The little fox remained silent for a few moments, not knowing just how to gain the real information he had come for, but just as the impatient Wongo was about to ask him to go on, he remarked, “All say that this Cho-gay knows all animal talk, that he can do strange things, and that he carries a long, sharp claw with which he can kill very quickly when he wishes to. Is it so?”
“That he can do strange things is true, and the thing you call a claw is a knife,” said Wongo, and he took on a superior air as he gave this information, for he was quite proud of his knowledge of Cho-gay.
“Could he kill the gray-wolf pack if it should come?” asked Sandy.
“That is a silly question,” replied Wongo. “No one could kill the pack single handed, unless he had as many heads and as many teeth as the pack, and of course we know that no such animal lives in Timbertangle.”
“Would Cho-gay shut me up if I went to tell him something he would like to hear?” inquired Sandy.
“No, if what you tell is true. But why not tell me, who knows him, and I can tell him for you,” suggested the little bear, whose curiosity was now thoroughly aroused.
“No,” replied Sandy, “I have reasons why I must tell him myself; I have valuable information to give him and—well, it may be that I will ask him for something in return.”
“Oh, very well,” said Wongo with pretended indifference. “I can’t see that the matter concerns me, so I will bid you good——”
“Yes, yes!” broke in the fox quickly, “It does concern you, as I want you to take me to this Cho-gay, for I have never seen him except from a great distance and—well, you could tell him who I am, you know, and that we are close friends, and about my reputation as a great——”
“Ho, ho!” grunted Wongo. “You mean that we are acquainted because we both happen to be friends of Kaw, the crow.”