“No wolf can catch me when I’m up a tree,” growled the raccoon.
“No, but they would have watched and waited at the foot of the tree until you were starved out,” replied Washer. “You don’t know how patient a wolf can be.”
“I don’t, eh?” snapped the raccoon. “I was treed by one once, and he kept me there for nearly a week, but he got hungry before I did and went away.”
“What are you going to do to me?” Washer asked more interested in this question than what happened to the big raccoon one day.
“We’re going to punish you, and then drive you back to your friends—the wolves.”
“The wolves are not my friends any more,” pleaded Washer.
“Wasn’t that wolf who came here with you a friend?”
“Why, yes, that was Mother Wolf,” stammered Washer.
“What did I tell you?” cried the big raccoon. “He admits it. If you’re a friend of a wolf you’re the enemy to all raccoons.”