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.