Mother Wolf nodded her head, showing that she understood his feelings. “But these wounds,” she added, a little puzzled. “How did you get them?”
Washer was greatly distressed at this question. If he told the truth, he would have to condemn one of his own people of ingratitude, but even that was better than deceiving Mother Wolf.
“It was the raccoon,” he answered after a pause. “When he came down the tree he bit me. He thought I belonged to the wolf pack, and he called me a traitor. I don’t suppose he understood.”
“He didn’t deserve the kindness you showed him,” was the quick retort. “If he was near here I’d send the children and Sneaky after him. He deserves punishment. Do you know where he’s hiding?”
“No! He ran away in the woods and that was the last I saw of him.”
Mother Wolf had such confidence in Washer that she did not doubt his word. She knew that Little Brother would not deceive her to protect one of his own people.
“Well, I’m glad he isn’t here,” she added, sighing. “Sneaky would hunt him down, and I don’t suppose you’d like to see him killed, even if he did bite you.”
“No, I don’t wish him harm.”
Washer’s voice was a little trembly, and a tear stood in one of his eyes. “What is it,” asked Mother Wolf sympathetically, “that makes you so sad, Little Brother? Do your wounds hurt you so much?”
“No, I was thinking of my people,” replied Washer. “They won’t have me. They’ll turn against me because I was brought up in a wolf’s den, and your people won’t have me. I’m an outcast—without a home or people.”