Suddenly there was a rush from behind, followed by a stinging blow on the head that sent him tumbling over and over down the hillside. Scrambling to his feet he made off at top speed, catching a glimpse of the great black bear from over his shoulder as he ran.
“I’ll teach you to go snooping around my cave, you little fat thief,” shouted old Grouch, as he glared after the fleeing Wongo.
In mingled fear and rage the young bear ran on as fast as he could, not stopping until he arrived at the little brook at the bottom of the canyon. Here he took a long drink, and while it cooled his temper somewhat, the cold water fairly splashed in his empty stomach.
As the thought of the fresh meat still lingered in his mind, Wongo wondered if there might not be a stray sheep or two down on the plains near the canyon’s mouth. Slowly returning to the rim of the gorge, he started disgustedly along a little trail that led toward the haw and berry bushes. But his thoughts were not of haws and berries. In the fall there was often the possibility of stealing a sheep, as the Navaho Indian women drove their flocks well up into the canyon for water at this season of the year. The thick underbrush caused the sheep to scatter in their passage up the canyon bed, thus giving any brave and cunning young bear a fine chance to make off with a nice meal of fresh mutton, provided his bravery and cunning were sufficient to outwit the Navaho dogs.
Twice, of late, he had stolen a nice fat sheep from the scattered flocks, but on both occasions he had been assisted by his friend Kaw, the crow. Kaw had signaled to him from the top of a tall pine tree, where the sharp-eyed old bird could watch the movements of the dogs and could tell him where they were at any moment. As for the Indian women and boys who drove the sheep, he could watch them himself as they were tall enough to be seen above the underbrush, and he had no difficulty in keeping out of their sight.
A queer kind of an old bird was Kaw, but a good friend, as many an occasion had proven. The old crow loved to tease the little bear, and Wongo always pretended to be indifferent to the teasing, yet he secretly liked Kaw best when he was in a teasing mood, as on such occasions he frequently talked in rhyme, or recited some verses that amused Wongo very much.
His first meeting with Kaw had been a strange one, and he remembered quite clearly all that had taken place on that occasion. That was more than a year ago now, when Wongo, who at that time was scarcely more than a fat cub, was on his way home one evening. He had been ambling along through the quiet forest, and had chanced to pass the tall stump of a hollow tree that had a great black hole near the bottom of it. Having been born with a great desire to inquire into all things, he suddenly wished to know just what it was like inside of that hole. He therefore walked up to the stump, and had just put his little nose inside when he heard the most fearful squawking and croaking noise that seemed to come from high up in the stump itself.
“Woof!” ejaculated Wongo, as he jumped backward, his little eyes bulging with fright and the short hair on his back standing up like porcupine quills. Stumbling backward for a dozen paces he sat down upon his haunches and gazed wide-eyed up at the top of the stump. There sat a crow who was laughing so hard his black wings were fluttering against his sides. It was quite evident that it was he who had made the unearthly noise, and that he had simply shouted it down through the hollow stump.
“Haw, haw,” laughed the crow, “Well, I do declare,
Did ever one see such a curious bear?