Confused with fear, the goat headed straight for the mouth of the canyon up which lay the trail. Having secured a little start of the bear, the goat was running for his life and making good time. Realizing that they were going in the very direction he would have to carry his prisoner anyway, Wongo kept just close enough to the goat to frighten it into greater speed, knowing that once in the canyon the goat would stick to the path where there was fair footing, rather than attempt to plunge into the rocks or thick bushes on either side. On into the canyon sped the two animals; the goat, as Wongo had guessed, keeping to the trail. The goat was becoming less frightened. Had he not butted the bear over? Had he not run for some time faster than his pursuer could run? He was suddenly filled with confidence, and felt that he had a chance—a good chance—to get away from his enemy. As they sped upward, Wongo began to realize that they were nearing old Grouch’s patch of forbidden ground, and he had just caught the outline of the big, vine-covered rock, over which he was to jump after leaving his sheep, when he heard a savage growl from just ahead, and he suddenly realized that his old enemy had met them on the trail.
Stopping instantly, Wongo began to walk backward as fast as he could to the big rock, and as he did so he heard a surprised “Woof!” from out of the darkness ahead; a sound of tumbling in the brush; then a sharp clatter of small hoofs that seemed to retreat over the rocks far to the left of the trail.
Jumping quickly over the big rock, Wongo ran at top speed around the side of the mountain. He had run but a little way when his sensitive nose told him that Kaw’s friend, the polecat, had kept his promise.
On ran Wongo, never stopping until he had circled the mountain and reached the flat-topped rock near his cave. He had scarcely stretched himself out for a short rest when he heard the flapping wings of Kaw, who flew up, singing as he came:
“Two plotters, they plotted a plot,
And their plans were all laid to the dot!
Then they said, ‘let us meet,
In a chosen retreat,
And see if our scheme works or not.’”
“Well,” said Kaw, as he ended the last line of his rhyme with a chuckle, “my crow friends and I surely aroused that peaceful little Indian camp in great shape. We flew so low and kept up such an uproar, the dogs followed us for half a mile, and we gave the squaw-man’s horses such a scare it is going to take all of the men about the place to round them up if they want to make an early start in the morning.”