“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.