“Needn’t waste your sympathy on him,” said Kaw. “He committed suicide last week.”
“Why!” exclaimed Wongo in surprise, “I can’t believe it. How did it happen? He was always such a good-humored rascal.”
“Well,” said Kaw, “he found a gray timber-wolf asleep in front of his den and, thinking it would be a good joke, he playfully kicked him in the ear!”
“Umph!” grunted Wongo sadly. “He was a droll fellow, but too thoughtless, I suppose.”
“Where will you advise our friends to go to-night?” asked Kaw.
“There is only one good place where there will be food and plenty of water for all of us, and that is over the two ranges to the north.”
“Good place,” said Kaw. “Better than this, in fact. I know every inch of the big valley, and the stream there runs into a beautiful lake far over to the north, beyond the black hills. Let’s see, when the sun is straight overhead to-morrow, you will have reached the big aspen grove on the east side of the second mountain. I will meet you there and tell you all about the squaw-man’s big hunt for the live bear. I expect to watch the fun from the top of the tall pine that stands by the side of old Grouch’s cave, and if you were not so touchy about roosting, I might ask you to join me there,” he added with a grin. “But I will try and give you a full account of all that happens.”
And so the two friends separated, each to continue his night’s work.