the shadows of timbertangle wood

have hidden many a tale

of wild adventure and treasure trove,

and magic of forest trail.

but here is a tale as it came to me,

and i’m told that it’s really true

(by the little black bird who told it to me!)

so i’m handing it on to you!

wongo, the little bear, stood at the entrance to his cave, his head hanging almost to his paws. he looked and felt very lonely and discouraged. he was weak and hungry and his friend kaw, the wise old crow, was away. wongo did not know where he had gone and did not know what to do without him. the world seemed a sad, dark place.

the sides of wongo’s empty stomach seemed to rub together and call for food, but stronger, much[134] stronger than that was the call of loneliness in his heart. he felt that if he were left this way much longer he would just lie down and die, all by himself. but wongo did not die, as you shall see. this is a tale of adventure and great magic, and let it never be forgotten that the little bear did his part in the magic and did it well.

it was the year of the great thirst in timbertangle—a year that all animals have good reason to remember, the year of the warm winter, when no snows came to melt into streams and pools in the spring.

all things that should have been green and fresh hung brown and dusty and rattled at the touch. berries dried on the stem, before they were ripe, and nuts, when they were picked, were found to be just little withered specks in their hollow shells. most of the streams were merely beds of bleached bowlders, white with dust, and only here and there, where water had been a rushing torrent in years past, was there a tiny trickle between the stones—just enough to satisfy the thirst of the many animals of timbertangle. even these little streams grew scantier each day and first one and then another dried up altogether.

it had been many, many moons since any rain had fallen and the larger animals were mere ghosts[135] of themselves, for the smaller animals on which they fed had long ago died, or gone away in search of the green things on which they lived.

it must not be thought that kaw, the crow, had been idle in all this time. he had flown many a day’s journey in every direction to see if he could find water, but always came back with the same tale—no rains had fallen anywhere and everywhere growing things were brown and dry and all living things cried for water.

a sort of watchman of timbertangle was kaw, for the little crow seemed never to sleep and there was not much that escaped his bright eyes. it was a mystery to many of the animals why kaw and wongo were on such friendly terms, the quick, alert bird and the lumbering little bear, but they certainly were almost always together, for seldom was wongo seen that somewhere in the tree tops could not be distinguished the sheen of kaw’s black feathers.

wongo’s head dropped lower and lower as he considered these things and he grew more and more lonely and depressed, when suddenly he jerked up with a start! without preliminary flutter or noise of any kind the voice of kaw broke sharply in on his sad thoughts:

[136]

“stand on your head and jig and dance,

or wiggle your legs and howl and prance;

but don’t stand there with a hanging head,

as if some friend of ours was dead!

what awful thing has happened now,

that you should wear such a troubled brow?”

wongo looked up and heaved a great sigh of relief. there sat kaw on his accustomed limb, and immediately the world seemed a different, brighter place.

“well, i’m glad to see you’re alive anyway,” continued the crow. “you hadn’t moved since i landed here. i have been watching you for some time and was beginning to wonder if you had learned to sleep standing up. anything very terrible happened while i was away?”

“nothing worse than when you were here,” said wongo. “where in the world have you been? have you found anything?”

“well, y-e-s—and no,” said kaw, a bit doubtfully, answering the last question. “i’ve found an idea and ideas can be very helpful sometimes. you can never tell. have you seen cho-gay, the indian boy, lately?”

[137]

“just follow me,” cried kaw, “and you shall see”

[138]“not very lately,” said wongo. “why?” he sat back on his haunches. things did not seem so dark now with kaw back, even though the old crow himself was exceedingly dark, and wongo’s hollow insides did not seem to cry nearly so loudly for food.

[139]“that can wait,” said the crow, and cocked his head on one side. “not hungry, are you?” asked he, and pretended to jump with fright at the snort let out by the little bear. “oh, well, don’t eat me, but i happened to find out just a short while ago where old chac, the gray wolf, who fell two days ago and broke his neck, kept his meat. there’s some there yet.”

gone was wongo’s despondency. he sprang to his feet and sniffed the air. “where?” was the single word he uttered, and kaw, with a great pretense of hurry and bustle, flapped his wings and rose from his limb, crying as he did so:

“just follow me

and you shall see—

my nose is true,

and yours is, too.

please use it now,

as you know how;

but don’t be long,

the smell is strong,

and may be stronger

if we’re longer.

it may meet us—

even cheat us—

for we’ll lose it

[140]

and confuse it,

if we meet!”

“oh, hush!” shouted wongo. “you make my head buzz. what are you talking about?”

“oh, i don’t know,” answered kaw. “if the smell should meet us, which would be the meat? that’s what i want to know—meet bear or bear meat—i can’t see much difference—” but he got no further. he had been flying from tree to tree, giving wongo plenty of time to follow on his rather wabbly legs, and now there was no doubt but that they had come to the place to which he had referred, and wongo paid no further attention to kaw for a time. the little bear wondered, as he ate, why the other animals had not found the meat, for, as kaw had said, the smell was certainly plain and strong. he found a fairly good supply of mountain sheep in the cache, but where old chac had killed it he could not imagine. it was good, though, and he was thankful to have his stomach again filled.

when he had eaten until he was satisfied and had carefully hidden what remained of the meat, wongo turned gratefully to his old friend, who sat preening his feathers on a near-by cottonwood tree.

“now i am ready to listen to what it was you[141] were going to say awhile ago,” he said. “what about cho-gay?”

kaw did not answer for a moment, but continued his cleaning operations. presently, with a final shake, he settled himself on his limb and looked down at wongo.

“have you anything particular to do this morning?” he asked, as if in idle questioning.

“what about cho-gay?” wongo asked again. “you had something to tell me about him.”

“patience, patience, my young friend,” said the old crow gravely. “i shall come to that presently.”

wongo felt very comfortable and lazy now. he stretched himself out on a warm rock in the sun and waited good-naturedly for what his friend had to say. he grunted with satisfaction and contentment as he fuzzed out his hairy coat and felt the rays of the sun sink down to his skin. when wongo had eaten his fill he always was sleepy.

“as you evidently haven’t anything to do this morning,” continued the crow, “i’ll go on with what i was going to say.”

“go on,” grunted wongo, and his eyes were nearly closed.

“for goodness sake don’t go to sleep!” called kaw, suddenly alert. “there are things to do, and[142] to do now if we expect to see another winter in timbertangle—here! wake up!”

“what’s the matter?” grunted wongo. “who’s going to sleep? i was never more awake in my life.” with a great effort, he opened his eyes wide to prove what he said. “what is there to do and who is going to do it?”

“well, that sounds more like it,” said kaw. “if you really are awake, come on over to cho-gay’s cave and we will talk there.”

the little bear got up very slowly, and shook himself carefully all over, beginning with first one leg and then the other and ending with the little flap he called a tail.

“all right, i’m ready,” he said, “only it seems to me the really sensible thing to do would be to take a nap.”

kaw chuckled. “it’s plain to me the nap will soon take you if you don’t take it, if we wait here one minute longer. this is no time for naps, my friend. you and i have work to do. i have a plan, you see.”

“no, i don’t see,” said wongo, a trifle crossly. “you mean you know of a place where we can get a good supply of water?”

“n-o, not exactly—but—well, come on and you’ll see later.” kaw flopped from his tree and[143] flew slowly off in the direction of cho-gay’s cave, the little bear following, a bit reluctantly, in his wake. wongo was still sleepy and not a little puzzled by kaw’s words. curiosity as to what was meant, as much as loyalty to his friend, now spurred him on.

kaw soon disappeared through the branches of the trees and the little bear followed slowly, his tongue lolling out of his mouth, as he wished in vain for a cool drink.