Wongo gave an inward groan and cast his eyes in the direction in which Kaw had flown. He thought he could see him far away, flitting among the trees.
“I can’t stop now,” he said hurriedly. “Some other time—”
Old Grayhead caught him by the leg and pulled him down toward him.
“Not so fast, my young friend,” he said. “Who has a better right to your time than I—your chief? Come, it will not take long. I just want you as witness to the truth of what I say.”
A far-off voice came back through the trees:
“Come on, come on, slow poke!”
“I can’t!” shouted Wongo. Forgetting himself in his anger at being detained, he called out, “It’s ‘Waggle-jaw!’”
Old Grayhead looked at him and frowned deeply.
“What do you mean by shouting at me in that way? And who or what is ‘Waggle-jaw’?” He had evidently not heard the call of the crow, and the other animals (two bears and a gray wolf) looked startled and exchanged strange glances. Wongo was startled, too, and frightened at what he had said in his annoyance. He longed to escape but saw no immediate chance, as old Grayhead held him tight by the leg awaiting his explanation of the name “Waggle-jaw.”
“It’s—it’s—it’s an animal—” stammered the little bear, and a snicker passed between the two bears and the wolf, and he heard an echo of it from a near-by tree and knew that Kaw had returned to discover the cause of his delay.