“Nothing worse than when you were here,” said Wongo. “Where in the world have you been? Have you found anything?”
“Well, y-e-s—and no,” said Kaw, a bit doubtfully, answering the last question. “I’ve found an idea and ideas can be very helpful sometimes. You can never tell. Have you seen Cho-gay, the Indian boy, lately?”
“Just follow me,” cried Kaw, “and you shall see”
“Not very lately,” said Wongo. “Why?” He sat back on his haunches. Things did not seem so dark now with Kaw back, even though the old crow himself was exceedingly dark, and Wongo’s hollow insides did not seem to cry nearly so loudly for food.
“That can wait,” said the crow, and cocked his head on one side. “Not hungry, are you?” asked he, and pretended to jump with fright at the snort let out by the little bear. “Oh, well, don’t eat me, but I happened to find out just a short while ago where old Chac, the gray wolf, who fell two days ago and broke his neck, kept his meat. There’s some there yet.”
Gone was Wongo’s despondency. He sprang to his feet and sniffed the air. “Where?” was the single word he uttered, and Kaw, with a great pretense of hurry and bustle, flapped his wings and rose from his limb, crying as he did so:
“Just follow me
And you shall see—