Probably Kaw, the crow, alone knew the truth. That wise old bird, who seemed to know almost everything, had told the animals how, several summers before, he had seen a curious brown spot floating down one of the flood-swollen streams, clinging to a mass of brush. Upon investigation, the spot had proven to be a small Indian man-child and, when the brush had caught to a branch overhanging the stream from the shore, the little creature had finally crawled to land. From that day to this, Cho-gay had lived in Timbertangle, seeming to be as much at home among the animals as he could have been among his own people.
Where he had come from no one knew, but he was accepted on friendly terms by all—except the gray-wolf pack. He was looked upon as having strange power, that was, somehow, greater even than the power of tooth and claw, for his hands did many things that clumsy beaks and paws could not do.
Before the coming of Cho-gay, Kil-fang, the leader of the gray-wolf pack, had been the feared and despised ruler of the Black Hills, but Cho-gay had one day put secret fear into his heart. The wolf saw a strange deep look in the eyes of the Indian boy that he greatly disliked and could not understand. Twice had Kil-fang tried to make Cho-gay understand that he alone must rule among all the animal people of the hills, but each time Cho-gay had looked him in the eyes with that strange, steady gaze, and had walked slowly toward him until the wolf had lost power to do anything but slink back, and back, and finally turn away. Thereupon this man-child had grunted and had made a quick snapping noise with his fingers, which somehow seemed to mean that he, and not Kil-fang, was the one with power to lead.
All this pleased the other animals greatly, for they loved Cho-gay, because they had learned that he was just, and they despised the great wolf, because he thought of nothing but to kill and eat. And now all knew that Kil-fang had found one who did not fear him—one who had greater power—and all knew that this meant that the wolf must leave the Black Hills with his pack or lose all power over it.
So, with jealous rage in his heart, Kil-fang had taken his followers into the north, vowing that he would return with a mightier pack, that would eat up the thin-skinned Cho-gay, and all others who might be so foolish as to dispute his power, or stand in the way of the wolf-pack.
Two winters had passed and, with these years of added strength and experience, the Indian boy had established a kind of rule and order among the animal people of the hills.
One morning, in the short sunny days of the fall, Cho-gay squatted on a flat-topped rock near the entrance to his cave—a snug little hole at the base of a mountain—and scraped the fat from a fresh bobcat pelt with a sharp flint knife. As he labored he mumbled under his breath as if addressing the skin:
“I wouldn’t have killed you, old Short-tail, but the cold of the white frost comes soon, and the warm skin must be changed from your back to mine. Now that you have gone dead, you have no need of it, but as I am alive I can use it with much good. You were filled with the long years of much living, for I find very little fat on your skin, and you could have hunted not much longer—one more season, maybe. But I, I am young. Kaw says that no more than twelve winters have gone since I came to life, and I am filled with strength to hunt, and it may be I will have to fight, if the evil Kil-fang and his miserable pack come from the north to keep the vow Kil-fang has made. But Kil-fang is all growl, and is filled with much bragging talk; in his heart is fear, and it is fear of Cho-gay.”
As a small black shadow flashed across the rock beside him, Cho-gay looked up in time to see a large black crow alight on the limb of an old juniper tree that stood near by. From this perch the bird looked down on the man-child, nodding gravely.