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 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 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:
“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?”
“Just follow me,” cried Kaw, “and you shall see”“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.“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
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 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 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 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.
WONGO had gone only a short distance, following Kaw towards Cho-gay’s cave, when he heard a voice coming from a little clearing ahead of him and recognized it to be the voice of old Grayhead, an ancient grizzly who had lived long in Timbertangle and had known Wongo’s father. The old bear was possessed with the idea that he was chief of the animals of the region and never tired of telling how he won his position, much to the weariness of his hearers, who had secretly nicknamed him “Old Waggle-jaw,” but who never dared mention the name to his face. For, though he was old, Grayhead was still easily the biggest and strongest bear in Timbertangle, and none would care to invite a swing from one of his mighty paws. So his tales had to be listened to with grave faces, but once behind his back his listeners would laugh at him and mock him and the name of “Waggle-jaw” was freely used.
Wongo felt too lazy to walk around the clearing and thus avoid meeting old Grayhead, so he went straight on, much to his regret a few minutes later. He walked into the clearing, looking neither to right nor left, and attempted to cross it without being stopped, but he reckoned without Grayhead.
The old bear looked up with a grunt of satisfaction and spoke to a group seated about him: “Here is one who knows that I tell the truth, for his father was there. Wongo, I was just about to tell these friends here of the act of daring and courage that made me chief of Timbertangle.”
Wongo gave an inward groan and cast his eyes in the direction in which Kaw had flown. He thought he could see him far away, flitting among the trees.
“I can’t stop now,” he said hurriedly. “Some other time—”
Old Grayhead caught him by the leg and pulled him down toward him.
“Not so fast, my young friend,” he said. “Who has a better right to your time than I—your chief? Come, it will not take long. I just want you as witness to the truth of what I say.”
A far-off voice came back through the trees:
“Come on, come on, slow poke!”
“I can’t!” shouted Wongo. Forgetting himself in his anger at being detained, he called out, “It’s ‘Waggle-jaw!’”
Old Grayhead looked at him and frowned deeply.
“What do you mean by shouting at me in that way? And who or what is ‘Waggle-jaw’?” He had evidently not heard the call of the crow, and the other animals (two bears and a gray wolf) looked startled and exchanged strange glances. Wongo was startled, too, and frightened at what he had said in his annoyance. He longed to escape but saw no immediate chance, as old Grayhead held him tight by the leg awaiting his explanation of the name “Waggle-jaw.”
“It’s—it’s—it’s an animal—” stammered the little bear, and a snicker passed between the two bears and the wolf, and he heard an echo of it from a near-by tree and knew that Kaw had returned to discover the cause of his delay.
“An animal?” repeated Grayhead. “Called ‘Waggle-jaw’? I never heard of it. It can’t be in Timbertangle.”
“Yes,” said Wongo, picking up courage, “that’s where I was going now. It’s a queer animal, and I was going to hunt it.”
“Humm-m,” said Grayhead. “What kind of an animal? Does it look good to eat?”
The bears and wolf gave a queer, smothered yell at this and Grayhead looked up with a threatening frown.
“Silence, there! Have more respect for your elders. If there is an animal in this forest that can be hunted down and eaten, it is for me, your chief, to do it. But tell me where it was that you last saw this—this—‘Wabble-jaw,’ Wongo. We will all go and find him.”
Wongo wriggled uneasily and cast an imploring glance up at the tree where Kaw sat smoothing his feathers. He was in a trap and he looked hopefully to his friend to get him out, as he usually did, but Kaw made no sign.
“He—he—wasn’t far from here—” began the little bear uncertainly, when to his great relief and joy Kaw broke in, clearing his throat several times to gain the attention of the group below him, and addressing himself particularly to Grayhead—
“I believe,” he began, with a little cough, “that I know more about this ‘Waggle-jaw’ than anyone else, and, er—with your kind permission I’ll tell you about him—especially as our friend Wongo seems to be a little short of breath.”
Grayhead nodded shortly and Kaw went on:
“Now, ‘Waggle-jaw’ lives fairly near here—that is, at times. Then again he lives quite far away, for he isn’t always at each place—as is the way with most of us. As to how he looks—w-e-l-l—” Kaw began to drawl in a comical way, and a quick giggle broke from the other animals, as Kaw dropped into verse:
“When once you’ve seen him face to face,
You’ll know him without doubt,
For on his head there’s not a trace,
When he is turned about,
Of any hair—except what’s there—
Nor on his back a spot,
Of fur or skin that’s dark or fair,
Except where there is not.
And he’s a fearful creature, too,
As you will surely find.
For he can bite a tree in two
With only half a mind.
The other half—so I am told—
He uses as a paw,
When enemies get overbold,
To club them in the jaw.”
“Now, the reason he is in this neighborhood,” continued Kaw slowly, “is that he has heard that you want to meet him and then, too, he is very fond of bear meat and this is his hungry time of year. I saw him as I passed a little while ago and, thinking to do you a favor, I told him that you were many miles from here—on the other side of the divide, in fact—and he was headed that way when I left him. S-o-o,” drawled the old crow, in finishing his tale, “he isn’t likely to make you a call to-day!” He looked rather self-conscious, as he ceased speaking, and sat back on his limb with an attempt at dignity as he waited for Grayhead to speak. That old bear was too much confused to say anything. He did not know what to think. He felt as if he should thank Kaw for saving his life, and yet he did not feel just certain about anything. He looked at the other bears, but they would not meet his eye, as they were quivering with concealed mirth. All of them, however, felt it wise to keep silent.
Before Grayhead could collect his puzzled thoughts enough to speak, Kaw began again:
“I thought, as I came near, that I heard you telling of how you became chief of Timbertangle.” That was a safe thing to say, as it was seldom that Grayhead spoke of anything else. “How well I remember hearing Wongo’s father, old Silvertip, tell of that wonderful time and of your heroic actions.”
Old Grayhead held his head high and looked, with an “I told you so” air, at his companions.
“And I nearly laughed myself sick,” continued Kaw, “at the picture he drew of the animals scrambling up the sides of the canyon as you held the great bowlder against the flood waters that were pouring through the gap. It makes me laugh now to think of it! Haw, haw, haw!” and the other animals, including Wongo, joined with a whoop in his merriment, letting out all the mirth that had been filling them for the last half hour, in shouts of joy, rolling on the ground and clawing at the dry leaves until the tears ran from their eyes and the near-by hills echoed to their shouts. Grayhead joined in, rather feebly at first, but finally he laughed with all the vim of the others, not realizing that they were laughing at him and not with him.
When the wave of merriment had quieted down a little, Kaw spoke again: “That is the finest tale in Timbertangle. That reminds me, as I passed the cave of the two cinnamon bears a short while ago I heard them speaking about it. I think you have never told it to them and they were wishing they could hear it first-hand.” Kaw almost choked on the last words, but he got them out.Grayhead rose immediately: “The cinnamon bears, you say? I’ll go now. I have nothing particular to do,” and he was ambling off through the timber almost before the words were out of his mouth. As soon as Grayhead was beyond earshot the laughter began anew and Kaw almost rolled off his perch in glee. But suddenly recollecting his business of the morning, he attracted Wongo’s attention.
“Come, we’ve lost a lot of time. Let’s go,” he called, and the two set off as if they had had no interruption to their journey.
WONGO and Kaw found Cho-gay, the Indian boy, in front of his cave, cutting raw-hide into long strips—to make traps, he told them. He was plainly very glad to see them. Cho-gay had lived in Timbertangle since most of the animals could remember, though how he came there was a mystery to all but Kaw, who seemed to know everything. The little Indian boy was at home and on friendly terms with all animals and birds who attended to their own proper business, but it was well known that when a law of the woods or desert was broken, Cho-gay did all he could to hunt down and punish the wrong-doer, so he had some enemies, but many friends, in Timbertangle.
When the two visitors had made themselves comfortable on the rock in front of his cave, Cho-gay brought out a handful of seeds for the crow and for the bear some ripe berries from a little patch he had managed to keep green in spite of the terrible drouth.
After the manner of Indians, the animals were silent for some time, and did not immediately come to the reason for their visit, but finally Kaw spoke:
“Chu-ta-win, the eagle, is a friend of yours, isn’t he, Cho-gay?”
“Yes,” answered Cho-gay, “the eagle and I are good friends. He really owes his life to me.”
“As I thought,” said Kaw. “Would he do big things for you?”
“I think he would do anything I’d ask,” answered the Indian boy. “Why?”
“Umm-m,” said Kaw, without answering the question. “Do you know where he is?”
“I can whistle for him. We have a signal. If he doesn’t hear, there are those who carry the message to him.”
“Suppose you whistle now,” said Kaw. “No—on second thought don’t! Chu-ta-win and I are not exactly on friendly terms; he had better not see me, just yet. I have a scheme on foot and it would be best for no one to know just what it is but myself. I’ll tell you this much—I’m after water—much water—and I want to know if you two are willing to trust me and ask no questions.”
“Yes!” answered Cho-gay and Wongo at the same moment, and this ready answer plainly pleased the old crow very much. He gave a sigh of relief.“Well, that’s settled. Now for business. You, Wongo, must go up to the top of Skull-top mountain and on the bald spot that you know of there, make the biggest, thickest bed of leaves you ever made in your life.”
Wongo sat back on his haunches and his jaw dropped open.
“What on earth—” he began, and stopped short, for Kaw cocked his head on one side and snapped out:
“What did I say—
Now there you go—
Just right away,
’Twas ever so.
Instead of going to your task,
You simply sit and gape, and ask!”
“Well,” answered Wongo, a trifle sheepishly, “you didn’t want me to rush right off now, did you?”
“Yes,” Kaw remarked dryly. “It will take you quite a while to get up the mountain and longer to gather the leaves. Make the pile big and deep, mind you.”
“But can’t I hear what Cho-gay is going to do, first?”
“No,” said Kaw, “you’ll hear all about that later. Run along now, for your job’s very important.”
Wongo left them, going very slowly, it is true, and with many a backward glance at the two. Kaw chuckled to himself:
“A good, kindly friend, my little bear,
Always good natured and merry;
Anything doing, he’s sure to be there;
But curious—? Very—Oh, VERY!”
He chuckled again and turned to Cho-gay:
“I want Chu-ta-win, the eagle, to take you to the Up-above Country. Have you ever been?” pointing to the clouds.
“No, I haven’t,” said Cho-gay. “Why in the world do you want me to go up there, and what would I do after I got there? You’re asking much, friend Kaw.”
“You promised to do as I said and not ask questions. Are you going back on your word?”
“No,” answered Cho-gay slowly. “Go on.”
Wongo left them, going very slowly“I’ll tell you what we are going for on the way up,” went on Kaw, “and as for what you will do, well, I’ll be there too, you see, and I’ll tell you that at the time. Tell Chu-ta-win to take you up, as you have important business in the Cloud Country. Suppose you call him now. There is no time to lose, as we are, if we succeed, about to do a service for Timbertangle that will never be forgotten.”
“If it’s a real adventure,” said Cho-gay, “I’m for it,” and he gave a clear, shrill whistle which was repeated some distance away and then again far off in the forest.
“I’ll just step inside your cave while you talk with Chu-ta-win,” said Kaw, and suiting the action to the word he hopped into the cave-mouth.
After a short interval, there came a rush of wind, and Kaw knew that the great eagle had arrived.
“You called for me, little brother,” said a voice, and Cho-gay answered:
“Yes, Chu-ta-win, I have a great favor to ask.”
“You have only to name it, little brother. My bones would have been drying on Skull-top mountain, if it had not been for you, and my heart is grateful. What is it that I can do for you?”
“I have some important business in the Up-above Country. Can you take me there?”
“Why, yes,” answered Chu-ta-win, readily enough. “I am chief of the Air people, as you know, and have a right to entrance to the Up-above Country. I will tell them that you are my tribe brother and they will welcome you. When would you like to go?”“Now,” answered Cho-gay.
“Well,” said Chu-ta-win, “fortunately I have flown but little this morning and my wings are fresh. Have you a bit of food handy? We’ll both need a meal before we’re back.”
“I have a bag of dried goat’s meat and seeds of the pinyon,” said Cho-gay. “Will that do?”
“Fine,” answered Chu-ta-win, “bring it along. It has been many, many moons since I tasted the meat of the goat.”
So Cho-gay went back into the cave, and while he was getting the bag of goat meat, he whispered to Kaw:
“The eagle will take me as soon as I get some food. Now, how about you? You say you are going, too?”
“Yes, I am going in disguise,” said Kaw in a low voice. “Hurry just a bit with what you are doing, for you must do something for me before I can show myself to your friend Chu-ta-win.”
So Cho-gay fastened the bag of meat to a thong at his waist as quickly as he could and stepped over to Kaw.
“Have you some red paint?” asked the crow.
“Yes,” replied Cho-gay.
“Well, get it,” continued the crow, “and paint me all over with it. Make my beak white. Hurry!”Cho-gay hesitated for a long moment, but seeing that Kaw was very much in earnest, he took a small bag from a peg in the cave wall and went swiftly to work. He had long ago discovered many bright rocks and brilliantly colored bits of earth that could be carefully powdered and, when mixed with water, made wonderful paint. Then he had discovered the need of having something to draw with and had used small pieces of hide with hair attached, which he had tied about the ends of little twigs, and dipping them in his paints made great drawings in color of the animals and birds and trees of the forest, much to the admiration of all Timbertangle. He had never before painted a living creature, but he rather enjoyed his task.
When the beak was painted a snowy white, the crow turned gravely round for Cho-gay to examine him carefully to see that the disguise was complete. Cho-gay, almost choking with inner laughter, but afraid to show his amusement for fear of offending his friend, assured him that even his mother would not know him if she saw him now.
“Are you sure I look all right?” insisted Kaw.
“Fine!” answered Cho-gay, and grinned in spite of himself.
“Well, we’ll go now. Introduce me to Chu-ta-win as a friend of yours—Mr. Redskin, suppose we say—and be sure to say I have a bad cold.”
Cho-gay could not resist asking, “What is the trouble between you and Chu-ta-win?” but he was sorry the moment he had asked, for he could see, strange as it seemed, that the question had made Kaw uncomfortable. He gave the impression of being red in the face, but, of course, that might have been the paint, for he was red all over. He stretched his neck and hesitated for a second. Cho-gay felt he was going to say something sharp, but he seemed to change his mind and cocked his head on one side with a rather quizzical expression.
“What about asking questions?” Kaw said. “I’ll have to tell you about the ‘Why’s.’ Ever hear of them?” and without waiting for an answer he chanted in a low voice:
“There once was a tribe called the ‘Whys,’
Who thought to become very wise;
They went to the crows,
For as everyone knows,
A crow is quite bright—for his size!
“They asked very deeply of laws.
And of words quite too big for their jaws,
But the crows, with a sigh,
Answered every big ‘Why’
Very plainly and simply with—‘Caws!’”
“The voice too,” mused Chu-ta-winThe crow stopped and cleared his throat, with one bright twinkling eye on Cho-gay.“I thought you had some goat meat in there,” said a voice from the cave entrance. “Are you waiting for a little kid to grow up and have it killed and dried? And who’s in there with you?”
“A friend,” called Cho-gay. “I’m coming now,” and he stepped out to where the eagle was waiting. Kaw followed without a word.
“My friend wants to come with us to the Up-above Country,” said Cho-gay to Chu-ta-win. “His name is Redskin and he is a tribe brother of mine.”
Chu-ta-win eyed Kaw with a puzzled expression.
“I think I have never seen your friend before. He is the largest red-bird I ever saw. He reminds me of someone, though I cannot think who. You are not of Timbertangle?” he questioned Kaw.
“No,” answered the old crow in a low voice. “I am from the other side of the divide.”
“The voice too,” mused Chu-ta-win.
“Redskin has been hoarse for days,” spoke Cho-gay hastily. “He does not sound at all like himself. Shall I get on your back?” he asked, hoping to draw attention away from Kaw.
“Yes, we had better go,” said the eagle. “The wind is just right now.”
CHO-GAY climbed as quickly as possible to the broad back of the eagle and made himself comfortable between the great wings. He had to lie forward on his stomach, with his arms around the eagle’s neck, as the smooth feathers, though warm, were very slick and he had no wish to slide off.
It was a queer sensation to feel the earth drop away from beneath him, as they rose swiftly into the air from the rock shelf of his cave, and the rocks and trees seemed to sink down to the ground. Cho-gay could hardly realize that it was he who was rising above the earth, he seemed to stay still and everything else to move.
Presently all Timbertangle lay beneath them, a great mass of tangled, brown tree tops, with here and there a bald knob of mountain rising above them. Even these soon flattened out into a mottled plain stretching far, far away in every direction—a plain that grew hazier and less distinct every moment, as they were flying very swiftly and almost directly up—and soon Timbertangle was altogether lost to sight as light, wind-blown clouds drifted between them and the earth beneath.
The eagle flew very easily, with no apparent effort, and his great wings rose and fell with a motion as regular as the beating of a heart.
Long before this, Kaw, feeling that he could not keep up with the strong flight of the eagle, had lighted on the broad back beside Cho-gay, and his bright eyes turned in every direction, taking in the surroundings.
The cool wind whistled by their ears, but Cho-gay’s skin was tough from constant exposure to all kinds of weather, and the wind made little difference to him.
Kaw was enjoying himself thoroughly. “I only wish there was a pool somewhere near,” he said in an undertone to Cho-gay, “so that I could see how I look. How about this color—will it come off easily?”
Cho-gay stared hard as the realization came to him that from previous experiments he had found that this particular color did not come off easily. He whispered this to the crow.
“Well,” said Kaw, when this had been made clear to him, “that’s nice—a pretty pickle, I call it. I must say I can’t blame you though. There is some gain in everything, and no matter how old I get to be, I will never turn gray!” He chuckled suddenly:
“Who ever heard of a crow that was red?
Oh, bless my poor feathers and bones!
My friends will all think that old Kaw is dead,
And shed many big tears and groans!”
“Well,” said Kaw cheerfully, “I’d better give you a few instructions while I have the chance,” and he lowered his voice so that Cho-gay could barely hear. “You might as well know now that we are going to the Up-above Country to steal the Thunder Drum.” Seeing a startled look in Cho-gay’s eyes, he quickly added, “I have it all planned out, so there will be no danger to anyone.”
“I was not thinking of myself,” said Cho-gay gravely, “but you know if the Up-above people get mad they’ll send terrible storms and blow down trees and perhaps do much damage.”
“I thought of that,” whispered Kaw. “The Thunder Drum was made, long, long ago, by a man-animal of your people, an Indian Chief of great bravery, and was, by some strange magic, stolen from him by the Up-above people. I’ve no doubt that one of Chu-ta-win’s ancestors helped, for it would take an eagle to carry it up, so it’s just as well that he helps us now. There have been many who have tried to get the Drum back to the earth-people, but they didn’t have as good a scheme as I’ve got. All I will want you to do is to get the attention of old Chaco, the keeper of the Drum, on something else so he will not notice me while I scout around a bit. Ask him if he can tell you where to find the blue charm Wongo lost. It was the great charm of the Bear Clan and he has been afraid ever since that the other bears would discover that he has lost it. You know the Up-above people see everything that happens on the earth.”
“What good will it do to steal the Thunder Drum?” asked Cho-gay.
“What good?” snapped Kaw. “Don’t you know that it is the Thunder Drum that brings the rain? Every time Chaco, the rain-man, beats it, the people of the Water Clan pour water through the holes in the clouds and it falls to earth. If we once had the Thunder Drum in Timbertangle, there would be no more dry seasons, for we would beat it ourselves when we wanted, rain.”
“Look! Little brother,” called Chu-ta-win, “there are the sun-clouds, and they guard the way to the Up-above Country.”
A great bank of clouds rose before them, so white of themselves and so brilliant with sunshine that Cho-gay had to close his eyes, and when he opened them again, though it had been but a second or two, they had slipped through the clouds and were rising above a new and wonderful world. There were hills and canyons and desert, but they were all in the wonderful colors of the sunset and never remained long the same.
The trees were purple, with leaves of gold that glittered like polished flint in the sunlight, and there were lakes and rivers like huge splashes of turquoise. Strange animals ran and crawled among the bushes and the air was full of birds that flew close and talked to them, and others that soared above and below as if curious to see who these visitors to their country might be. A great hawk flew toward them, followed by several old owls and an ugly-looking vulture.
“The keeper of the gateway,” called Chu-ta-win, in a low voice. “He will ask why we are here.”
“Welcome to you, Chu-ta-win,” called out the hawk as he approached, “but who comes with you?”
“Two brothers of the earth born,” answered Chu-ta-win. “I have brought them to see your wonderful country.”
“What do they wish here?” asked the hawk again, and before the eagle could answer, Cho-gay spoke for himself:“We come searching for the blue charm that was lost by Wongo, the bear. None of the Bear Clan knows where it is, but you, of the sky, see all things and can, no doubt, tell us where it may be found.”
“Um-m-m,” answered the hawk, “I have not seen nor heard of this charm, but you might go over to those of the Water Clan and ask Chaco. He may be foolish-headed enough to give his time to such things. But remember there are no idlers here and we do not welcome idle questions.”
“Humph,” came Kaw’s low voice in Cho-gay’s ear, “that fellow is entirely too full of his own importance. I’ll teach him something when I next meet him below.”
They were nearing the Cloud ground now, and presently landed with a springing jerk. Cho-gay slipped from the smooth back of the eagle and stood swaying a bit, as his legs grew accustomed to standing again.
Chu-ta-win was not at all tired from his long flight and seemed as fresh as when they had started.
“Come on,” said he, “we’ll take a look around. Everybody up here has his own particular work to do. Some are of the Water Clan and some of the Ice Clan. They make hail and snow. Over there is the place where the winds come from. They make lightning up here, too—all kinds, and eclipses. Ever see one of those? Look around, you can see for yourself, you have eyes in your head.”
Kaw gave a grunt and, in a very good imitation of Cho-gay’s voice, spoke for him:
“Eyes in my head and ears in my head,
I’ve heard before all you have said.”
The eagle grew red in the face and answered haughtily, “I was speaking for your entertainment and not to be insulted.”
Cho-gay answered hastily—he saw that it would be useless to explain that he had not spoken—“I did not mean anything, Chu-ta-win. What I have heard before was not nearly so interesting as what you have told me.”
“Well,” answered the eagle, somewhat satisfied with this, “suppose we walk around a bit and see things. You say you are in search of a charm?” He was looking at Kaw as he spoke, his eye traveling from the tip of the glaring white bill to the last red tail feather, and his searching glance annoyed Kaw exceedingly, especially when, after a moment’s puzzled thought, Chu-ta-win threw back his head and laughed until the tears dropped from his eyes.“Now I have it!” he cried. “It is Kaw you remind me of. Except for the color you could be his brother.
“Haw—haw—” continued the eagle, “haw—haw—haw—! Did I ever tell you, Cho-gay, why it is that Kaw never speaks to me any more? Avoids me, in fact?”
“No,” said Cho-gay, with an uneasy glance at the crow. “Suppose we go on now.”
“Oh, it is too good to keep,” insisted the eagle. “It is the only time I ever heard of the laugh being turned on Kaw.”
“Kaw is a friend of mine,” said Cho-gay, “and a friend of Redskin’s too.”
“Oh, that’s all right. You will enjoy the joke. It is because your friend here reminds me so much of Kaw that I thought of it. He looks like him, except for his color, and talks like him. You aren’t related to Kaw by any chance?” and Chu-ta-win bent down and looked closely at Kaw as he asked the question, breaking into another long chuckle as he did so.
Kaw was furious. Every feather stood on end with anger and his eyes flashed. He quivered from head to tail, and yet, to the amazement of Cho-gay, he did not answer the eagle but turned instead to him and spoke in an icy tone:“If your friend insists on telling funny stories when our time is so short, I, at least, do not need to stay and hear him. I will meet you at yonder lake.” He indicated a splash of blue water a short distance in front of them, and he rose into the air with all the dignity he possessed and flew off in the direction of the lake.
“Whee!” said Chu-ta-win. “Such language! Our friend is not very polite,” and he chuckled again. “He certainly reminds me of Kaw!”
“What was the joke?” asked Cho-gay. “I wouldn’t mind hearing it now.”
“Our Red friend did not want to hear it,” mused Chu-ta-win. “Well, here it is, and you will understand why Kaw avoids even the sound of my voice. I was taking a nap one day; it was hot and I had dropped down under a big bunch of sagebrush. I suppose just my head must have been visible and even then I don’t see how he ever came to make such a mistake, but Kaw, coming up, took me for a lady friend of his and proceeded to talk most beautifully, and mostly in verse, something like this:
“Your dainty bill I dearly love,
Its graceful shape is sweet;
But more than all, my Lady Love,
I praise your clawlike feet!
“There never was a fairer bird
In all this land, I know;
To say there was would be absurd
And ignorance would show.
“Your little wings are dainty things,
Each eye a midnight pearl;
Your glance a throbbing heart-ache brings;
Oh, be my birdie-girl!”
“That’s something like it and there was lots more. I listened for a while without moving a feather, but it finally got too much for me and I just had to laugh, and jumped out of my bush at the same time. It was the first time I have ever seen Kaw really what you might call ‘flabbergasted.’ He fell over backwards when he first saw me. He didn’t say a word and he hasn’t spoken to me since. I can’t say I blame him, but it was funny.”
Cho-gay grinned and looked off in the direction Kaw had taken. Chu-ta-win followed his glance. “I won’t say any more about it before our Red friend,” he said, and Cho-gay looked at him quickly, but the eagle would not meet his eye.
“Come on,” said Chu-ta-win, “there are lots more things for you to see.”
CHU-TA-WIN and Cho-gay walked slowly toward a lake that lay like a great turquoise before them. Strange animals hurried, scurrying and crawling in every direction, and birds darted hither and thither.
The eagle indicated with one wing what seemed to be a huge mountain rising high in the east. “The mantle of the night,” he said. “It is the blanket that is let down every night over the earth to hide the face of the sun, for if it were not hidden just so often all growing things would dry up. It is very old now, the night-blanket, and holes are beginning to show. We, below, call them stars, and if it wasn’t for those holes,” he added, “we would have no moon, for when the moon is thin and pale it slips through one of the holes and comes close to the earth to give us light to try to make up for the loss of the sun, for the Moon God has never approved of the night-blanket and is much more gentle toward earth folks than the sun.”They were now near the lake and Cho-gay could see, near its edge, a little old man, sitting by a huge drum. The old man held a great padded stick in one hand and looked constantly to the east.
“That is Chaco,” whispered the eagle, “Keeper of the Thunder Drum. He looks toward the east for the signal of the sun, and when he sees that, he pounds the Drum and that is the signal for the Water Clan—see, those little fairy-creatures sitting all around the lake. They each have a gourd dipper in their hand and, at the signal of the Drum, they dip water from the lake and pour it through the water-holes to the earth. That is the rain, and the sound of the Drum is thunder, and the flash of the sun-signal is the torch that we call lightning. We will speak to Chaco. But listen,” he added more cautiously, “we must speak in rhyme. It is the only language he knows, and if we speak differently he will grow very angry and send hurricane winds over the earth. That is the way they come. He has lungs of leather and his voice, when he is angry, is louder than the Thunder Drum.”
“All right,” answered Cho-gay in the same low voice the eagle was using, “you speak to him then.”
Chu-ta-win looked at Cho-gay a little doubtfully.
“No, you speak first. It isn’t so hard, but I’ll probably have to do the real talking, as I’ve had more practice.”
There was a snicker from over their heads and Cho-gay saw a flash of red, as Kaw dropped to a near-by bush, evidently with the intention of over-hearing their conversation. The eagle was immediately uncomfortable and spoke to Cho-gay a trifle stiffly:
“Go on, why don’t you speak? Chaco is waiting.”
The old man had raised his head and was watching them as they drew near. He was silent, waiting for the first word to come from them. It did not come very easily. Cho-gay was not quite at ease and cleared his throat two or three times before he began, haltingly:
“We are from the earth below,
And we’ve come to see if you know
Where’s the charm of Wongo, the bear;
We can’t find it anywhere.
Can you tell us where it is?
Or, if not, then where it was—
Not exactly that I mean,
But where once it might have been?”
There was a choking sound from Chu-ta-win and an echo of it from the bush, where Cho-gay knew Kaw was listening, and then the eagle gave him a little push to one side and began hurriedly:
“We have come, he and me,
To find out and to see
If your wisdom can show
Us the right way to go—
Just to see, or find out,
Quite without any doubt,
Just exactly the place,
Or the spot or the space,
Where the blue charm is hid.
Where he lost it—he did.”
This was too much for Kaw. Such an attempt at rhyming struck him as too funny for words and his voice, subdued but trembling with mirth, came to them from the bush:
“I have heard a constant rumor
Of the Rain-man’s sense of humor—
Let us hope that it is true—really true—
For of rhymes of man or bird,
That’s the worst I ever heard,
I am shocked, my friends, quite shocked, at both of you.”
Then in a voice mimicking Chu-ta-win’s, he continued:
“Oh, where is the blue charm hid,
For he lost it, yes he did.
Oh, my goodness, gracious, gumption—what a joke!
For the stone was really his—
Won’t you tell us where it is?
It’s a wonder wise old Chaco didn’t choke.
“But go on my friends, and ask—
I’m made happy by your task—
And if Chaco, here, can stand it, so can I.
Stand up firm and take your time,
All the air is filled with rhyme,
And, no doubt, you’ll strike a fine one, by and by.”
Chu-ta-win grew red in the face and shot furious glances toward the bush, but Cho-gay, with a self-conscious grin, made the best of the situation and kept his eyes on the old man, who seemed not to have heard Kaw’s low voice, but was thinking deeply on what the eagle had said. Presently he nodded his head slowly and spoke in answer:
“Chaco knows of what you speak,
And has seen the blue charm stone
When the clouds from Eagle peak
O’er the mountain woods have blown.
But there was no storm that night,
And the Moon God brightly shone.
It was lost within his light,
He can tell you, he alone.”
The two nodded gratefully to the old man for his words.
“Come,” said Chu-ta-win, in a low voice, for the Rain-man was again looking toward the east for the sun’s signal, and had apparently forgotten that they were there. “Shall we go to the Moon God now? I doubt if we find him to-day. You see—what’s that!”
Cho-gay jumped suddenly, as Kaw lit on his shoulder and began to whisper in his ear:
“Now! We are going to do it! Listen—I’ll call Chaco over here, I know how. Then you and Chu-ta-win jump for the Thunder Drum and push it through the nearest water-hole. You see that big one, right there? That little water-creature cannot interfere. Then jump on Chu-ta-win’s back and drop through the hole—both of you. You’ll have to be quick and don’t look back. The Sun God will blind you with lightning if you do. Tell Chu-ta-win it is for the life of Timbertangle we work—now! Quick!”
And Cho-gay breathlessly repeated to Chu-ta-win the directions Kaw had given him. The eagle looked shocked and astonished, but before he could protest Kaw called out in a good imitation of Chu-ta-win’s own voice:
“Chaco, quick! The Sun God’s call!
Come! He’s calling one and all!
See, his golden arrows fall!
Chaco, quick! The Sun God’s call!”
As the old man rose hurriedly and confusedly took a few steps toward the east, Cho-gay leaped toward the Thunder Drum and with a sudden push sent it whirling toward the water-hole a few feet away and then, with another push, down through the opening into which it disappeared.
All three dropped through the holeKaw was at the hole instantly. “Quick! Chu-ta-win! Quick! Cho-gay!” he called, and almost before the words were out of his mouth all three dropped down through the hole—first the eagle, who spread his wings instantly, then Cho-gay, who fell on the broad back and held on tight, and then Kaw, flying easily down after them with a chuckle of triumph in his voice.
Several pairs of eyes stared in furious amazement from the hole above, which now looked like an opening in a dark cloud, and great arrows of lightning flashed from it. Just then a loud rumble came from far below.
“The Drum! The Drum!” shouted Kaw in glee. “It has lit on the bed of leaves made by Wongo on Skull-top mountain, and the little bear is beating it with all his might and main. Hurrah! Hurrah! We’ve won! We’ve won!”
Just then great sheets of opal-colored mists began to drift toward the earth from the holes in the clouds and Cho-gay felt wet drops on his face. A little gray hawk, flying from below, began to sing in a high excited voice. As his words came to them more and more clearly the very air seemed to echo the music and all Timbertangle seemed to be singing:
“Oh, brown the earth and gray the sky,
And desert and stream and pool are dry—
But in the east the rain clouds fly.
Ah-heee, little brother, ’twill rain, ’twill rain,
Ah-heee, little brother, ’twill rain!
“I felt a drop on my feathered breast,
The rain clouds come from the east and west;
I felt a drop in my sheltered nest!
Ah-heee, little brother, ’twill rain, ’twill rain,
Ah-heee, little brother, ’twill rain!
“Now over the world a joyous hush!
Then comes the storm with a sudden rush—
The great drops patter on sand and bush!
Ah-heee, little brother, the rain, the rain!
Ah-heee, little brother, the rain!”
Then, how it came down! It seemed as if Chaco and the rain-people above were trying to drown them. The rain came in great sheets and floods of water and the three drew in their heads as far as possible and shot down toward the earth almost as fast as the raindrops themselves.
Suddenly there was a cry from Chu-ta-win and he began to moan in a frightened voice:
“One of the arrows from the Sun God must have struck me! I am bleeding to death! Oh, what shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?” He began to sink even more rapidly toward the ground. Sure enough, a great, red stain was growing on his back and crimson drops were falling fast. When they reached the earth he lay still with closed eyes while Cho-gay and Kaw bent over him.
Suddenly the crow began to laugh and Chu-ta-win opened his eyes to look at him. Then he opened them wider at what he saw, and raised himself up, forgetting for a moment his fright.
“Where did you come from?” asked the eagle, “and where is Redskin?”
“Oh, Redskin,” answered Kaw in a voice that was choking with laughter, “Redskin is dripping off your back! The rain transferred him from me to you. Cho-gay declared the color was fast—but—Oh, haw—haw—haw—I don’t think even he knew how fast!” and then as he saw that the eagle was beginning to understand what had happened, he started to hop up and down in his usual, grave way, and to chant:
“Sometimes very dull is the eye of a crow,
But the eye of an eagle—Oh, never—Oh, no!
Oh, never. Oh, never—
For truly whoever,
Has heard of the eye of an eagle that’s so!”
Chu-ta-win watched Kaw for a moment, while the rain poured in a steady stream from his feathers and dripped from the bush from under which Cho-gay followed their every word. Then a slow grin spread over the eagle’s usually fierce features—perhaps at the comical appearance of Kaw, whose feathers were most wonderfully streaked with red and black, with here and there a smear of white from his bill.
“Well, we’re even, Kaw,” he said at last. “I don’t think that either of us can laugh at the other in the future, and I promise not to laugh at you any more if you’ll forget to-day and not laugh at me!”
“A bargain!” cried Kaw. “Ho, all Timbertangle! Listen to this:
“The Crow and the Eagle have made a pact!
Oh, sing a song of the Thunder Drum!
This day and hour it becomes a fact!
Oh, sing a song of the Thunder Drum!
Never until the world shall end,
Shall either laugh at the woes of his friend,
But only help him those woes to mend!
Oh, sing the song of the Thunder Drum!”
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
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