For he can bite a tree in two
With only half a mind.
The other half—so I am told—
He uses as a paw,
When enemies get overbold,
To club them in the jaw.”
“Now, the reason he is in this neighborhood,” continued Kaw slowly, “is that he has heard that you want to meet him and then, too, he is very fond of bear meat and this is his hungry time of year. I saw him as I passed a little while ago and, thinking to do you a favor, I told him that you were many miles from here—on the other side of the divide, in fact—and he was headed that way when I left him. S-o-o,” drawled the old crow, in finishing his tale, “he isn’t likely to make you a call to-day!” He looked rather self-conscious, as he ceased speaking, and sat back on his limb with an attempt at dignity as he waited for Grayhead to speak. That old bear was too much confused to say anything. He did not know what to think. He felt as if he should thank Kaw for saving his life, and yet he did not feel just certain about anything. He looked at the other bears, but they would not meet his eye, as they were quivering with concealed mirth. All of them, however, felt it wise to keep silent.
Before Grayhead could collect his puzzled thoughts enough to speak, Kaw began again:
“I thought, as I came near, that I heard you telling of how you became chief of Timbertangle.” That was a safe thing to say, as it was seldom that Grayhead spoke of anything else. “How well I remember hearing Wongo’s father, old Silvertip, tell of that wonderful time and of your heroic actions.”
Old Grayhead held his head high and looked, with an “I told you so” air, at his companions.