The shadows of Timbertangle Wood Have hidden many a tale
Of wild adventure and treasure trove,
And magic of forest trail.
But here is a tale as it came to me,
And I’m told that it’s really true
(By the little black bird who told it to me!)
So I’m handing it on to you!
WONGO, the little bear, stood at the entrance to his cave, his head hanging almost to his paws. He looked and felt very lonely and discouraged. He was weak and hungry and his friend Kaw, the wise old crow, was away. Wongo did not know where he had gone and did not know what to do without him. The world seemed a sad, dark place.
The sides of Wongo’s empty stomach seemed to rub together and call for food, but stronger, much[134] stronger than that was the call of loneliness in his heart. He felt that if he were left this way much longer he would just lie down and die, all by himself. But Wongo did not die, as you shall see. This is a tale of adventure and great Magic, and let it never be forgotten that the little bear did his part in the Magic and did it well.
It was the year of the great thirst in Timbertangle—a year that all animals have good reason to remember, the year of the warm winter, when no snows came to melt into streams and pools in the spring.
All things that should have been green and fresh hung brown and dusty and rattled at the touch. Berries dried on the stem, before they were ripe, and nuts, when they were picked, were found to be just little withered specks in their hollow shells. Most of the streams were merely beds of bleached bowlders, white with dust, and only here and there, where water had been a rushing torrent in years past, was there a tiny trickle between the stones—just enough to satisfy the thirst of the many animals of Timbertangle. Even these little streams grew scantier each day and first one and then another dried up altogether.
It had been many, many moons since any rain had fallen and the larger animals were mere ghosts[135] of themselves, for the smaller animals on which they fed had long ago died, or gone away in search of the green things on which they lived.
It must not be thought that Kaw, the crow, had been idle in all this time. He had flown many a day’s journey in every direction to see if he could find water, but always came back with the same tale—no rains had fallen anywhere and everywhere growing things were brown and dry and all living things cried for water.
A sort of watchman of Timbertangle was Kaw, for the little crow seemed never to sleep and there was not much that escaped his bright eyes. It was a mystery to many of the animals why Kaw and Wongo were on such friendly terms, the quick, alert bird and the lumbering little bear, but they certainly were almost always together, for seldom was Wongo seen that somewhere in the tree tops could not be distinguished the sheen of Kaw’s black feathers.
Wongo’s head dropped lower and lower as he considered these things and he grew more and more lonely and depressed, when suddenly he jerked up with a start! Without preliminary flutter or noise of any kind the voice of Kaw broke sharply in on his sad thoughts:
[136]
“Stand on your head and jig and dance,
Or wiggle your legs and howl and prance;
But don’t stand there with a hanging head,
As if some friend of ours was dead!
What awful thing has happened now,
That you should wear such a troubled brow?”
Wongo looked up and heaved a great sigh of relief. There sat Kaw on his accustomed limb, and immediately the world seemed a different, brighter place.
“Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive anyway,” continued the crow. “You hadn’t moved since I landed here. I have been watching you for some time and was beginning to wonder if you had learned to sleep standing up. Anything very terrible happened while I was away?”
“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?”
[137]
 
“Just follow me,” cried Kaw, “and you shall see”
 
[138]“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.
[139]“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 ............