Washer the Raccoon

He ran back to the trunk, and began climbing higher. Up and up he went until his little body was lost among the foliage.

“He’s lost!” exclaimed the Wolf cubs below. “Something’s happened to him! I can’t see him!”

But Washer, having reached the top-most branch of the tree, bit off a twig and threw it down at them. “Here I am!” he cried. “Now follow me up here!”

The Wolf cubs immediately accepted the challenge. They started for the tree and began pawing at it They jumped and leaped up the trunk, and tried in every way to climb it. Their failure was so ludicrous that Washer laughed heartily, encouraging them with loud words.

But no wolf can climb a tree, and the cubs soon stopped their efforts. Once more they squatted around in a circle and looked up at Washer.

“Will you teach me to climb?” asked one after another.

Washer considered a moment, and then said: “It’s something that can’t be taught brothers. If I could I would, but no wolf can ever climb a tree.”

They were so surprised and amazed at the exploit of their Little Brother in climbing a tree that they surrounded him all the way home and pestered him with all sorts of questions. When they reached the den they demanded of Mother Wolf the reason why they could not climb a tree like Little Brother. Mother Wolf was both sad and pleased.

“I can’t tell you,” she replied, “why a wolf cannot climb a tree. But he simply can’t any more than he can fly like a bird. Little Brother is a Raccoon, you know, and—”

“What’s a Raccoon? Isn’t he a wolf?”

“No, dears, Little Brother isn’t a wolf.”

All the cubs looked in surprise at Washer. He was not like them. He wasn’t a Wolf. In the next story Washer finds one of his people treed by the cubs.

STORY EIGHT

THE CUBS TREE A STRANGER

Thereafter there was a different feeling between the Wolf cubs and Washer the Raccoon. The former could not help feeling that Washer was an outsider, and while they tried to conceal their feelings they were not entirely successful. He was not only not their real brother, but he was a different kind of an animal—not a wolf at all.

One day when they were down by the brook, Washer plucked a rich, juicy root to eat, for there had not been enough meat to go around that day, and Washer was hungry.

“What are you going to do with that, Little Brother?” one of the cubs asked, watching him carry the root away in his mouth.

“Why, eat it, of course,” was the reply.

“What a funny thing to eat! I never ate a root before.”

It was a fact that wolves never liked roots or leaves, while raccoons frequently eat both. Washer felt a little embarrassed, but he carried the root to the brook and dipped it in. The Wolf cubs followed him.

“What are you doing that for?” added another, as the raccoon continued to dip the root in the water.

“Washing it, of course, before eating it,” was the reply.

Once more there was surprise and curiosity on the faces of the cubs. Washer had unintentionally betrayed a trick of all his ancestors. The raccoons nearly always dipped and washed their food in water before eating it. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to do it, but it was not until he saw the look of wonder in the eyes of his playmates that he realized this little act indicated once more what a wide difference there was between them.

“Do all raccoons wash their food before eating it,” continued one of the cubs.

Washer nodded his head and began daintily chewing the soft root. The cubs bit at the other end of it, but they saw nothing in it to appeal to their taste.

“What funny creatures raccoons must be, Little Brother!”

Washer was a little annoyed and angered by this remark, for he was a raccoon, and he wasn’t going to have his people ridiculed.

“They climb trees,” continued the speaker, “and wash their food before eating it. Isn’t it funny, brothers!”

They all set up a laugh, which increased Washer’s anger. “They’re no funnier than Wolves,” he blurted out suddenly. “You hunt in packs as if afraid, and sneak upon your victims instead of fighting them face to face. I thing that cowardly. Now raccoons don’t do that.”

“We didn’t mean to offend you, Little Brother,” replied the first cub, seeing Washer’s anger. “Next to being a wolf we’d rather be raccoons. Yes, indeed!”

The others repeated this until Washer felt sorry for his show of anger. Still he was quite sad, for he began to realize that he could not always be with his little brothers. The day would come when he would have to leave them. They were growing so big and so rough in their play that many times he had to retire and look on. Then, too, they were beginning to take long hunting trips through the woods, and he could not keep up with them. Sneaky in particular took delight in running him out of breath, and then laughing at him.

“Listen, Brothers,” he said, turning sorrowfully upon them, “I am a raccoon and you are wolves. Some day you will have to hunt without me. Then I shall return to my own people, for it isn’t right that a raccoon should live with wolves. But I shall always have a tender feeling for you in my heart, and shall always remember you.”

“No we won’t hunt without you,” interrupted one of the cubs. “You can’t leave us. You’re our Little Brother, and you’ll always be that!”

Washer was greatly pleased by this show of affection for it made him very sad to think of leaving the only home he had lived in since a small baby; but right down in his heart he knew that he would some day leave them and go back to his own people.

Washer had only a dim remembrance of his own real brothers. The accident on the river when he was carried over the falls seemed so long ago that it was more like a dream now than anything else. He couldn’t even remember what his mother looked like, and as for his brothers they were only tiny baby raccoons then and now they had grown up he would not recognize them.

A few days after this conversation, the Wolf cubs were playing near the brook when one of them suddenly raised his nose in the air and began sniffing. The others immediately stopped their play and sniffed the air also.

“What is it?” asked Washer.

“I smell something good,” replied the first wolf. “It’s over this way.”

“Then we’ll go around the other way and head him off,” said another cub.

Washer knew their method of hunting an animal they had once winded. They would spread out in a wide circle, and creep upon him from all directions. Sneaky had taught them this trick, and when they hunted together in this way it was hard for anything to escape them. No matter which way the hunted animal went he was pretty sure to run into one of the pack.

Washer had caught the odor on the wind, but he was not sure just what kind of an animal it came from. The smell seemed familiar, and yet he could not place it. It annoyed and puzzled him. Was his memory growing short?

He decided to follow the cubs in the chase and for a time he managed to keep up with them; but when they finally caught sight of their prey they broke from the cover of the bushes and ran in full tilt after him. Washer was quickly left behind.

In a short time he could tell by their howls that they had run their victim to earth. They were yelping and howling, but not entirely with pleasure.

“What’s the matter?” Washer asked himself. “Have they stalked Buster the Bear or Loup the Lynx? I must hurry and see.”

He ran as fast as his short legs would permit, and in a few minutes he came out into an opening in the woods. In the center of this was a small tree, around which the Wolf cubs were circling wildly, leaping up as high as they could every now and then, but always falling short of their mark.

Washer came up, panting and gasping; “What is it, Brothers?” he called. “Where is it?”

“Up the tree!” shouted one of the cubs. “We can’t reach him, but you can Little Brother. You can climb the tree and drive him down. Now I know we’ll always need you when we go hunting. Hurry up and drive him out of the tree!”

Washer saw a dark, fuzzy ball high among the branches of the small tree. He could not make it out at first, but there was something familiar about it, and the odor!—why, he knew that odor! He had always known it!

But he stopped suddenly and glanced up at the pair of frightened eyes looking down at the wolves. He gave a gasp and shudder. It was a raccoon the cubs had treed—one of his own people. How could he betray him to the greedy cubs, and if he didn’t what would his wolf brothers think of him? In the next story you will read about what Washer did for the raccoon.

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.”