“Make as plain a trail with your feet as you can, by running on soft ground whenever you find any. Go straight up the canyon toward old Grouch’s den. You’ll be safe enough even though he hears you and comes out to fight, as all you will have to do is to kill the sheep, drop it and run. He will stop quickly enough when he finds the meat, but I hope he will not hear you, and the chances are that he won’t, as he has had a big feed to-day and will sleep. However, he is an old glutton and, thanks to your making way with the remainder of his calf meat this morning, he will be keen enough for another square meal before daylight comes.
“When you’ve carried the sheep up to the thicket that is near his den, kill it and lay it down. Then walk backwards, backwards mind you, to the big vine-covered rock, and when you come to it jump straight over it, and run to your home by the long way round the mountain.”
“What’s all this for?” asked Wongo, who was confused by the long and seemingly foolish instructions. “It sounds like a lot of nonsense to me,” he continued. “Why in the world should I risk my neck to get a sheep for old Grouch?”
“I am just coming to the explanation,” said Kaw. “When the squaw-man and the Indians start out early to-morrow morning to catch a live bear, what do you suppose they will do?”
“They will find my trail and follow it,” said Wongo promptly, “and it will be a sorry day for me if they catch me.”
“Well,” replied Kaw, “you are right and you are wrong. They will follow your trail, but it will be old Grouch and not you that they will catch. The old rascal will probably smell the fresh mutton as soon as you drop it, and when he comes down for it his tracks will meet yours, and will be more fresh than yours when the squaw-man’s dogs come to that part of the trail.”
“Ho, ho! I see your scheme now,” said Wongo, chuckling at the thought of old Grouch being captured by the terrible squaw-man. “But,” said he, stopping suddenly as the fearful thought struck him, “what if the dogs should get off onto my trail when they reach the big rock?”
“I have provided for just that possibility,” said Kaw. “I have engaged an old friend of mine to pick up your trail as soon as you leave the rock and,” he continued with a chuckle, “they won’t follow him very far.”
“Who is he?” inquired Wongo.
“Well,” said Kaw, whose voice seemed just a shade apologetic, “he is a polecat for whom I have done a good turn, and he is both anxious to serve me and to get even with old Grouch, who destroyed the polecat’s nest when in one of his mad fits.”