“An animal?” repeated Grayhead. “Called ‘Waggle-jaw’? I never heard of it. It can’t be in Timbertangle.”
“Yes,” said Wongo, picking up courage, “that’s where I was going now. It’s a queer animal, and I was going to hunt it.”
“Humm-m,” said Grayhead. “What kind of an animal? Does it look good to eat?”
The bears and wolf gave a queer, smothered yell at this and Grayhead looked up with a threatening frown.
“Silence, there! Have more respect for your elders. If there is an animal in this forest that can be hunted down and eaten, it is for me, your chief, to do it. But tell me where it was that you last saw this—this—‘Wabble-jaw,’ Wongo. We will all go and find him.”
Wongo wriggled uneasily and cast an imploring glance up at the tree where Kaw sat smoothing his feathers. He was in a trap and he looked hopefully to his friend to get him out, as he usually did, but Kaw made no sign.
“He—he—wasn’t far from here—” began the little bear uncertainly, when to his great relief and joy Kaw broke in, clearing his throat several times to gain the attention of the group below him, and addressing himself particularly to Grayhead—
“I believe,” he began, with a little cough, “that I know more about this ‘Waggle-jaw’ than anyone else, and, er—with your kind permission I’ll tell you about him—especially as our friend Wongo seems to be a little short of breath.”
Grayhead nodded shortly and Kaw went on:
“Now, ‘Waggle-jaw’ lives fairly near here—that is, at times. Then again he lives quite far away, for he isn’t always at each place—as is the way with most of us. As to how he looks—w-e-l-l—” Kaw began to drawl in a comical way, and a quick giggle broke from the other animals, as Kaw dropped into verse: