“Just resting!” remarked Kaw dryly. “So I have observed for the past twenty minutes.”
“Have you been on that stump for twenty minutes?” asked Wongo sheepishly.
“Yes,” replied Kaw. “Thought I had better let you sleep for a while. You and that goat must have had a ripping hard run last night. I didn’t find the poor animal until about daybreak this morning. He was dragging himself slowly down the mountain, many miles the other side of the canyon, and was the most forlorn looking beast I have ever looked upon. Although he looked quite thin and dejected, he still had some fire in his eye. When the poor rascal caught sight of me he suddenly changed his limping shuffle into an upstanding walk, and attempted a swagger that was surely funny. I had considerable difficulty in persuading him that I wished to tell him how to get home, for he was going in exactly the wrong direction. After I told him a bit about your experience with him, he was so surprised that I should know of it he listened to reason quite readily. When I finally left him he was still holding to the swagger for my benefit, and as he disappeared in the brush I thought to myself, if he hasn’t been the boss of that sheep corral in the past he will be from now on.”
Wongo did not wish to be impolite enough to interrupt the crow’s recital about the goat, but he was fairly squirming inside with desire to know all about the squaw-man’s hunting trip. Seeing that the crow had finished his account of the goat, he asked:
“Did the squaw-man and the Indians go on their hunt? And did they find my trail? And—”
“One question at a time,” interrupted Kaw. “Now that you have told all of the other bears about our experience of last night, they will be as interested in the outcome as you are. Go call them, and I will tell the story to all of you.”
Wongo lost no time in rounding up the other bears that had come with him, and all seemed eager to hear what had happened during the squaw-man’s hunting trip.
As the bears lined up in a row, Kaw took a commanding position on a low limb of a tree that stood just in front of them and from the half dreamy, half droll expression in his eyes, Wongo could see that his friend had something very interesting and perhaps humorous to relate. Pausing a moment for absolute quiet, Kaw began:
“It was just about daylight when I flew up to the tree near the den of old Grouch. I watched from my lookout for quite a long time and was beginning to get restless when I saw the hunters coming in long, single file. The squaw-man, with his dogs, was in the lead. He was holding the dogs back with thongs that were tied around their necks. The Indian men had rattles and tom-toms, though they made no noise. The boys had clubs and sticks and some had bows and arrows with which to shoot at small game. Far back of the squaw-man came the Navahos. They kept to the trail, and your tracks were very clear, Wongo, for they followed them easily. When they came to the place where you and the goat met old Grouch they stopped for a look. Then they ran back and forth, and they whispered and talked. They looked all around and it was plain they were not sure about your tracks. I suspect the goat tracks confused them, for your trail stopped at the rock and bear tracks seemed ended while goat tracks went on. It got on my nerves when they started to gather about the high point where you jumped over the vine-covered rock, but just about that time the dogs got the scent of old Grouch and in no time the squaw-man caught sight of his den. He told the Indians to go around the den to the rear. He said, ‘When I signal, you start the big noise.’ Then he handed the leather rope that led his dogs to one of the boys.
“Well, soon all the Indians were back of the den, all ready to start at the squaw-man’s signal. Suddenly there broke loose a most unearthly noise. I have never heard anything like it. Talk about giving old Grouch a scare! Well, he was the most frightened animal I ever saw in my life. At first he let out a half-hearted growl, but that soon changed to a sound that was half whine and half yelp! In a terrible panic he started out of the cave and down the trail, lickety-clip, and I thought, now the hunter will use his gun, but he didn’t. He had in his hand what he called a rope. Then I thought, ‘Well, old Grouch, you’ve got a chance to get away.’ One end of the rope was tied fast to a tree and I soon saw what the squaw-man was to do with the other end. He swung that rope around his head, and just what happened next I couldn’t see, for a cloud of dust arose just where the rope and old Grouch met! But when the dust settled enough to see—well!” and Kaw chuckled as he thought of what had occurred, and lapsed into rhyme as the only medium that would do justice to the occasion: