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.”