(Download) "Wongo and the Wise Old Crow" by Carl Moon ~ Book PDF Kindle ePub Free
eBook details
- Title: Wongo and the Wise Old Crow
- Author : Carl Moon
- Release Date : January 23, 2019
- Genre: Action & Adventure,Books,Fiction & Literature,Fairy Tales, Myths & Fables,Sci-Fi & Fantasy,Fantasy,
- Pages : * pages
- Size : 2352 KB
Description
A SUDDEN gust of cold wind swept along the mountain side and rattled the dry leaves and dead branches of some jack-oak bushes that stood at the entrance of a snug little cave. Its sole occupant, awakened by the noise, opened his eyes and looked blinkingly up at the pale dawn-light that shone on the familiar rocks of the roof above him. Once awake, he realized that he was thirsty and hungry, but he hated to get up, it would be so nice to have just a little more sleep.
While the cave-dweller was deciding between the call of his stomach and his desire to sleep, a big bluejay, with feathers rumpled by the wind, lit on a rock at the cave entrance and, after peering within, called out:
“Sleepy-head! Sleepy-head!” Then, as there was no response from the cave, he called again: “Get up, Wongo. ‘The early bird catches the worm,’ and the early bear may catch the fat sheep.”
“That’s all right about the early bird and the worm,” growled the little bear angrily, “but a bird doesn’t know much and it served the silly worm right for getting up too early. He ought to get caught.”
Then Wongo got to his feet and, as the noisy bluejay flew away, he crawled sleepily out of the cave and ambled down a secret trail that led to the canyon below.
Although the sun was not quite up on this eventful day, a pale dawn-light flooded the mountain side, causing the trees and bushes to look dim and ghostly.
Wongo was in an ill temper. Hunger, thirst, and the desire to sleep, to say nothing of the wind that was bent on blowing his fur the wrong way, made him growl under his breath. And now he must go to the little stream that ran through the dark canyon far below and get a drink, and if he met any kind of an animal on the way that was good to eat—well, that animal had better look out for himself!
Suddenly he stopped and sniffed the cool breeze that was now sweeping up from the gorge below.
“Meat!” he ejaculated. “Fresh meat of the young calf.” Then quickening his pace he soon stood on the rim of the canyon, with his nose in the air, sniffing to the right and to the left. It took but a moment to decide that the good smell came from up the canyon, but up the canyon was forbidden ground. That tantalizing odor meant just one thing, and that was that old Grouch, the meanest and most feared old bear in all Timbertangle, had killed a calf, and had, no doubt, enjoyed a hearty breakfast.
Wongo had never seen old Grouch, but he had always been very curious to know what he looked like. The fearsome tales told of the old bear by the many animals who had seen him had caused the little bear to leave the upper end of the canyon strictly alone. But on this particular morning hunger and curiosity weighed heavily against his fear. What if the old rascal had eaten all he wanted of the meat, and had gone away for a drink, or an early morning stroll, leaving a part of it in his den? Couldn’t Wongo creep up close enough to the den to see without any danger to himself? Suppose old Grouch was as bad as everyone said he was, couldn’t Wongo run as fast as any old bear?
As he argued thus to himself he stood gazing below him where, in the dim light of the dawn, he could see familiar patches of haw and berry bushes that still had plenty of fruit on them, but he was tired of haws and berries. The keen October air sharpened his appetite, and he wanted something more solid and satisfying than berries or the grubs that would be found under the flat rocks when the sun came up.
Again Wongo took long sniffs of the air, and while caution told him to give old Grouch a wide berth, appetite and curiosity got the upper hand and he moved softly up the canyon toward the forbidden ground. More and more tempting grew the smell of the fresh meat, as he neared what his nose now told him must be old Grouch’s den. He stopped beside a thicket of jack-oaks and, as the smell seemed to come from just beyond it, he slowly and carefully put his head through them that he might see.
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