Читать книгу Wongo and the Wise Old Crow - Grace Moon - Страница 5

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NAP-TIME had come and gone, the long, warm afternoon hours had slipped away and the sun was just wrapping itself up in a bed of pink and gold clouds that hung on the horizon, when Wongo started, somewhat cautiously, down the trail that led from the mountain through the foothills far below, and on to the open plains. As he was shuffling along, thinking how best to approach the man-house, and wondering if it would be dark enough by the time he reached the sage-covered plains to go into the open without being seen, he heard the slow flapping of wings near by and a voice that sang in Kaw’s most teasing manner:

“Oh, he waddles along with his toes turned in,

His mouth set straight ’twixt his nose and his chin;

His little eyes peep from the front of his head,

And whenever he cries they turn very red.

Very red, so ’tis said,

Very red, very red;

His eyes, when he cries

Turn exceedingly red!

“He waddles along with his toes turned in”

“In the animal book it shows him as ‘bear,’

And yet, I observe, he is covered with hair.

Now one never thinks of a berry as bare,

Yet who ever saw one all covered with hair?

Hairy berry?

Puzzle contrary,

For here is a bear that’s not bare!”

As Wongo walked on in silence, not even deigning to glance in Kaw’s direction, the latter continued still more teasingly:

“They say he can scratch, and they say he can hug,

And his skin, so ’tis said, makes a beautiful rug.

His growl and his strength and his looks are his pride,

Yet none of these things are worth half of his hide.

Hug a bear rug,

A bug in a jug;

His skin, so ’tis said, makes a beautiful rug.”

“That’s enough of your poor rhyming wit,” said Wongo, sitting down beside the trail. “That last string of words is too personal, and besides, your remarks about the rug make me nervous.”

“Oh! Ho! Little bear, you must be on a nervous errand to-night, eh? By-the-by, I see that you are not headed toward home, and it nears the hour when all honest folk should be on their roosts.”

“Roosts!” ejaculated Wongo, with a disgusted grunt. “Do you think everybody roosts simply because you have to? A fox or a wolf or a bear would look well roosting out on the limb of a tree, now wouldn’t they?” he asked crossly.

“That has no bearing whatever on what I said,” replied Kaw, “since I remarked that it was about time that all honest folk were on their roosts. It is well that some of us can roost, and roost high, too, when certain night-prowlers are into mischief.”

Ignoring Kaw’s teasing, Wongo suddenly asked, “What is the little red light that shines from the Indian man-house when it is dark at night? It’s like a bit of the sun when it sinks red in the summer haze.”

“That is what they call fire,” replied Kaw, “and when they make it a little blue cloud comes up out of it, and they call the cloud smoke.”

“Well, I want to see it up close,” said Wongo.

“So that’s where Mr. Curiosity is going to-night, is it?”

“How about your own curiosity?” asked Wongo. “It seems to me you have done a lot of prying yourself to have learned so much about fire and witch, and the Indian man-house.”

“Well,” said Kaw, with a chuckle, “I have to investigate a lot of things simply that I may be able to answer the foolish questions of some of my ignorant friends. I was down there on a visit to the man-house myself to-day,” he added, without giving Wongo time to say anything further about his curiosity, “and there is a squaw-man at the hogan.”

“What is a squaw-man?” asked Wongo, forgetting Kaw’s remarks about foolish questions.

“Well, he’s a white-skinned man who has an Indian wife. An Indian woman is called a squaw, so the man is called a squaw-man. No men that have white skins believe in bear witches, and they like to kill bears, and they kill things with a long stick that shines, and it spits smoke with a loud noise, and it shoots a small heavy thing straight at the animal or bird that it points at. They call the bright stick a gun, and it is surely more to be feared than bows and arrows. You may see an arrow coming but you can’t see the little thing that the gun stick sends out.”

“Whee!” exclaimed Wongo, his little eyes growing wide with mingled interest and fear.

“Yes,” continued the old crow, “I’ve seen this squaw-man before. Met him some years ago away over on the other side of the two ranges, and he certainly can shoot straight with that gun thing, as the loss of one of my best tail feathers bears witness—and I was flying some at the time, too. I didn’t get but a few grains of his old corn. But no matter about that now,” he said, coming back to the subject in hand, “for I must tell you more about what I saw to-day. This squaw-man came to the Indian man-house yesterday with horses tied to a big thing that moves over the ground without walking.”

“Snake?” asked Wongo.

“No!” snapped Kaw. “Don’t interrupt me with silly questions. The thing has four round things beneath, where its legs ought to be, and they roll over and over when the horses walk. The man calls it by the name of ‘wagon.’ On top of it is a thing he calls a cage. It has four sides and each side is like a row of little trees that have grown very close together, only you couldn’t get through the little trees on the cage thing, as they are fastened into a floor place and into a strong top that is called a roof. I heard him explain it all to the Indians.”

“What is it for?” asked Wongo.

“Well, the squaw-man told the Indian men that something, or somebody called a ‘show’ wants him to catch a bear, and not kill it, but put it inside of the cage thing. Then the Indian men laughed and some looked afraid. When the squaw-man gets a bear into the cage I suppose the horses will walk with it and roll it off to the place where ‘show’ is. Now the reason I tell you all this, when I ought to be at home and asleep, is because I have a plan that you and I must carry out to-night.”

“I guess it’s so late I’ll not visit the man-house,” said Wongo, as he slowly turned around on the trail and headed toward home.

“Tut-tut!” said the crow. “You will have to be much braver than that if you expect ever to punish old Grouch.”

“Who said anything about being afraid?” asked Wongo, pulling himself up short and trying to look very brave.

“I beg your pardon,” said Kaw, gravely. “I was foolish enough to think, for the moment, that you might possibly be going home because you feared the squaw-man, but now that I see by your look that you could never be a coward I know that you will be glad to accompany me down to the man-house.”

“Do you mean to say that you are going back to the Indian den to-night?” asked Wongo, trying to conceal his fear.

“That is a part of my plan, and we will go together. Listen. Since seeing the squaw-man with his cage thing, I have thought of a scheme, and if we carry it out successfully we will be doing ourselves and everybody in Timbertangle a great service. If you will follow my instructions no harm can come to you.”

“Let me hear the plan,” said Wongo, sitting down again somewhat nervously.

“On the west side of the man-house is a corral,” began Kaw. “There are sheep and goats in the corral to-night. The door of the man-house is toward the east. All Navaho Indians make their hogans with the door toward the rising sun. The horses are hobbled in a bunch on the south side of the hogan. The wind is from the south. We will go up to the man-house from the north, so that the dogs and horses will not smell you coming. There would certainly be trouble if they did,” he added.

“The moon will not be up to take its night walk for some time yet, but let us be on our way, as we can talk as we go. You are to go to the top of the little hill that you will find close to the man-house, and when you are there wait until you hear me call. Be careful to travel as noiselessly as ever you did in your life. Three of my crow friends will be with me in the sagebrush on the opposite side of the man-house. When I see you come to the top of the little hill my friends and I will make a loud and strange noise that will set all the dogs in our direction, and will, if all goes well, stampede the horses.”

“Why do you scare the horses?” asked Wongo.

“Well,” replied Kaw, “four of the horses belong to the squaw-man, and I just want to make him pay up a bit for the loss of my tail feather.”

“Ho, ho!” growled Wongo, “I understand that part of your strange plan at least. Go on.”

“As soon as you hear us,” continued Kaw, “and know that the dogs have run in our direction, you make a jump for the corral and grab a sheep. Don’t make a mistake and get a goat, for there are big ones in that flock that the Indians keep to protect the sheep from the coyotes, and if you should get one of them you might come to grief. Don’t kill the sheep, but make off with it as fast as you can travel, taking the shortest cut to the canyon. Hold the sheep around the neck so that it can’t make any noise.

“Make as plain a trail with your feet as you can, by running on soft ground whenever you find any. Go straight up the canyon toward old Grouch’s den. You’ll be safe enough even though he hears you and comes out to fight, as all you will have to do is to kill the sheep, drop it and run. He will stop quickly enough when he finds the meat, but I hope he will not hear you, and the chances are that he won’t, as he has had a big feed to-day and will sleep. However, he is an old glutton and, thanks to your making way with the remainder of his calf meat this morning, he will be keen enough for another square meal before daylight comes.

“When you’ve carried the sheep up to the thicket that is near his den, kill it and lay it down. Then walk backwards, backwards mind you, to the big vine-covered rock, and when you come to it jump straight over it, and run to your home by the long way round the mountain.”

“What’s all this for?” asked Wongo, who was confused by the long and seemingly foolish instructions. “It sounds like a lot of nonsense to me,” he continued. “Why in the world should I risk my neck to get a sheep for old Grouch?”

“I am just coming to the explanation,” said Kaw. “When the squaw-man and the Indians start out early to-morrow morning to catch a live bear, what do you suppose they will do?”

“They will find my trail and follow it,” said Wongo promptly, “and it will be a sorry day for me if they catch me.”

“Well,” replied Kaw, “you are right and you are wrong. They will follow your trail, but it will be old Grouch and not you that they will catch. The old rascal will probably smell the fresh mutton as soon as you drop it, and when he comes down for it his tracks will meet yours, and will be more fresh than yours when the squaw-man’s dogs come to that part of the trail.”

“Ho, ho! I see your scheme now,” said Wongo, chuckling at the thought of old Grouch being captured by the terrible squaw-man. “But,” said he, stopping suddenly as the fearful thought struck him, “what if the dogs should get off onto my trail when they reach the big rock?”

“I have provided for just that possibility,” said Kaw. “I have engaged an old friend of mine to pick up your trail as soon as you leave the rock and,” he continued with a chuckle, “they won’t follow him very far.”

“Who is he?” inquired Wongo.

“Well,” said Kaw, whose voice seemed just a shade apologetic, “he is a polecat for whom I have done a good turn, and he is both anxious to serve me and to get even with old Grouch, who destroyed the polecat’s nest when in one of his mad fits.”

“I hope he stays some distance behind me,” said Wongo thoughtfully.

“After leaving the sheep,” said Kaw, continuing his instructions, “go on around the mountain and I will meet you at the flat-topped rock near your cave. We will then compare notes, and then go out to warn every bear, and all of our animal friends on the mountain side, to leave the country before sun-up—all except Grouch,” he added with a grin.

The two had now come to the sage-covered flat that lay near the Indian hogan, so quickly repeating the most important part of his instructions, and giving Wongo a final warning to use the utmost care, Kaw flew away to the south. Although it was dark, Wongo could see the outline of the man-house some little distance away. He walked toward it very cautiously, noticing that it appeared much larger than it had seemed to be when viewed from the mountain side. Reaching the top of the little hill that the crow had described, he settled down in the sagebrush where he could look about him without fear of making a noise. He was now only a few yards from the hogan, and through a little hole in the side came the mysterious red light, while from the top of the house drifted a thin little cloud that looked white and ghostly in the darkness. Strong were the odors it brought, odors of unfamiliar things mingled with the smell of meat. Lost in wonder about all of these strange things, Wongo almost jumped out of his skin when a black object swooped down and alighted at his side.

“Don’t be so nervous!” commanded Kaw. “The dogs are all on the other side. I came over to tell you that you will have time to go up to that hole, through which the firelight is showing, and have a look inside the man-house, if you will go with care. Keep your wits about you and your ears open. I will start the big noise in a very short time,” he added as he flew noiselessly away.