Washer the Raccoon

by George Ethelbert Walsh

He also remembered that the wolf pack had declared they would hunt him down and kill him. They were thirsting for his blood, and now that Mother Wolf had left him they had followed his tracks and treed him.

Yes, down below there were undoubtedly many of the wolves—the whole pack for all he knew—and the moment he came down they would pounce upon him. Washer shivered, and crawled to a higher crotch. The moon had gone down, and the woods were wrapped in darkness. It was impossible for him to see anything below; but the thought that wolves could not climb trees brought a sense of security. He was safe there from Sneaky, Gray Wolf and the whole pack.

He waited a long time for a repetition of the noise, and then decided that he would resume his sleep. If the wolves couldn’t climb the tree what was the use of worrying about them? He closed his eyes with a sigh of relief.

Then came the rustling noise again—this time much nearer the trunk of the tree. It came nearer, and finally reached the tree itself. There was a slight jar that made the leaves tremble. Washer thought it was a wolf leaping up, trying to reach the lower branches; but it was followed by a steady rustling, scraping noise that puzzled him.

For a long time he was uncertain what to make of it, but when it came nearer and nearer, and finally seemed to be in the tree itself, he grew terribly frightened. Somebody or something was climbing the tree!

When Washer made this discovery his alarm was genuine. With a little squeak of fear he ran to the top branch of the tree. But the scraping, rustling noise followed him. It first came from the lower branches; then from the middle ones, and now it was approaching the top.

Washer strained his eyes in the darkness to see this unknown creature that was slowly crawling toward him. In time he could make out a dark form; then another and another. There were three creatures climbing the tree!

Washer’s terror reached a climax. He ran so far out on a branch that it threatened to break with him. He was panic-stricken! It would not have been at all surprising if he had lost his hold and fallen to the ground below. There was no other tree near enough for him to reach, and it was either a matter of holding on and fighting his enemies up there among the top-most branches or dropping to the ground thirty feet below.