be friends of Kaw, the crow.”
“Just that,” said the fox, who wished to be very agreeable to the
little bear. “By the way, did you happen to hear Cho-gay say just when
he expected to free the mountain sheep and the fox?”
“Yes,” replied Wongo, who was anxious to show his caller that he knew a
great deal about the doings of the ruler of the Black Hills, “I heard
him say that the mountain sheep is to go free in three days, that’s the
day after to-morrow, but the fox is to be kept for a long time, as he
is a great thief and has twice broken the law.”
The little fox squirmed uneasily when the last statement was made, but
his uneasiness escaped the notice of the bear.
“But what has all that to do with the great secret that you have to
tell Cho-gay?” asked Wongo.
“You will learn all that if you will just agree to accompany me to his
cave, and if you would--well, just tell him that I am Red-eagle Fox,
the hunter.”
Wongo made no reply for some time, merely for the impressive effect his
silence would have on his caller.
“Yes,” he said at length, “although it is a long, hard trip from here
to Cho-gay’s cave, and I have no love for long trips, I can see no
great reason why I should not do you the favor to accompany you. Then,
too, Cho-gay may want my advice.”
Before Sandy could make any reply to this, five silent gray figures
suddenly appeared in a semi-circle behind him and Fearful, the coyote,
spoke.
“Brother Sandy is wanted by our leader, the Indian man-child. There is
a tale that our brother, the fox, has been telling and Cho-gay would
hear it from his own mouth.”
At this announcement the little fox began to swell with pride, and all
interest in Wongo vanished.
“Ah, it is well that you bring me word from our great leader, Brother
Fearful.” Then turning to Wongo, “I will not need your company after
all, Wongo, so I will bid you good-day.”
“Well, I will be glad to accompany you anyway,” said Wongo hastily,
as he followed his caller out of the cave entrance, for he had no
intention of missing the chance to learn what mysterious news Sandy had
for Cho-gay.
“It will not be necessary now that he has sent for me,” replied Sandy.
“I fully intended to visit Cho-gay again very soon, anyway, Brother
Sandy, and it suits me just as well to go along with you now. Of
course,” added the little bear, “he will see no one until the sun is
up, and we could not get to his cave much before dawn.”
[Illustration: _“Brother Sandy is wanted,” said Fearful_]
“Don’t trouble yourself about it,” said the fox coolly, “for I am
sure he will not want any but very important members of Timbertangle
to hear the news I have for him.” With this he started down the trail
followed by the five coyotes.
The little bear watched them depart and decided that _he_ would be at
the cave of Cho-gay before them. After he had given them time to get a
good start down the trail, he ambled down the path thinking of all that
had taken place and wondering what could be the great news that Sandy
had to tell. So occupied was he with his thoughts, he did not notice a
black object perched on the low limb of a tree near the trail, but he
looked up as a voice sang out:
“Oh, here comes a bear; a pigeon-toed bear,
And _that_ is as plain as can be.
He lives in a den, it’s really a pen,
And _I’d_ much rather live in a tree;
That’s me!
It’s much nicer to live in a tree.
“Wherever he goes, he turns in his toes,
Except when he scratches and bites,
And it’s sad to relate, he’s often out late!
Oh, what does he do with his nights?
Just fights!
Yes, _that’s_ what he does with his nights!”
“I don’t either,” growled Wongo, pretending to be angry at his old
friend, “and my cave isn’t a pen either. But what could a squawking
old crow know about caves?”
“I believe I smell a wolf,” said Kaw, changing the subject, and he
stuck his beak in the air in imitation of animals who sniff for a scent.
“Yes,” said Wongo, as he too sniffed the air, “I hadn’t noticed it
before, but I too smell a wolf. Sandy the fox just stopped at my cave a
few minutes ago to ask me to take him to the cave of Cho-gay, but that
old one-eyed partner of his was not with him.”
“No?” queried Kaw, with a chuckle. Then he cocked his head on one side
and continued:
“Well, it’s just as I thought,
There’s a gay little plot;
It’ll be about something to eat,
And there’s some axe to grind,
As we’re sure to find;
No doubt in exchange for fresh meat.”
“What do you mean by all that string of words?” asked Wongo.
“Nothing, nothing very important,” replied Kaw. “We’ll soon see for
ourselves. Did Fearful, the coyote, come to your cave while Sandy was
there?”
“Yes, he did,” said Wongo. “There were four other coyotes with him,
and they told Sandy that Cho-gay wanted to see him about some important
matter. What’s it all about? Do you know?”
“I suspect I know something about it,” said Kaw, “but not enough to
tell. When do Sandy and the coyotes and Rip, the wolf, go to see
Cho-gay?”
“I don’t know about old Rip,” said Wongo, “but Sandy and the coyotes
have started to-night and I am going too, but I expect to be there when
they arrive.”
“Well, you can bet that the old wolf is trailing along after them.
The old rascal was with Sandy to-day, and there is some good reason
why they did not want you to know that he was around. Did the fox say
anything about things they are planning to kill or eat?”
“No,” replied Wongo, “he only asked if I knew when Cho-gay intended to
free old Twisted-horns, the mountain sheep, and the fox that are shut
up in the rocks near Cho-gay’s cave.”
“What did you tell him?” asked Kaw.
“I told him that the sheep was to be free in three days, and the fox
was to be kept prisoner for a long time, as he had twice broken the
law.”
“By the way,” said Kaw, “I see from your good humor that you must have
had good hunting yesterday. Did you find the old mountain sheep on the
cliffs?”
“No, I didn’t find him on the cliffs, or near the aspen trees. But I
got him. I must have passed him on the way up, for when I had given up
hope of finding him, I turned back down the trail and near the bottom
of the hills I ran right into him. He was coming up so fast he didn’t
see me. Those young rams in his flock must be good at fighting to turn
him out of the flock, for he didn’t look like any outcast.” And then
the little bear couldn’t understand why Kaw should laugh so long and
hard over such simple news.
“I am glad you found a sheep even if it wasn’t the one I sent you
to get,” said the crow, at length, “and it was lucky for you that I
induced Cho-gay to free Twisted-horns when he did.”
“Do you mean that I got the old sheep that Cho-gay had shut up in the
rocks?” asked Wongo in great excitement.
“Well, it looks that way to _me_,” said Kaw. Then changing the subject
abruptly, he said, “If you are to be at Cho-gay’s cave by sunrise you
will want to amble along. I think I’ll be there, too, but I can sleep
half the night first and then be there before the rest of you.”
As the little bear started down the trail Kaw flew along beside him
for a little way and as he flew he sang:
“Mr. Wolf and a bobcat had a fight,
Down in the hollow where the timber grows thick;
In just one minute Mr. Wolf took flight--
He was in a hurry, and lookin’ quite sick!
“Yes, old Mr. Wolf he ran away,
With a scratched-up nose and a bunged-up eye.
And he’s scared of bobcats to this day,
And he shakes with fear when he hears one cry!”