They were facing him on all sides so there was no chance for him to escape. He turned around several times to find an opening, but his only hope was to jump over the backs of his enemies, which was something he felt unequal to. Even so they would catch him, for he could not expect to jump higher in the air than the others.
He felt the best way out of the difficulty was not to fight, but to stand his ground and try to explain. “Wait!” he cried in a trembly voice. “Please do not touch me until you’ve listened to my story. I’m a raccoon myself, and I’ve come—”
“Don’t listen to him!” cried the big raccoon up the tree. “Catch him and bite him!”
There was a sound of gnashing teeth all around which made Washer shiver. One of the raccoons sprang forward and snapped at his tail.
“I’m your friend!” cried Washer, drawing his tail up under him.
“He’s a friend of the wolves!” shouted the one from the branches of the tree. “Don’t believe him! He came here with a wolf, and he said the wolf was his friend. Therefore, he’s no friend of the raccoons.”
“No! No!” cried several. “He deserves death.”
Washer knew they would not listen to him. They were so excited that in their anger they might kill him before he could tell his story. Clearly then he had to make a desperate effort to escape. If Mother Wolf was only near, she would protect him. In his desperation, he cried:
“O, Mother Wolf, help me! Help me!”