Suddenly a familiar voice, that seemed to come from above him, remarked, “He who wins a fight does not always depend upon size, friend Wongo.”
“Hullo, Kaw,” said the bear, whose ill temper began to leave him the instant he heard the voice of his friend. “I was just thinking of you a moment ago, and when you spoke I was wishing I were big enough to whip old Grouch, and I’ll surely do it when I am grown. I had a fight with the old black rascal a few minutes ago, but it wasn’t a fair fight, for he hit me from behind, and I fell down a hill, and when I got up he was too far away for me to fight him. But I’ll get even with him some day.”
“So you would grow more before attempting to punish the old enemy of the canyon, would you?” asked the crow. Then, without waiting for Wongo to reply, he asked, “Did you ever hear the story about the Terrible Turk?”
“No, I haven’t,” said the bear. “What about him?”
Clearing his throat, which at best was a bit husky, the crow began:
“With a flock of wild turkeys that lived in a pine
Near the top of old Tonka-pah Peak,
Was a whopping big gobbler that measured three feet
From his tail to the tip of his beak.
“This conceited old turkey was greatly puffed up,