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.

[Pg 65]
[Pg 66]