The queen must be obeyed. Sam and Yan sheepishly grasped hands to make

a queen's chair for the little lady. She clutched them both around

the neck and brought their heads close together. They both loved the

pink-and-white baby between them, and both could talk to her though

not to each other. But there is something in touch that begets

comprehension. The situation was becoming ludicrous when Sam suddenly

burst out laughing, then:

"Say, Yan, let's be friends."

"I--I want--to--be," stammered Yan, with tears standing in his eyes.

"I'm awfully sorry. I'll never do it again,"

"Oh, shucks! I don't care," said Sam. "It was all that dirty little

sneak that made the trouble; but never mind, it's all right. The

only thing that worries me is how you sent me flying. I'm bigger an'

stronger an' older, I can heft more an' work harder, but you throwed

me like a bag o' shavings, I only wish I knowed how you done it."

PART III

IN THE WOODS

I

Really in the Woods

"Ye seem to waste a powerful lot o' time goin' up an' down to yer camp;

why don't ye stay thayer altogether?" said Raften one day, in the

colourless style that always worried every one, for they did not know

whether it was really meant or was mere sarcasm.

"Suits me. 'Tain't our choice to come home," replied his son.

"We'd like nothing better than to sleep there, too," said Yan.

"Well, why don't ye? That's what I'd do if I was a boy playin' Injun;

I'd go right in an' play."

"_All right now_," drawled Sam (he always drawled in proportion

to his emphasis), "that suits us; now we're a-going sure."

"All right, bhoys," said Raften; "but mind ye the pigs an' cattle's to

be 'tended to every day."

"Is that what ye call lettin' us camp out--come home to work jest the

same?"

"No, no, William," interposed Mrs. Raften; "that's not fair. That's no

way to give them a holiday. Either do it or don't. Surely one of the

men can do the chores for a month."

"Month--I didn't say nothin' about a month."

"Well, why don't you now?"

"Whoi, a month would land us into harvest," and William had the air of

a man at bay, finding them all against him.

"I'll do Yahn's chores for a fortnight if he'll give me that thayer

pictur he drawed of the place," now came in Michel's voice from

the far end of the table--"except Sunday," he added, remembering a

standing engagement, which promised to result in something of vast

importance to him.

"Wall, I'll take care o' them Sundays," said Si Lee.

"Yer all agin me," grumbled William with comical perplexity. "But

bhoys ought to be bhoys. Ye kin go."

"Whoop!" yelled Sam.

"Hooray!" joined in Yan, with even more interest though with less

unrestraint.

"But howld on, I ain't through--"

"I say, Da, we want your gun. We can't go camping without a gun."

"Howld on, now. Give me a chance to finish. Ye can go fur two weeks,

but ye got to _go_; no snakin' home nights to sleep. Ye can't hev

no matches an' no gun. I won't hev a lot o' children foolin' wid a

didn't-know-it-was-loaded, an' shootin' all the birds and squirrels

an' each other, too. Ye kin hev yer bows an' arrows an' ye ain't

likely to do no harrum. Ye kin hev all the mate an' bread an' stuff

ye want, but ye must cook it yerselves, an' if I see any signs of

settin' the Woods afire I'll be down wid the rawhoide an' cut the

very livers out o' ye."

The rest of the morning was devoted to preparation, Mrs. Raften taking

the leading hand.

"Now, who's to be cook?" she asked.

"Sam"--"Yan"--said the boys in the same breath.

"Hm! You seem in one mind about it. Suppose you take it turn and turn

about--Sam first day."

Then followed instructions for making coffee in the morning, boiling

potatoes, frying bacon. Bread and butter enough they were to take with

them--eggs, too.

"You better come home for milk every day or every other day, at

least," remarked the mother.

"We'd ruther steal it from the cows in the pasture," ventured Sam,

"seems naturaler to me Injun blood."

"If I ketch ye foolin' round the cows or sp'ilin' them the fur'll

fly," growled Raften.

"Well, kin we hook apples and cherries?" and Sam added in explanation;

"they're no good to us unless they're hooked."

"Take all the fruit ye want."

"An' potatoes?"

"Yes."

"An' aigs?"

"Well, if ye don't take more'n ye need."

"An' cakes out of the pantry? Indians do that."

"No; howld on now. That is a good place to draw the line. How are ye

goin' to get yer staff down thayer? It's purty heavy. Ye see thayer

are yer beds an' pots an' pans, as well as food."

"We'll have to take a wagon to the swamp and then carry them on our

backs on the blazed trail," said Sam, and explained "our backs" by

pointing to Michel and Si at work in the yard.

"The road goes as far as the creek," suggested Yan; "let's make a raft

there an' take the lot in it down to the swimming-pond; that'd be real

Injun."

"What'll ye make the raft of?" asked Raften.

"Cedar rails nailed together," answered Sam.

"No nails in mine," objected Yan; "that isn't Injun."

"An' none o' my cedar rails fur that. 'Pears to me it'd be less work

an' more Injun to pack the stuff on yer backs an' no risk o' wettin'

the beds."

So the raft was given up, and the stuff was duly carted to the creek's

side. Raften himself went with it. He was a good deal of a boy at

heart and he was much in sympathy with the plan. His remarks showed

a mixture of interest, and doubt as to the wisdom of letting himself

take so much interest.

"Hayre, load me up," he said, much to the surprise of the boys, as

they came to the creek's edge. His broad shoulders carried half of the

load. The blazed trail was only two hundred yards long, and in two

trips the stuff was all dumped down in front of the teepee.

Sam noted with amusement the unexpected enthusiasm of his father.

"Say, Da, you're just as bad as we are. I believe you'd like to join

us."

"'Moinds me o' airly days here," was the reply, with a wistful note in

his voice. "Many a night me an' Caleb Clark slep' out this way on this

very crick when them fields was solid bush. Do ye know how to make a

bed?"

"Don't know a thing," and Sam winked at Yan. "Show us."

"I'll show ye the rale thing. Where's the axe?"

"Haven't any," said Yan. "There's a big tomahawk and a little

tomahawk."

Raften grinned, took the big "tomahawk" and pointed to a small Balsam

Fir. "Now there's a foine bed-tree."

"Why, that's a fire-tree, too," said Yan, as with two mighty strokes

Raften sent it toppling down, then rapidly trimmed it of its flat

green boughs. A few more strokes brought down a smooth young Ash and

cut it into four pieces, two of them seven feet long and two of them

five feet. Next he cut a White Oak sapling and made four sharp pegs

each two feet long.

"Now, boys, whayer do you want yer bed?" then stopping at a thought

he added, "Maybe ye didn't want me to help--want to do everything

yerselves?"

"Ugh, bully good squaw. Keep it up--wagh!" said his son and heir, as

he calmly sat on a log and wore his most "Injun brave" expression of

haughty approval.

The father turned with an inquiring glance to Yan, who replied:

"We're mighty glad of your help. You see, we don't know how. It seems

to me that I read once the best place in the teepee is opposite the

door and a little to one side. Let's make it here." So Raften placed

the four logs for the sides and ends of the bed and drove in the

ground the four stakes to hold them. Yan brought in several armfuls of

branches, and Raften proceeded to lay them like shingles, beginning at

the head-log of the bed and lapping them very much. It took all the

fir boughs, but when all was done there was a solid mass of soft green

tips a foot thick, all the butts being at the ground.

"Thayer," said Raften, "that's an _Injun feather bed_ an' safe

an' warrum. Slapin' on the ground's terrible dangerous, but that's all

right. Now make your bed on that." Sam and Yan did so, and when it was

finished Raften said: "Now, fetch that little canvas I told yer ma to

put in; that's to fasten to the poles for an inner tent over the bed."

Yan stood still and looked uncomfortable.

"Say, Da, look at Yan. He's got that tired look that he wears when the

rules is broke."

"What's wrong," asked Raften.

"Indians don't have them that I ever heard of," said Little Beaver.

"Yan, did ye iver hear of a teepee linin' or a dew-cloth?"

"Yes," was the answer, in surprise at the unexpected knowledge of the

farmer.

"Do ye know what they're like?"

"No--at least--no--"

"Well, _I do_; that's what it's like. That's something I do know,

fur I seen old Caleb use wan."

"Oh, I remember reading about it now, and they are like that, and it's

on them that the Indians paint their records. Isn't that bully," as he

saw Raften add two long inner stakes which held the dew-cloth like a

canopy.

"Say, Da, I never knew you and Caleb were hunting together. Thought ye

were jest natural born enemies."

"Humph!" grunted Raften. "We wuz chums oncet. Never had no fault to

find till we swapped horses."

"Sorry you ain't now, 'cause he's sure sharp in the woods."

"He shouldn't a-tried to make an orphan out o' you."

"Are you sure he done it?"

"If 'twasn't him I dunno who 'twas. Yan, fetch some of them pine knots

thayer."

Yan went after the knots; it was some yards into the woods, and out

there he was surprised to see a tall man behind a tree. A second's

glance showed it to be Caleb. The Trapper laid one finger on his lips

and shook his head. Yan nodded assent, gathered the knots, and went

back to the camp, where Sam continued:

"You skinned him out of his last cent, old Boyle says."

"An' whoi not, when he throid to shkin me? Before that I was helpin'

him, an' fwhat must he do but be ahfter swappin' horses. He might as

well ast me to play poker and then squeal when I scooped the pile.

Naybours is wan thing an' swappin' horses is another. All's fair in

a horse trade, an' friends didn't orter swap horses widout they kin

stand the shkinnin'. That's a game by itself. Oi would 'a' helped him

jest the same afther that swap an' moore, fur he wuz good stuff, but

he must nades shoot at me that noight as I come home wit the wad, so

av coorse--"

"I wish ye had a Dog now," said the farmer in the new tone of a new

subject; "tramps is a nuisance at all toimes, an' a Dog is the best

med'cine for them. I don't believe old Cap'd stay here; but maybe yer

near enough to the house so they won't bother ye. An' now I guess the

Paleface will go back to the settlement. I promised ma that I'd see

that yer bed wuz all right, an' if ye sleep warrum an' dry an' hev

plenty to ate ye'll take no harrum."

So he turned away, but as he was quitting the clearing he

stopped,--the curious boyish interest was gone from his face, the

geniality from his voice--then in his usual stern tones of command:

[Illustration: "If ye kill any Song-birds, I'll use the rawhoide on

ye."]

"Now, bhoys, ye kin shoot all the Woodchucks yer a mind ter, fur they

are a nuisance in the field. Yer kin kill Hawks an' Crows an' Jays,

fur they kill other birds, an' Rabbits an' Coons, fur they are fair

game; but I don't want to hear of yer killin' any Squirrels or

Chipmunks or Song-birds, an' if ye do I'll stop the hull thing an'

bring ye back to wurruk, an' use the rawhoide on tap o' that."

II

The First Night and Morning

It was a strange new feeling that took possession of the boys as they

saw Mr. Raften go, and when his step actually died away on the blazed

trail they felt that they were really and truly alone in the woods and

camping out. To Yan it was the realization of many dreams, and the

weirdness of it was helped by the remembrance of the tall old man he

had seen watching them from behind the trees. He made an excuse to

wander out there, but of course Caleb was gone.

"Fire up," Sam presently called out. Yan was the chief expert with the

rubbing-sticks, and within a minute or two he had the fire going in

the middle of the teepee and Sam set about preparing the evening meal.

This was supposed to be Buffalo meat and Prairie roots (beef and

potatoes). It was eaten rather quietly, and then the boys sat down on

the opposite sides of the fire. The conversation dragged, then died

a natural death; each was busy with his thoughts, and there was,

moreover, an impressive and repressive something or other all around

them. Not a stillness, for there were many sounds, but beyond those

a sort of voiceless background that showed up all the myriad voices.

Some of these were evidently Bird, some Insect, and a few were

recognized as Tree-frog notes. In the near stream were sounds of

splashing or a little plunge.

"Must be Mushrat," whispered Sam to the unspoken query of his friend.

A loud, far "Oho-oho-oho" was familiar to both as the cry of the

Horned Owl, but a strange long wail rang out from the trees overhead.

"What's that?"

"Don't know," was all they whispered, and both felt very

uncomfortable. The solemnity and mystery of the night was on them

and weighing more heavily with the waning light. The feeling was

oppressive. Neither had courage enough to propose going to the house

or their camping would have ended. Sam arose and stirred the fire,

looked around for more wood, and, seeing none, he grumbled (to

himself) and stepped outside in the darkness to find some. It was not

till long afterward that he admitted having had to _dare_ himself

to step out into the darkness. He brought in some sticks and fastened

the door as tightly as possible. The blazing fire in the teepee was

cheering again. The boys perhaps did not realize that there was

actually a tinge of homesickness in their mood, yet both were thinking

of the comfortable circle at the house. The blazing fire smoked a

little, and Sam said:

"Kin you fix that to draw? You know more about it 'an me."

Yan now forced himself to step outside. The wind was rising and had

changed. He swung the smoke poles till the vent was quartering down,

then hoarsely whispered, "How's that?"

"That's better," was the reply in a similar tone, though there was no

obvious difference yet.

He went inside with nervous haste and fastened up the entrance.

"Let's make a good fire and go to bed."

So they turned in after partly undressing, but not to sleep for hours.

Yan in particular was in a state of nervous excitement. His heart had

beaten violently when he went out that time, and even now that mysterious

dread was on him. The fire was the one comfortable thing. He dozed off,

but started up several times at some slight sound. Once it was a peculiar

"_Tick, tick, scr-a-a-a-a-pe, lick-scra-a-a-a-a-a-pe,_" down the teepee

over his head. "_A Bear_" was his first notion, but on second thoughts

he decided it was only a leaf sliding down the canvas. Later he was

roused by a "_Scratch, scratch, scratch_" close to him. He listened

silently for some time. This was no leaf; it was an _animal!_ Yes,

surely--it was a Mouse. He slapped the canvas violently and "hissed"

till it went away, but as he listened he heard again that peculiar

wail in the tree-tops. It almost made his hair sit up. He reached out

and poked the fire together into a blaze. All was still and in time he

dozed off. Once more he was wide awake in a flash and saw Sam sitting

up in bed listening.

[Illustration: "Where's the axe?"]

"What is it, Sam?" he whispered.

"I dunno. Where's the axe?"

"Right here."

"Let me have it on my side. You kin have the hatchet."

But they dropped off at last and slept soundly till the sun was strong

on the canvas and filling the teepee with a blaze of transmitted

light.

"Woodpecker! Woodpecker! Get up! Get up! Hi-e-yo! Hi-e-yo!

Double-u-double-o-d-bang-fizz-whackety-whack-y-r-chuck-

brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-Woodpecker," shouted Yan to his sleepy chum, quoting

a phrase that Sam when a child had been taught as the true spelling of

his nickname.

Sam woke slowly, but knowing perfectly where he was, and drawled:

"Get up yourself. You're cook to-day, an' I'll take my breakfast in

bed. Seems like my knee is broke out again."

"Oh, get up, and let's have a swim before breakfast."

"No, thank you, I'm too busy just now; 'sides, it's both cold and wet

in that pond, this time o' day."

The morning was fresh and bright; many birds were singing, although it

was July, a Red-eyed Vireo and a Robin were in full song; and as Yan

rose to get the breakfast he wondered why he had been haunted by such

strange feelings the night before. It was incomprehensible now. He

wished that appalling wail in the tree-tops would sound again, so he

might trace it home.

There still were some live coals in the ashes, and in a few minutes he

had a blazing fire, with the pot boiling for coffee, and the bacon in

the fryer singing sweetest music for the hungry.

Sam lay on his back watching his companion and making critical

remarks.

"You may be an A1 cook--at least, I hope you are, but you don't know

much about fire-wood," said he. "Now look at that," as one huge spark

after another exploded from the fire and dropped on the bed and the

teepee cover.

"How can I help it?"

"I'll bet Da's best cow against your jack-knife you got some Ellum or

Hemlock in that fire."

"Well, I have," Yan admitted, with an air of surrender.

"My son," said the Great Chief Woodpecker, "no sparking allowed in the

teepee. Beech, Maple, Hickory or Ash never spark. Pine knots an' roots

don't, but they make smoke like--like--oh--you know. Hemlock, Ellum,

Chestnut, Spruce and Cedar is public sparkers, an' not fit for dacint

teepee sassiety. Big Injun heap hate noisy, crackling fire. Enemy hear

that, an'--an'--it burns his bedclothes."

"All right, Grandpa," and the cook made a mental note, then added in

tones of deadly menace, "You get up now, do you understand!" and he

picked up a bucket of water.

"That might scare the Great Chief Woodpecker if the Great Chief Cook

had a separate bed, but now he smiles kind o' scornful," was all the

satisfaction he got. Then seeing that breakfast really was ready,

Sam scrambled out a few minutes later. The coffee acted like an

elixir--their spirits rose, and before the meal was ended it would

have been hard to find two more hilarious and enthusiastic campers.

Even the vague terrors of the night were now sources of amusement.

III

A Crippled Warrior and the Mud Albums

"Say, Sam; what about Guy? Do we want him?"

"Well, it's just like this. If it was at school or any other place I

wouldn't be bothered with the dirty little cuss, but out in the woods

like this one feels kind o' friendly, an' three's better than two.

Besides, he has been admitted to the Tribe already."

"Yes, that's what I say. Let's give him a _yell_."

So the boys uttered a long yell, produced by alternating the voice

between a high falsetto and a natural tone. This was the "yell," and

had never failed to call Guy forth to join them unless he had some

chore on hand and his "Paw" was too near to prevent his renegading to

the Indians. He soon appeared waving a branch, the established signal

that he came as a friend.

He came very slowly, however, and the boys saw that he limped

frightfully, helping himself along with a stick. He was barefoot, as

usual, but his left foot was swaddled in a bundle of rags.

"Hello, Sappy; what happened? Out to Wounded Knee River?"

"Nope. Struck luck. Paw was bound I'd ride the Horse with the scuffler

all day, but he gee'd too short an' I arranged to tumble off'n him,

an' Paw cuffled me foot some. Law! how I did holler! You should 'a'

heard me."

[Illustration: "He soon appeared, waving a branch."]

"Bet we did," said Sam. "When was it?"

"Yesterday about four."

"Exactly. We heard an awful screech and Yan says, says he, 'There's

the afternoon train at Kelly's Crossing, but ain't she late?'

"'Train!' says I. 'Pooh. I'll bet that's Guy Burns getting a new

licking.'"

"Guess I'll well up now," said War Chief Sapwood, so stripped his

foot, revealing a scratch that would not have cost a thought had he

got it playing ball. He laid the rags away carefully and with them

every trace of the limp, then entered heartily into camp life.

The vast advantage of being astir early now was seen. There were

Squirrels in every other tree, there were birds on every side, and

when they ran to the pond a wild Duck spattered over the surface and

whistled out of sight.

"What you got?" called Sam, as he saw Yan bending eagerly over

something down by the pond.

Yan did not answer, and so Sam went over and saw him studying out a

mark in the mud. He was trying to draw it in his note-book.

"What is it?" repeated Sam.

"Don't know. Too stubby for a Muskrat, too much claw for a Cat, too

small for a Coon, too many toes for a Mink."

"I'll bet it's a Whangerdoodle."

Yan merely chuckled in answer to this.

"Don't you laugh," said the Woodpecker, solemnly, "You'd be more apt

to cry if you seen one walk into the teepee blowing the whistle at the

end of his tail. Then it'd be, 'Oh, Sam, where's the axe?'"

"Tell you what I do believe it is," said Yan, not noticing this

terrifying description; "it's a Skunk."

"Little Beaver, my son! I thought I would tell you, then I sez to

meself, 'No; it's better for him to find out by his lone. Nothing like

a struggle in early life to develop the stuff in a man. It don't do to

help him too much,' sez I, an' so I didn't."

Here Sam condescendingly patted the Second War Chief on the head and

nodded approvingly. Of course he did not know as much about the track

as Yan did, but he prattled on:

"Little Beaver! you're a heap struck on tracks--Ugh--good! You kin

tell by them everything that passes in the night. Wagh! Bully! You're

likely to be the naturalist of our Tribe. But you ain't got gumption.

Now, in this yer hunting-ground of our Tribe there is only one place

where you can see a track, an' that is that same mud-bank; all the

rest is hard or grassy. Now, what I'd do if I was a Track-a-mist, I'd

give the critters lots o' chance to leave tracks. I'd fix it all

round with places so nothing could come or go 'thout givin' us his

impressions of the trip. I'd have one on each end of the trail coming

in, an' one on each side of the creek where it comes in an' goes out."

"Well, Sam, you have a pretty level head. I wonder I didn't think of

that myself."

"My son, the Great Chief does the thinking. It's the rabble--that's

you and Sappy--that does the work."

But all the same he set about it at once with Yan, Sappy following

with a _slight limp now_. They removed the sticks and rubbish for

twenty feet of the trail at each end and sprinkled this with three

or four inches of fine black loam. They cleared off the bank of the

stream at four places, one at each side where it entered the woods,

and one at each side where it went into the Burns's Bush.

"Now," said Sam, "there's what I call visitors' albums like the one

that Phil Leary's nine fatties started when they got their brick house

and their swelled heads, so every one that came in could write their

names an' something about 'this happy, happy, ne'er-to-be-forgotten

visit'--them as could write. Reckon that's where our visitors get the

start, for all of ours kin write that has feet."

"Wonder why I didn't think o' that," said Yan, again and again. "But

there's one thing you forget," he said. "We want one around the

teepee."

This was easily made, as the ground was smooth and bare there, and

Sappy forgot his limp and helped to carry ashes and sand from the

fire-hole. Then planting his broad feet down in the dust, with many

snickers, he left some very interesting tracks.

"I call that a bare track" said Sam.

"Go ahead and draw it," giggled Sappy

"Why not?" and Yan got out his book.

"Bet you can't make it life-size," and Sam glanced from the little

note-book to the vast imprint.

After it was drawn, Sam said, "Guess I'll peel off and show you a

human track." He soon gave an impression of his foot for the artist,

and later Yan added his own; the three were wholly different.

"Seems to me it would be about right, if you had the ways the toes

pointed and the distance apart to show how long the legs wuz."

Again Sam had given Yan a good idea. From that time he noted these two

points and made his records much better.

"Air you fellers roostin' here now?" said Sappy in surprise, as he

noted the bed as well as the pots and pans.

"Yep."

"Well, I wanter, too. If I kin git hol' o' Maw 'thout Paw, it'll be

O.K."

"You let on we don't want you and Paw'll let you come. Tell him

Ole Man Raften ordered you off the place an' he'll fetch you here

himself."

"I guess there's room enough in that bed fur three," remarked the

Third War Chief.

"Well, I guess there ain't," said Woodpecker. "Not when the third one

won first prize for being the dirtiest boy in school. You can get

stuff an' make your own bed, across there on the other side the fire."

"Don't know how."

"We'll show you, only you'll have to go home for blankets an' grub."

The boys soon cut a Fir-bough bed, but Guy put off going home for the

blankets as long as he could. He knew and they suspected that there

was no chance of his rejoining them again that day. So after sundown

he replaced his foot-rags and limped down the trail homeward, saying,

"I'll be back in a few minutes," and the boys knew perfectly well that

he would not.

The evening meal was over; they had sat around wondering if the night

would repeat its terrors. An Owl "Hoo-hoo-ed" in the trees. There was

a pleasing romance in the sound. The boys kept up the fire till about

ten, then retired, determined that they would not be scared this time.

They were barely off to sleep when the most awful outcry arose in the

near woods, like "a Wolf with a sore throat," then the yells of a

human being in distress. Again the boys sat up in fright. There was a

scuffling outside--a loud and terrified "Hi--hi--hi--Sam!" Then an

attack was made on the door. It was torn open, and in tumbled Guy. He

was badly frightened; but when the fire was lighted and he calmed down

a little he confessed that Paw had sent him to bed, but when all was

still he had slipped out the window, carrying the bedclothes. He was

nearly back to the camp when he decided to scare the boys by letting

off a few wolfish howls, but he made himself very scary by doing it,

and when a wild answer came from the tree-tops--a hideous, blaring

screech--he lost all courage, dropped the bedding, and ran toward the

teepee yelling for help.

The boys took torches presently and went nervously in search of the

missing blankets. Guy's bed was made and in an hour they were once

more asleep.

In the morning Sam was up and out first. From the home trail he

suddenly called:

"Yan, come here."

"Do you mean me?" said Little Beaver, with haughty dignity.

"Yep, Great Chief; git a move on you. Hustle out here. Made a find. Do

you see who was visiting us last night while we slept?" and he pointed

to the "album" on the inway. "I hain't shined them shoes every week

with soot off the bottom of the pot without knowin' that one pair of

'em was wore by Ma an' one of 'em by Da. But let's see how far they

come. Why, I orter looked round the teepee before tramplin' round."

They went back, and though the trails were much hidden by their own,

they found enough around the doorway to show that during the night, or

more likely late in the evening, the father and mother had paid them a

visit in secret--had inspected the camp as they slept, but finding no

one stirring and the boys breathing the deep breath of healthy sleep,

they had left them undisturbed.

"Say, boys--I mean Great Chiefs--what we want in camp is a Dog, or one

of these nights some one will steal our teeth out o' our heads an' we

won't know a thing till they come back for the gums. All Injun camps

have Dogs, anyway."

The next morning the Third War Chief was ordered out by the Council,

first to wash himself clean, then to act as cook for the day. He

grumbled as he washed, that "'Twan't no good--he'd be all dirty again

in two minutes," which was not far from the truth. But he went at the

cooking with enthusiasm, which lasted nearly an hour. After this he

did not see any fun in it, and for once he, as well as the others,

began to realize how much was done for them at home. At noon Sappy set

out nothing but dirty dishes, and explained that so long as each got

his own it was all right. His foot was very troublesome at meal time

also. He said it was the moving round when he was hurrying that made

it so hard to bear, but in their expedition with bows and arrows later

on he found complete relief.

"Say, look at the Red-bird," he shouted, as a Tanager flitted onto a

low branch and blazed in the sun. "Bet I hit him first shot!" and he

drew an arrow.

"Here you, Saphead," said Sam, "quit that shooting at little birds.

It's bad medicine. It's against the rules; it brings bad luck--it

brings awful bad luck. I tell you there ain't no worse luck than Da's

raw-hide--that I know."

"Why, what's the good o' playin' Injun if we can't shoot a blame

thing?" protested Sappy.

"You kin shoot Crows an' Jays if you like, an' Woodchucks, too."

"I know where there's a Woodchuck as big as a Bear."

"Ah! What size Bear?"

"Well, it is. You kin laugh all you want to. He has a den in our

clover field, an' he made it so big that the mower dropped in an'

throwed Paw as far as from here to the crick."

"An' the horses, how did they get out?"

"Well! It broke the machine, an' you should have heard Paw swear. My!

but he was a socker. Paw offered me a quarter if I'd kill the old

whaler. I borrowed a steel trap an' set it in the hole, but he'd dig

out under it an' round it every time. I'll bet there ain't anything

smarter'n an old Woodchuck."

"Is he there yet?" asked War Chief No. 2.

"You just bet he is. Why, he has half an acre of clover all eat up."

"Let's try to get him," said Yan. "Can we find him?"

"Well, I should say so. I never come by but I see the old feller. He's

so big he looks like a calf, an' so old an' wicked he's gray-headed."

"Let's have a shot at him," suggested the Woodpecker. "He's fair game.

Maybe your Paw'll give us a quarter each if we kill him."

Guy snickered. "Guess you don't know my Paw," then he giggled

bubblously through his nose again.

Arrived at the edge of the clover, Sam asked, "Where's your

Woodchuck?"

"Right in there."

"I don't see him."

"Well, he's always here."

"Not now, you bet."

"Well, this is the very first time I ever came here and didn't see

him. Oh, I tell you, he's a fright. I'll bet he's a blame sight

bigger'n that stump."

"Well, here's his track, anyway," said Woodpecker, pointing to some

tracks he had just made unseen with his own broad palm.

"Now," said Sappy, in triumph. "Ain't he an old socker?"

"Sure enough. You ain't missed any cows lately, have you? Wonder you

ain't scared to live anyways near!"

IV

A "Massacree" of Palefaces

"Say, fellers, I know where there's a stavin' Birch tree--do you want

any bark?"

"Yes, I want some," said Little Beaver.

"But hold on; I guess we better not, coz it's right on the edge o' our

bush, an' Paw's still at the turnips."

"Now if you want a real war party," said the Head Chief, "let's

massacree the Paleface settlement up the crick and get some milk.

We're just out, and I'd like to see if the place has changed any."

So the boys hid their bows and arrows and headdresses, and, forgetting

to take a pail, they followed in Indian file the blazed trail,

carefully turning in their toes as they went and pointing silently to

the track, making signs of great danger. First they crawled up, under

cover of one of the fences, to the barn. The doors were open and men

working at something. A pig wandered in from the barnyard. Then the

boys heard a sudden scuffle, and a squeal from the pig as it scrambled

out again, and Raften's voice: "Consarn them pigs! Them boys ought to

be here to herd them." This was sufficiently alarming to scare the

Warriors off in great haste. They hid in the huge root-cellar and

there held a council of war.

"Here, Great Chiefs of Sanger," said Yan, "behold I take three straws.

That long one is for the Great Woodpecker, the middle size is for

Little Beaver, and the short thick one with the bump on the end and

a crack on top is Sappy. Now I will stack them up in a bunch and let

them fall, then whichever way they point we must go, for this is Big

Medicine."

So the straws fell. Sam's straw pointed nearly to the house, Yan's a

little to the south of the house, and Guy's right back home.

"Aha, Sappy, you got to go home; the straw says so."

"I ain't goin' to believe no such foolishness."

"It's awful unlucky to go against it."

"I don't care, I ain't goin' back," said Guy doggedly.

"Well, my straw says go to the house; that means go scouting for milk,

I reckon."

Yan's straw pointed toward the garden, and Guy's to the residence and

grounds of "J.G. Burns, Esq."

"I don't care," said Sappy, "I ain't goin'. I am goin' after some

of them cherries in your orchard, an' 'twon't be the first time,

neither."

"We kin meet by the Basswood at the foot of the lane with whatever

we get," said the First War Chief, as he sneaked into the bushes and

crawled through the snake fence and among the nettles and manure

heaps on the north side of the barnyard till he reached the woodshed

adjoining the house. He knew where the men were, and he could guess

where his mother was, but he was worried about the Dog. Old Cap might

be on the front doorstep, or he might be prowling at just the wrong

place for the Injun plan. The woodshed butted on the end of the

kitchen. The milk was kept in the cellar, and one window of the cellar

opened into a dark corner of the woodshed. This was easily raised, and

Sam scrambled down into the cool damp cellar. Long rows of milk pans

were in sight on the shelves. He lifted the cover of the one he knew

to be the last put there and drank a deep, long draught with his mouth

down to it, then licked the cream from his lips and remembered that he

had come without a pail. But he knew where to get one. He went

gently up the stairs, avoiding steps Nos. 1 and 7 because they were

"creakers," as he found out long ago, when he used to 'hook' maple

sugar from the other side of the house. The door at the top was closed

and buttoned, but he put his jack-knife blade through the crack and

turned the button. After listening awhile and hearing no sound in the

kitchen, he gently opened the squeaky old door. There was no one to

be seen but the baby, sound asleep in her cradle. The outer door was

open, but no Dog lying on the step as usual. Over the kitchen was a

garret entered by a trap-door and a ladder. The ladder was up and the

trap-door open, but all was still. Sam stood over the baby, grunted,

"Ugh, Paleface papoose," raised his hand as if wielding a war club,

aimed a deadly blow at the sleeping cherub, then stooped and kissed

her rosy mouth so lightly that her pink fists went up to rub it at

once. He now went to the pantry, took a large pie and a tin pail,

then down into the cellar again. He, at first, merely closed the door

behind him and was leaving it so, but remembered that Minnie might

awaken and toddle around till she might toddle into the cellar,

therefore he turned the button so that just a corner showed over the

crack, closed the door and worked with his knife blade on that corner

till the cellar was made as safe as before. He now escaped with his

pie and pail.

Meanwhile his mother's smiling face beamed out of the dark loft. Then

she came down the ladder. She had seen him come and enter the cellar,

by chance she was in the loft when he reached the kitchen, but she had

kept quiet to enjoy the joke.

Next time the Woodpecker went to the cellar he found a paper with this

on it: "_Notice_ to hostile Injuns--Next time you massacree this

settlement, bring back the pail, and don't leave the covers off the

milk pans."

Yan had followed the fence that ran south of the house. There was

plenty of cover, but he crawled on hands and knees, going right down

on his breast when he came to places more open than the rest. In this

way he had nearly reached the garden when he heard a noise behind and,

turning, he saw Sappy.

"Here, what are you following me for? Your straw pointed the other

way. You ain't playing fair."

"Well, I don't care, I ain't going home. _You_ fixed it up so my

straw would point that way. It ain't fair, an' I won't do it."

"You got no right following me."

"I ain't following you, but you keep going just the place I want to

go. It's you following me, on'y keepin' ahead. I told you I was after

cherries."

"Well, the cherries are that way and I'm going this way, and I don't

want you along."

"You couldn't get me if you wanted me."

"Erh----"

"Erh----"

So Sappy went cherryward and Yan waited awhile, then crawled toward

the fruit garden. After twenty or thirty yards more, he saw a gleam of

red, then under it a bright yellow eye glaring at him. He had chanced

on a hen sitting on her nest. He came nearer, she took alarm and ran

away, not clucking, but cackling loudly. There were a dozen eggs of

two different styles, all bright and clean, and the hen's comb was

bright red. Yan knew hens. This was easy to read: Two stray hens

laying in one nest, and neither of them sitting yet.

"So ho! Straws show which way the hens go."

He gathered up the eggs into his hat and crawled back toward the tree

where all had to meet.

But before he had gone far he heard a loud barking, then yells for

help, and turned in time to see Guy scramble up a tree while Cap, the

old Collie, barked savagely at him from below. Now that he was in no

danger Sappy had the sense to keep quiet. Yan came back as quickly

as possible. The Dog at once recognized and obeyed _him_, but

doubtless was much puzzled to make out why he should be pelted back to

the house when he had so nobly done his duty by the orchard.

"Now, you see, maybe next time you'll do what the medicine straw tells

you. Only for me you'd been caught and fed to the pigs, sure."

"Only for you I wouldn't have come. I wasn't scared of your old Dog,

anyway. Just in about two minutes more I was comin' down to kick the

stuffin' out o' him myself."

"Perhaps you'd like to go back and do it now. I'll soon call him."

"Oh, I hain't got time now, but some other time--Let's find Sam."

So they foregathered at the tree, and laden with their spoils, they

returned gloriously to camp.

V

The Deer Hunt

That evening they had a feast and turned in to sleep at the usual

hour. The night passed without special alarm. Once about daylight

Sappy called them, saying he believed there was a Bear outside, but

he had a trick of grinding his teeth in his sleep, and the other boys

told him that was the Bear he heard.

Yan went around to the mud albums and got some things he could

not make out and a new mark that gave him a sensation. He drew it

carefully. It was evidently the print of a small sharp hoof. This was

what he had hungered for so long. He shouted, "Sam--Sam--Sapwood, come

here; here's a _Deer track_."

The boys shouted back, "Ah, what you givin' us now!" "Call off your

Dog!" and so forth.

But Yan persisted. The boys were so sure it was a trick that they

would not go for some time, then the sun had risen high, shining

straight down on the track instead of across, so it became very dim.

Soon the winds, the birds and the boys themselves helped to wipe it

out. But Yan had his drawing, and persisted in spite of the teasing

that it was true.

At length Guy said aside to Sam: "Seems to me a feller that hunts

tracks so terrible serious ought to see the critter _some time_.

'Tain't right to let him go on sufferin'. _I_ think he ought to

see that Deer. We ought to help him." Here he winked a volley or two

and made signs for Sam to take Yan away.

This was easily done.

"Let's see if your Deer went out by the lower mud album." So they

walked down that way, while Guy got an old piece of sacking, stuffed

it with grass, and, hastily tying it in the form of a Deer's head,

stuck it on a stick. He put in two flat pieces of wood for ears, took

charcoal and made two black spots for eyes and one for a nose, then

around each he drew a ring of blue clay from the bed of the brook.

This soon dried and became white. Guy now set up this head in the

bushes, and when all was ready he ran swiftly and silently through the

wood to find Sam and Yan. He beckoned vigorously and called under

his voice: "Sam--Yan--a Deer! Here's that there Deer that made them

tracks, I believe."

Guy would have failed to convince Yan if Sam had not looked so much

interested. They ran back to the teepee, got their bows and arrows,

then, guided by Guy, who, however, kept back, they crawled to where he

had seen the Deer.

"There--there, now, ain't he a Deer? There--see him move!"

Yan's first feeling was a most exquisite thrill of pleasure. It was

like the uplift of joy he had had the time he got his book, but was

stronger. The savage impulse to kill came quickly, and his bow was in

his hand, but he hesitated.

"Shoot! Shoot!" said Sam and Guy.

Yan wondered why _they_ did not shoot. He turned, and in spite of

his agitation he saw that they were making fun of him. He glanced at

the Deer again, moved up a little closer and saw the trick.

Then they hooted aloud. Yan was a little crestfallen. Oh, it had been

such an exquisite feeling! The drop was long and hard, but he rallied

quickly.

"I'll shoot your Deer for you," he said, and sent an arrow close under

it.

"Well, I kin beat that," and Sam and Guy both fired. Sam's arrow stuck

in the Deer's nose. At that he gave a yell; then all shot till the

head was stuck full of arrows, and they returned to the teepee to

get dinner. They were still chaffing Yan about the Deer when he said

slowly to Guy:

"Generally you are not so smart as you think you are, but this time

you're smarter. You've given me a notion."

So after dinner he got a sack about three feet long and stuffed it

full of dry grass; then he made a small sack about two and a half feet

long and six inches thick, but with an elbow in it and pointed at one

end. This he also stuffed with hay and sewed with a bone needle to the

big sack. Next he cut four sticks of soft pine for legs and put them

into the four corners of the big sack, wrapping them with bits of

sacking to be like the rest. Then he cut two ears out of flat sticks;

painted black eyes and nose with a ring of white around each, just as

Sappy had done, but finally added a black spot on each side of the

body, and around that a broad gray hand. Now he had completed what

every one could see was meant for a Deer.

The other boys helped a little, but not did cease to chaff him.

"Who's to be fooled this time?" asked Guy.

"You," was the answer.

"I'll bet you'll get buck fever the first time you come across it,"

chuckled the Head Chief.

"Maybe I will, but you'll all have a chance. Now you fellers stay here

and I'll hide the Deer. Wait till I come back."

So Yan ran off northward with the dummy, then swung around to the east

and hid it at a place quite out of the line that he first took. He

returned nearly to where he came out, shouting "Ready!"

Then the hunters sallied forth fully armed, and Yan explained: "First

to find it counts ten and has first shot. If he misses, next one can

walk up five steps and shoot; if he misses, next walks five steps

more, and so on until the Deer is hit. Then all the shooting must be

done from the place where that arrow was fired. A shot in the heart

counts ten; in the gray counts five; that's a body wound--and a hit

outside of that counts one--that's a scratch. If the Deer gets away

without a shot in the heart, then I count twenty-five, and the first

one to find it is Deer for next hunt--twelve shots each is the limit."

The two hunters searched about for a long time. Sam made disparaging

remarks about the trail this Deer _did not_ leave, and Guy

sneaked and peaked in every thicket.

Sappy was not an athlete nor an intellectual giant, but his little

piggy eyes were wonderfully sharp and clear.

"I see him," he yelled presently, and pointed out the place

seventy-five yards away where he saw one ear and part of the head.

"Tally ten for Sappy," and Yan marked it down.

Guy was filled with pride at his success. He made elaborate

preparation to shoot, remarking, "I could 'a' seen it twicet as

far--if--if--if--it was--if I had a fair chance."

He drew his bow and left fly. The arrow went little more than half

way. So Sam remarked, "Five steps up I kin go. It don't say nothing

about how long the steps?"

"No."

"Well, here goes," and he began the most wonderful Kangaroo hops that

he could do. He covered about thirty feet in those five steps, and by

swerving a little aside he got a good view of the Deer. He was now

less than sixty-five yards away. He fired and missed. Now Guy had the

right to walk up five steps. He also missed. Finally at thirty yards

Sam sent an arrow close past a tree, deep in the Deer's gray flank.

"Bully shot! Body wound! Count five for the Great War Chief. All

shooting from this spot now," said Yan, "and I don't know why I

shouldn't shoot as well as the others."

"Coz you're the Deer and that'd be suicide," was Sam's objection. "But

it's all right. You won't hit."

The objection was not sustained, and Yan tried his luck also. Two or

three shots in the brown of the Deer's haunch, three or four into the

tree that stood half way between, but nearly in line, a shot or two

into the nose, then "Hooray!" a shot from Guy right into the Deer's

heart put an end to the chase. Now they went up to draw and count the

arrows.

Guy was ahead with a heart shot, ten, a body wound, five, and a

scratch, one, that's sixteen, with ten more for finding it--twenty-six

points. Sam followed with two body wounds and two scratches--twelve

points, and Yan one body wound and five scratches--ten points. The

Deer looked like an old Porcupine when they came up to it, and Guy,

bursting with triumph, looked like a young Emperor.

"I tell you it takes me to larn you fellers to Deer hunt. I'll bet

I'll hit him in the heart first thing next time."

"I'll bet you won't, coz you'll be Deer and can't shoot till we both

have."

Guy thought this the finest game he had ever played. He pranced away

with the dummy on his back, scheming as he went to make a puzzle for

the others. He hid the Deer in a dense thicket east of the camp, then

sneaked around to the west of the camp and yelled "Ready!" They had a

long, tedious search and had to give it up.

"Now what to do? Who counts?" asked the Woodpecker.

"When Deer escapes it counts twenty-five," replied the inventer of the

game; and again Guy was ahead.

"This is the bulliest game I ever seen" was his ecstatic remark.

"Seems to me there's something wrong; that Deer ought to have a

trail."

"That's so," assented Yan. "Wonder if he couldn't drag an old root!"

"If there was snow it'd be easy."

"I'll tell you, Sam; we'll tear up paper and leave a paper trail."

"Now you're talking." So all ran to camp. Every available scrap of

wrapping paper was torn up small and put in a "scent bag."

Since no one found the Deer last time, Guy had the right to hide it

again.

He made a very crooked trail and a very careful hide, so that the boys

nearly walked onto the Deer before they saw it about fifteen yards

away. Sam scored ten for the find. He fired and missed. Yan now

stepped up his five paces and fired so hastily that he also missed.

Guy now had a shot at it at five yards, and, of course, hit the Deer

in the heart. This succession of triumphs swelled his head nearly to

the bursting point, and his boasting passed all bounds. But it now

became clear that there must be a limit to the stepping up. So the new

rule was made, "No stepping up nearer than fifteen paces."

The game grew as they followed it. Its resemblance to real hunting was

very marked. The boys found that they could follow the trail, or sweep

the woods with their eyes as they pleased, and find the game, but the

wisest way was a combination. Yan was too much for the trail, Sam

too much for the general lookout, but Guy seemed always in luck. His

little piglike eyes took in everything, and here at length he found a

department in which he could lead. It looked as though little pig-eyed

Guy was really cut out for a hunter. He made a number of very clever

hidings of the Deer. Once he led the trail to the pond, then, across,

and right opposite he put the Deer in full view, so that they saw it

at once in the open; they were obliged either to shoot across the

pond, or step farther away round the edge, or step into the deep

water, and again Guy scored. It was found necessary to bar hiding the

Deer on a ridge and among stones, because in one case arrows which

missed were lost in the bushes and in the other they were broken.

They played this game so much that they soon found a new difficulty.

The woods were full of paper trails, and there was no means of

deciding which was the old and which the new. This threatened to end

the fun altogether. But Yan hit on the device of a different colour

of paper. This gave them a fresh start, but their supply was limited.

There was paper everywhere in the woods now, and it looked as though

the game was going to kill itself, when old Caleb came to pay them a

visit. He always happened round as though it was an accident, but the

boys were glad to see him, as he usually gave some help.

"Ye got some game, I see," and the old man's eye twinkled as he noted

the dummy, now doing target duty on the forty-yard range. "Looks like

the real thing. Purty good--purty good." He chuckled as he learned

about the Deer hunt, and a sharp observer might have discerned a

slight increase of interest when he found that it was not Sam Raften

that was the "crack" hunter.

"Good fur you, Guy Burns. Me an' your Paw hev hunted Deer together on

this very crik many a time."

When he learned the difficulty about the scent, he said "Hm," and

puffed at his pipe for awhile in silence. Then at length:

"Say, Yan, why don't you and Guy get a bag o' wheat or Injun corn for

scent: that's better than paper, an' what ye lay to-day is all clared

up by the birds and Squirrels by to-morrow."

"Bully!" shouted Sam. (He had not been addressed at all, but he was

not thin-skinned.) Within ten minutes he had organized another "White

massacree"--that is, a raid on the home barn, and in half an hour he

returned with a peck of corn.

"Now, lemme be Deer," said Caleb. "Give me five minutes' start, then

follow as fast as ye like. I'll show ye what a real Deer does."

He strode away bearing the dummy, and in five minutes as they set out

on the trail he came striding back again. Oh, but that seemed a long

run. The boys followed the golden corn trail--a grain every ten feet

was about all they needed now, they were so expert. It was a straight

run for a time, then it circled back till it nearly cut itself again

(at X, page 298). The boys thought it did so, and claimed the right to

know, as on a real Deer trail you could tell. So Caleb said, "No, it

don't cut the old trail." Where, then, did it go? After beating about,

Sam said that the trail looked powerful heavy, like it might be

double.

"Bet I know," said Guy. "He's doubled back," which was exactly what he

did do, though Caleb gave no sign. Yan looked back on the trail and

found where the new one had forked. Guy gave no heed to the ground

once he knew the general directions. He ran ahead (toward Y), so did

Sam, but Guy glanced back to Yan on the trail to make sure of the

line.

They had not gone far beyond the nearest bushes before Yan found

another quirk in the trail. It doubled back at Z. He unravelled the

double, glanced around, and at O he plainly saw the Deer lying on

its side in the grass. He let off a triumphant yell, "Yi, yi, yi,

_Deer_!" and the others came running back just in time to see Yan

send an arrow straight into its heart.

VI

WAR BONNET, TEEPEE AND COUPS

Forty yards and first shot. Well, that's what the Injuns would call a

'_grand coup_,' and Caleb's face wore the same pleasant look as

when he made the fire with rubbing-sticks.

"What's a _grand coup?_" asked Little Beaver.

"Oh, I suppose it's a big deed. The Injuns call a great feat a

'_coup_,' an' an extra big one a '_grand coup_.' Sounds like

French, an' maybe 'tis, but the Injuns says it. They had a regular way

of counting their _coup_, and for each they had the right to an

Eagle feather in their bonnet, with a red tuft of hair on the end for

the extra good ones. At least, they used to. I reckon now they're

forgetting it all, and any buck Injun wears just any feather he can

steal and stick in his head."

"What do you think of our head-dresses?" Yan ventured.

'Hm! You ain't never seen a real one or you wouldn't go at them that

way at all. First place, the feathers should all be white with black

tips, an' fastened not solid like that, but loose on a cap of soft

leather. Each feather, you see, has a leather loop lashed on the quill

end for a lace to run through and hold it to the cap, an' then a

string running through the middle of each feather to hold it--just so.

Then there are ways of marking each feather to show how it was got.

I mind once I was out on a war party with a lot of Santees--that's a

brand of Sioux--an' we done a lot o' sneaking an' stealing an' scalped

some of the enemy. Then we set out for home, and when we was still

about thirty miles away we sent on an Injun telegram of good luck. The

leader of our crowd set fire to the grass after he had sent two men

half a mile away on each side to do the same thing, an' up went three

big smokes. There is always some one watching round an Injun village,

an' you bet when they seen them three smokes they knowed that we wuz

a-coming back with scalps.

"The hull Council come out to meet us, but not too reckless, coz this

might have been the trick of enemies to surprise them.

"Well, when we got there, maybe there wasn't a racket. You see, we

didn't lose a man, and we brung in a hundred horses and seven scalps.

Our leader never said a word to the crowd, but went right up to the

Council teepee. He walked in--we followed. There was the Head Chief

an' all the Council settin' smoking. Our leader give the '_How_,

an' then we all '_Howed_.' Then we sat an' smoked, an' the Chief

called on our leader for an account of the little trip. He stood up

an' made a speech.

"'Great Chief and Council of my Tribe,' says he. 'After we left the

village and the men had purified themselves, we travelled seven days

and came to the Little Muddy River. There we found the track of a

travelling band of Arapaho. In two days we found their camp, but

they were too strong for us, so we hid till night; then I went alone

into their camp and found that some of them were going off on a hunt

next day. As I left I met a lone warrior coming in. I killed him

with my knife. For that I claim a _coup_; and I scalped him--for

that I claim another _coup_; an' before I killed him I slapped his

face with my hand--for this I claim a _grand coup_; and I brought

his horse away with me--for that I claim another _coup_. Is it not

so,' sez he, turning to us, and we all yelled '_How! How! How!_'

For this fellow, 'Whooping Crane,' was awful good stuff. Then the

Council agreed that he should wear three Eagle feathers, the first

for killing and scalping the enemy in his own camp--that was a _grand

coup_, and the feather had a tuft of red hair on it an' a red spot on

the web. The next feather was for slapping the feller's face first,

which, of course, made it more risky. This Eagle feather had a red

tuft on top an' a red hand on the web; the one for stealing the horse

had a horseshoe, but no tuft, coz it wasn't counted A1.

"Then the other Injuns made their claims, an' we all got some kind of

honours. I mind one feller was allowed to drag a Fox tail at each

heel when he danced, an' another had ten horseshoe marks on an Eagle

feather for stealing ten horses, an' I tell you them Injuns were

prouder of them feathers than a general would be of his medals."

[Illustration: The War Bonnet (See description below)]

THE INDIAN WAR BONNET--HOW TO MAKE IT

1. The plain white Goose or Turkey feather.

2. The same, with tip dyed black or painted with indelible ink.

3. The same, showing ruff of white down lashed on with wax end.

4. The same, showing leather loop lashed on for the holding lace.

5. The same, viewed edge on.

6. The same, with a red flannel cover sewn and lashed on the

quill. This is a '_coup_ feather.'

7. The same, with a tuft of red horsehair lashed on the top to

mark a '_grand coup_' and (_a_) a thread through the

middle of the rib to hold feather in proper place. This feather is

marked with the symbol of a _grand coup_ in target shooting.

This symbol may be drawn on an oval piece of paper gummed on the

top of the feather.

8. The tip of a feather showing how the red horsehair tuft is

lashed on with fine waxed thread.

9. The groundwork of the war bonnet made of any soft leather,

(_a_) a broad band to go round the head, laced at the joint

or seam behind; (_b_) a broad tail behind as long as needed

to hold all the wearer's feathers; (_c_) two leather thongs

or straps over the top; (_d_) leather string to tie under the

chin; (_e_) the buttons, conchas or side ornaments of shells,

silver, horn or wooden discs, even small mirrors and circles

of beadwork were used, and sometimes the conchas were left out

altogether; they may have the owner's totem on them, usually a

bunch of ermine tails hung from each side of the bonnet just below

the concha. A bunch of horsehair will answer as well; (_hh_)

the holes in the leather for holding the lace of the feather; 24

feathers are needed for the full bonnet, without the tail, so they

are put less than an inch apart; (_iii_) the lacing holes on

the tail: this is as long as the wearer's feathers call for; some

never have any tail.

10. Side view of the leather framework, showing a pattern

sometimes used to decorate the front.

11, 12 and 13. Beadwork designs for front band of bonnet; all have

white grounds. No. 11 (Arapaho) has green band at top and bottom

with red zigzag. No. 12 (Ogallala) has blue band at top and

bottom, red triangles; the concha is blue with three white bars

and is cut off from the band by a red bar. No. 13 (Sioux) has

narrow band above and broad band below blue, the triangle red, and

the two little stars blue with yellow centre.

14. The bases of three feathers, showing how the lace comes out

of the cap leather, through the eye or loop on the bottom of the

quill, and in again.

15. The completed bonnet, showing how the feathers of the crown

should spread out, also showing the thread that passes through the

middle of each feather on inner side to hold it in place; another

thread passes from the point where the two straps (_c_ in 9)

join, then down through each feather in the tail.

The Indians now often use the crown of a soft felt hat for the

basis of a war bonnet.

N.B. A much easier way to mark the feather is to stick on it near

the top an oval of white paper and on this draw the symbol with

waterproof ink.

[Illustration: Grand Coup for taking Scalp in Enemy's Camp G.C. for

slapping his face Coup for stealing his Horse]

"My, I wish I could go out there and be with those fellows," and Yan

sighed as he compared his commonplace lot with all this romantic

splendour.

"Guess you'd soon get sick of it. I know _I_ did," was the

answer; "forever shooting and killing, never at peace, never more than

three meals ahead of starvation and just as often three meals behind.

No, siree, no more for me."

"I'd just like to see you start in horse-stealing for honours round

here," observed Sam, "though I know who'd get the feathers if it was

chicken stealing."

"Say, Caleb," said Guy, who, being friendly and of the country, never

thought of calling the old man "Mr. Clark," "didn't they give feathers

for good Deer-hunting? I'll bet I could lick any of them at it if I

had a gun."

"Didn't you hear me say first thing that that there shot o' Yan's

should score a '_grand coup_'?"

"Oh, shucks! I kin lick Yan any time; that was just a chance shot.

I'll bet if you give feathers for Deer-hunting I'll get them all."

"We'll take you up on that," said the oldest Chief, but the next

interrupted:

"Say, boys, we want to play Injun properly. Let's get Mr. Clark to

show us how to make a real war bonnet. Then we'll wear only what

feathers we win."

"Ye mean by scalping the Whites an' horse-stealing?"

"Oh, no; there's lots of things we can do--best runner, best Deer

hunter, best swimmer, best shot with bow and arrows."

"All right." So they set about questioning Caleb. He soon showed them

how to put a war bonnet together, using, in spite of Yan's misgivings,

the crown of an old felt hat for the ground work and white goose

quills trimmed and dyed black at the tips for Eagle feathers. But when

it came to the deeds that were to be rewarded, each one had his own

ideas.

"If Sappy will go to the orchard and pick a peck of cherries without

old Cap gettin' _him_, I'll give him a feather with all sorts of

fixin's on it," suggested Sam.

"Well, I'll bet you can't get a chicken out of our barn 'thout our Dog

gettin' _you_, Mr. Smarty."

"Pooh! I ain't stealing chickens. Do you take me for a nigger? I'm a

noble Red-man and Head Chief at that, I want you to know, an' I've a

notion to collect that scalp you're wearin' now. You know it belongs

to me and Yan," and he sidled over, rolling his eye and working his

fingers in a way that upset Guy's composure. "And I tell you a feller

with one foot in the grave should have his thoughts on seriouser

things than chicken-stealing. This yere morbid cravin' for excitement

is rooinin' all the young fellers nowadays."

Yan happened to glance at Caleb. He was gazing off at nothing, but

there was a twinkle in his eye that Yan never before saw there.

"Let's go to the teepee. It's too hot out here. Come in, won't you,

Mr. Clark?"

"Hm. 'Tain't much cooler in here, even if it is shady," remarked the

old Trapper. "Ye ought to lift one side of the canvas and get some

air."

"Why, did the real Injuns do that?"

"I should say they did. There ain't any way they didn't turn and twist

the teepee for comfort. That's what makes it so good. Ye kin live in

it forty below zero an' fifty 'bove suffocation an' still be happy.

It's the changeablest kind of a layout for livin' in. Real hot weather

the thing looks like a spider with skirts on and held high, an' I tell

you ye got to know the weather for a teepee. Many a hot night on the

plains I've been woke up by hearing 'Tap-tap-tap' all around me in the

still black night and wondered why all the squaws was working, but

they was up to drop the cover and drive all the pegs deeper, an'

within a half hour there never failed to come up a big storm. How they

knew it was a-comin' I never could tell. One old woman said a Coyote

told her, an' maybe that's true, for they do change their song for

trouble ahead; another said it was the flowers lookin' queer at

sundown, an' another had a bad dream. Maybe they're all true; it comes

o' watchin' little things."

"Do they never get fooled?" asked Little Beaver

'Oncet in awhile, but not near as often as a White-man would.

"I mind once seeing an artist chap, one of them there portygraf

takers. He come out to the village with a machine an' took some of the

little teepees. Then I said, 'Why don't you get Bull-calf's squaw to

put up their big teepee? I tell you that's a howler.' So off he goes,

and after dickering awhile he got the squaw to put it up for three

dollars. You bet it was a stunner, sure--all painted red, with green

an' yaller--animals an' birds an' scalps galore. It made that

feller's eyes bug out to see it. He started in to make some

portygrafs, then was taking another by hand, so as to get the colours,

an' I bet it would have crowded him to do it, but jest when he got

a-going the old squaw yelled to the other--the Chief hed two of

them--an' lighted out to take down that there teepee. That artist he

hollered to stop, said he had hired it to stay up an' a bargain was a

bargain. But the old squaw she jest kept on a-jabberin' an' pintin' at

the west. Pretty soon they had the hull thing down and rolled up an'

that artist a-cussin' like a cow-puncher. Well, I mind it was a fine

day, but awful hot, an' before five minutes there come a little dark

cloud in the west, then in ten minutes come a-whoopin' a regular small

cyclone, an' it went through that village and wrecked all the teepees

of any size. That red one would surely have gone only for that smart

old squaw."

[Illustration: Bull-Calf's Teepee.]

Under Caleb's directions the breezy side of the cover was now raised a

little, and the shady side much more. This changed the teepee from a

stifling hothouse into a cool, breezy shade.

"An' when ye want to know which way is the wind, if it's light, ye wet

your finger so, an' hold it up. The windy side feels cool at once, and

by that ye can set your smoke-flaps."

"I want to know about war bonnets," Yan now put in. "I mean about

things to do to wear feathers--that is, things _we_ can do."

"Ye kin have races, an' swimmin' an bownarrer shootin'. I should say

if you kin send one o' them arrers two hundred yards that would kill a

Buffalo at twenty feet. I'd think that was pretty good. Yes, I'd call

that way up."

"What--a _grand coup?_"

"Yes, I reckon; an' if you fell short on'y fifty yards that'd still

kill a Deer, an' we could call that a _coup_. If," continued

Caleb, "you kin hit that old gunny-sack buck plunk in the heart at

fifty yards first shot I'd call that away up; an' if you hit it at

seventy-five yards in the heart no matter how many tries, I'd call

you a shot. If you kin hit a nine-inch bull's-eye two out of three at

forty yards every time an' no fluke, you'd hold your own among Injuns

though I must say they don't go in much for shooting at a target. They

shoot at 'most anything they see in the woods. I've seen the little

copper-coloured kids shooting away at butterflies. Then they have

matches--they try who can have most arrers in the air at one time. To

have five in the air at once is considered good. It means powerful

fast work and far shooting. You got to hold a bunch handy in the left

hand fur that. The most I ever seen one man have up at once was eight.

That was reckoned 'big medicine,' an' any one that can keep up seven

is considered swell."

"Do you know any other things besides bows and arrows that would do?"

"I think that a rubbing-stick fire ought to count," interrupted Sam.

"I want that in coz Guy can't do it. Any one who kin do it at all gets

a feather, an' any one who kin do it in one minute gets a swagger

feather, or whatever you call it; that takes care of Yan and me an'

leaves Guy out in the cold."

"I'll bet I kin hunt Deer all round you both, I kin."

"Oh, shut up, Sappy; we're tired a-hearing about your Deer hunting.

We're going to abolish that game." Then Sam continued, apparently

addressing Caleb, "Do you know any Injun games?"

But Caleb took no notice.

Presently Yan said, "Don't the Injuns play games, Mr. Clark?

"Well, yes, I kin show you two Injun games that will test your

eyesight."

"I bet I kin beat any one at it," Guy made haste to tell. "Why, I seen

that Deer before Yan could--"

"Oh, shut up, Guy," Yan now exclaimed. A peculiar

sound--"_Wheet--wheet--wheet_"--made Sappy turn. He saw Sam with

an immense knife, whetting it most vigorously and casting a hungry,

fishy glance from time to time to the "yaller moss-tuft" on Guy's neck.

[Illustration: Archery Coup Feathers Their Special Marks Target Coup

Feather Long-distance Five-in-air-at once]

"Time has came," he said to nobody in particular.

"You better let me alone," whined Guy, for that horrible

"_wheet--wheet_" jarred his nerves somehow. He looked toward Yan,

and seeing, as he thought, the suggestion of a smile, he felt

more comfortable, but a glance at Sam dispelled his comfort; the

Woodpecker's face was absolutely inscrutable and perfectly demoniac

with paint.

"Why don't you whet up, Little Beaver? Don't you want your share?"

asked the Head Chief through his teeth.

"I vote we let him wear it till he brags again about his Deer-hunting.

Then off she comes to the bone," was the reply. "Tell us about the

Injun game, Mr. Clark."

"I pretty near forget it now, but le's see. They make two squares on

the ground or on two skins; each one is cut up in twenty-five smaller

squares with lines like that. Then they have, say, ten rings an' ten

nuts or pebbles. One player takes five rings an' five nuts an' sets

them around on the squares of one set, an' don't let the other see

till all is ready; then the other turns an' looks at it while some one

else sings a little song that one of the boys turned into:

"'Ki yi ya--ki yi yee,

You think yer smart as ye kin be,

You think yer awful quick to see

But yer not too quick for me,

Ki yi ya--ki yi yee.'

"Then the first square is covered with a basket or anything and the

second player must cover the other skin with counters just the same

from memory. For every counter he gets on the right square he counts

one, and loses one for each on the wrong square."

"I'll bet I kin----" Guy began, but Sam's hand gripped his moss-tuft.

"Here, you let me alone. I ain't bragging. I'm only telling the simple

truth."

"Ugh! Better tell some simple lies, then--much safer," said the Great

Woodpecker, with horrid calm and meaning. "If ever I lift that scalp

you'll catch cold and die, do ye know it?"

Again Yan could see that Caleb had to look far away to avoid taking an

apparent interest.

"There's another game. I don't know as it's Injun, but it's the kind

o' game where an Injun _could_ win. They first made two six-inch

squares of white wood or card, then on each they made rings like a

target or squares like the quicksight game, or else two Rabbits the

same on each. One feller takes six spots of black, half an inch

across, an' sticks them on one, scattering anyhow, an' sets it up a

hundred yards off; another feller takes same number of spots an' the

other Rabbit an' walks up till he can see to fix his Rabbit the same.

If he kin do it at seventy-five yards he's a swell; if he kin do it at

sixty yards he's away up, but less than fifty yards is no good. I seen

the boys have lots o' fun out o' it. They try to fool each other every

way, putting one spot right on another or leaving some off. It's a

sure 'nough test of good eyes."

"I'll bet--" began Sappy again, but a loud savage "Grrrr" from

Sam, who knew perfectly well what was coming, put a stop to the bet,

whatever it was.

"There was two other Injun tests of eyes that I mind now. Some old

Buck would show the youngsters the Pleiades--them's the little stars

that the Injuns call the Bunch--an' ask 'How many kin you see?' Some

could sho'ly see five or six an' some could make out seven. Them as

sees seven is mighty well off for eyes. Ye can't see the Pleiades

now--they belong to the winter nights; but you kin see the Dipper the

hull year round, turning about the North Star. The Injuns call this

the 'Broken Back,' an' I've heard the old fellers ask the boys: 'You

see the Old Squaw--that's the star, second from the end, the one at

the bend of the handle--well, she has a papoose on her back. Kin you

see the papoose?' an' sure enough, when my eyes was real good I could

see the little baby star tucked in by the big un. It's a mighty good

test of eyes if you kin see that."

"Eh--" began Guy.

But "Grrrrrrrrr" from Sam stopped him in time. Again Caleb's eyes

wandered afar. Then he stepped out of the teepee and Yan heard him

mutter, "Consarn that whelp, he makes me laugh spite o' myself."

He went off a little way into the woods and presently called "Yan!

Guy! Come here." All three ran out. "Talking about eyes, what's

that?" An opening in the foliage gave a glimpse of the distant

Burns's clover field. "Looks like a small Bear."

"Woodchuck! That's our Woodchuck! That's the ole sinner that throwed

Paw off'n the mower. Where's my bone-arrer?" and Guy went for his

weapons.

The boys ran for the fence of the clover field, going more cautiously

as they came near. Still the old Woodchuck heard something and sat up

erect on his haunches. He was a monster, and out on the smooth clover

field he did look like a very small Bear. His chestnut breast was

curiously relieved by his unusually gray back and head.

"Paw says it's his sins as turned his head gray. He's a hoary headed

sinner, an' he ain't repented o' none o' them so far, but _I'm_

after him now."

"Hold on! Start even!" said Sam, seeing that Guy was prepared to

shoot.

So all drew together, standing in a row like an old picture of the

battle of Crecy. The arrows scattered about the Woodchuck. Most went

much too far, none went near because he was closer than they had

supposed, but he scuttled away into his hole, there, no doubt, to plan

a new trap for the man with the mower.

VII

Campercraft

"How'd you sleep, Sam?"

"Didn't sleep a durn bit."

"Neither did I. I was shivering all night. I got up an' put the spare

blanket on, but it didn't do any good."

"Wonder if there was a chills-and-fever fog or something?"

"How'd you find it, Sappy?"

"All right."

"Didn't smell any fog?"

"Nope."

The next night it was even worse. Guy slept placidly, if noisily, but

Sam and Yan tumbled about and shivered for hours. In the morning at

dawn Sam sat up.

"Well, I tell you this is no joke. Fun's fun, but if I am going to

have the shivers every night I'm going home while I'm able."

Yan said nothing. He was very glum. He felt much as Sam did, but was

less ready to give up the outing.

Their blues were nearly dispelled when the warm sun came up, but still

they dreaded the coming night.

"Wonder what it is," said Little Beaver.

"'Pears to me powerful like chills and fever and then again it don't.

Maybe we drink too much swamp water. I believe we're p'isoned with

Guy's cooking."

"More like getting scurvy from too much meat. Let's ask Caleb."

Caleb came around that afternoon or they would have gone after him.

He heard Yan's story in silence, then, "Have ye sunned your blankets

sense ye came?"

"No."

Caleb went into the teepee, felt the blankets, then grunted: "H-m!

Jest so. They're nigh soppin'. You turn in night after night an' sweat

an' sweat in them blankets an' wonder why they're damp. Hain't you

seen your ma air the blankets every day at home? Every Injun squaw

knows that much, an' every other day at least she gives the blankets a

sun roast for three hours in the middle of the day, or, failing that,

dries them at the fire. Dry out your blankets and you won't have no

more chills."

The boys set about it at once, and that night they experienced again

the sweet, warm sleep of healthy youth.

There was another lesson they had to learn in campercraft. The

Mosquitoes were always more or less of a plague. At night they forced

the boys into the teepee, but they soon learned to smudge the insects

with a wad of green grass on the hot fire. This they would throw on

at sundown, then go outside, closing the teepee tight and eat supper

around the cooking fire. After that was over they would cautiously

open the teepee to find the grass all gone and the fire low, a dense

cloud of smoke still in the upper part, but below it clear air.

They would then brush off the Mosquitoes that had alighted on their

clothes, crawl into the lodge and close the door tight. Not a Mosquito

was left alive in it, and the smoke hanging about the smoke-vent was

enough to keep them from coming in, and so they slept in peace. Thus

they could baffle the worst pest of the woods. But there was yet

another destroyer of comfort by day, and this was the Blue-bottle

flies. There seemed more of them as time went on, and they laid masses

of yellowish eggs on anything that smelled like meat or corruption.

They buzzed about the table and got into the dishes; their dead,

drowned and mangled bodies were polluting all the food, till Caleb

remarked during one of his ever-increasing visits: "It's your own

fault. Look at all the filth ye leave scattered about."

There was no blinking the fact; for fifty feet around the teepee the

ground was strewn with scraps of paper, tins and food. To one side

was a mass of potato peelings, bones, fish-scales and filth, and

everywhere were the buzzing flies, to be plagues all day, till at

sundown the Mosquitoes relieved them and took the night shift of the

office of torment.

"I want to learn, especially if it's Injun," said Little Beaver. "What

had we best do?"

"Wall, first ye could move camp; second, ye could clean this."

As there was no other available camp ground they had no choice, and

Yan said with energy: "Boys, we got to clean this and keep it clean,

too. We'll dig a hole for everything that won't burn."

So Yan seized the spade and began to dig in the bushes not far from

the teepee. Sam and Guy were gradually drawn in. They began gathering

all the rubbish and threw it into the hole. As they tumbled in bones,

tins and scraps of bread Yan said: "I just hate to see that bread go

in. It doesn't seem right when there's so many living things would be

glad to get it."

At this, Caleb, who was sitting on a log placidly smoking, said:

"Now, if ye want to be real Injun, ye gather all the eatables ye don't

want--meat, bread and anything, an' every day put it on some

high place. Most generally the Injuns has a rock--they call it

_Wakan_; that means sacred medicine--an' there they leave scraps

of food to please the good spirits. Av coorse it's the birds and

Squirrels gets it all; but the Injun is content as long as it's gone,

an' if ye argy with them that 'tain't the spirits gets it, but the

birds, they say: 'That doesn't matter. The birds couldn't get it if

the spirits didn't want them to have it,' or maybe the birds took it

to carry to the spirits!"

Then the Grand Council went out in a body to seek the _Wakan

Rock_. They found a good one in the open part of the woods, and it

became a daily duty of one to carry the remnants of food to the rock.

They were probably less acceptable to the wood creatures than they

would have been half a year later, but they soon found that there were

many birds glad to eat at the _Wakan_; and moreover, that before

long there was a trail from the brook, only twenty-five yards away,

that told of four-foots also enjoying the bounty of the good spirits.

Within three days of this the plague of Bluebottles was over, and the

boys realized that, judging by its effects, the keeping of a dirty

camp is a crime.

One other thing old Caleb insisted on: "Yan," said he, "you didn't

ought to drink that creek water now; it ain't hardly runnin'. The sun

hez it het up, an' it's gettin' too crawly to be healthy."

"Well, what are we going to do?" said Sam, though he might as well

have addressed the brook itself.

"What can we do, Mr. Clark?"

"Dig a well!"

"Phew! We're out here for fun!" was Sam's reply.

"Dig an Injun well," Caleb said. "Half an hour will do it. Here, I'll

show you."

He took the spade and, seeking a dry spot, about twenty feet from the

upper end of the pond he dug a hole some two feet square. By the time

he was down three feet the water was oozing in fast. He got it down

about four feet and then had to stop, on account of inflow. He took a

bucket and bailed the muddy stuff out right to the bottom, and let it

fill up to be again bailed out. After three bailings the water came in

cold, sweet, and pure as crystal.

"There," said he, "that water is from your pond, but it is filtered

through twenty feet of earth and sand. That's the way to get cool,

pure water out of the dirtiest of swamps. That's an Injun well."

VIII

The Indian Drum

"Oh, that hair of horse and skin of sheep should

Have such power to move the souls of men."

"If you were real Injun you'd make a drum of that," said Caleb to

Yan, as they came to a Basswood blown over by a recent storm and now

showing its weakness, for it was quite hollow--a mere shell.

"How do they do it? I want to know how."

"Get me the axe."

Yan ran for the axe. Caleb cut out a straight unbroken section about

two feet long. This they carried to camp.

"Coorse ye know," said Caleb, "ye can't have a drum without skins for

heads."

"What kind of skins?"

"Oh, Horse, Dog, Cow, Calf--'most any kind that's strong enough."

"I got a Calfskin in our barn, an' I know where there's another in the

shed, but it's all chawed up with Rats. Them's mine. I killed them

Calves. Paw give me the skins for killin' an' skinnin' them. Oh, you

jest ought to see me kill a Calf--"

Guy was going off into one of his autopanegyrics when Sam who was now

being rubbed on a sore place, gave a "Whoop!" and grabbed the tow-tuft

with a jerk that sent the Third War Chief sprawling and ended the

panegyric in the usual volley of "you-let-me-'lones."

"Oh, quit, Sam," objected Little Beaver. "You can't stop a Dog

barking. It's his nature." Then to Guy: "Never mind, Guy; you are not

hurt. I'll bet you can beat him hunting Deer, and you can see twice as

far as he can."

"Yes, I kin; that's what makes him so mad. I'll bet I kin see three

times as far--maybe five times," was the answer in injured tones.

"Go on now, Guy, and get the skins--that is, if you want a drum for

the war dance. You're the only one in the crowd that's man enough to

make the raise of a hide," and fired by this flattery, Guy sped away.

Meanwhile Caleb worked on the hollow log. He trimmed off the bark,

then with the hatchet he cleared out all the punk and splinters

inside. He made a fire on the ground in the middle of the drum-log as

it stood on end, and watching carefully, he lifted it off from time to

time and chopped away all the charred parts, smoothing and trimming

till he had the log down thin and smooth within and without. They

heard Guy shouting soon after he left. They thought him near at hand,

but he did not come. Trimming the drum-log took a couple of hours, and

still Guy did not return. The remark from Caleb, "'Bout ready for the

skins now!" called from Sam the explanation, "Guess Old Man Burns

snapped him up and put him to weeding the garden. Probably that was

him we heard gettin' licked."

"Old Man Burns" was a poor and shiftless character, a thin,

stoop-shouldered man. He was only thirty-five years of age, but, being

married, that was enough to secure for him the title "Old Man." In

Sanger, if Tom Nolan was a bachelor at eighty years of age he would

still be Tom Nolan, "wan of the bhoys," but if he married at twenty he

at once became "Old Man Nolan."

Mrs. Burns had produced the usual string of tow-tops, but several had

died, the charitable neighbours said of starvation, leaving Guy, the

eldest, his mother's darling, then a gap and four little girls, four,

three, two and one years of age. She was a fat, fair, easy-going

person, with a general sense of antagonism to her husband, who was,

of course, the natural enemy of the children. Jim Burns cherished the

ideal of bringing "that boy" up right--that is, getting all the work

he could out of him--and Guy clung to his own ideal of doing as little

work as possible. In this clash of ideals Guy's mother was his firm,

though more or less secret, ally. He was without fault in her eyes:

all that he did was right. His freckled visage and pudgy face were

types of noble beauty, standards of comeliness and human excellence;

his ways were ways of pleasantness and all his paths were peace;

Margat Burns was sure of it.

Burns had a good deal of natural affection, but he was erratic;

sometimes he would flog Guy mercilessly for nothing, and again laugh

at some serious misdeed, so that the boy never knew just what to

expect, and kept on the safe side by avoiding his "Paw" as much as

possible. His visits to the camp had been thoroughly disapproved,

partly because it was on Old Man Raften's land and partly because it

enabled Guy to dodge the chores. Burns had been quite violent about it

once or twice, but Mrs. Burns had the great advantage of persistence,

and like the steady strain of the skilful angler on the slender line,

it wins in the end against the erratic violence of the strongest

trout. She had managed then that Guy should join the Injun camp, and

gloried in his outrageously exaggerated accounts of how he could lick

them all at anything, "though they wuz so much older'n bigger'n he

wuz."

But on this day he was fallen in hard luck. His father saw him coming,

met him with a "gad" and lashed him furiously. Knowing perfectly well

that the flogging would not stop till the proper effect was produced,

and that was to be gauged by the racket, Guy yelled his loudest. This

was the uproar the boys had heard.

"Now, ye idle young scut! I'll larn ye to go round leaving bars down.

You go an' tend to your work." So instead of hiking back gloriously

laden with Calfskins, Guy was sent to ignominious and un-Injun toil in

the garden.

Soon he heard his mother: "Guysie, Guysie." He dropped his hoe and

walked to the kitchen.

"Where you goin'?" roared his father from afar. "Go back and mind your

work."

"Maw wants me. She called me."

"You mind your work. Don't you dar' on your life to go thayer."

But Guy took no notice and walked on to his mother. He knew that at

this post-thrashing stage of wrath his father was mouthy and harmless,

and soon he was happy eating a huge piece of bread and jam.

"Poor dear, you must be hungry, an' your Paw was so mean to

you. There, now, don't cry," for Guy began to weep again at the

recollection of his wrongs. Then she whispered confidentially: "Paw's

going to Downey's this afternoon, an' you can slip away as soon as

he's gone, an' if you work well before that he won't be so awful mad

after you come back. But be sure you don't let down the bars, coz if

the pig was to get in Raften's woods dear knows what."

This was the reason of Guy's delay. He did not return to camp with the

skins till late that day. As soon as he was gone, his foolish, doting

mother, already crushed with the burden of the house, left everything

and hoed two or three extra rows of cabbages, so "Paw" should find a

great showing of work when he came back.

The Calfskins were hard as tin and, of course, had the hair on.

Caleb remarked, "It'll take two or three days to get them right," and

buried them in a marshy, muddy pool in the full sunlight. "The warmer

the better."

Three days later he took them out. Instead of being thin, hard,

yellow, semi-transparent, they now were much thicker, densely white,

and soft as silk. The hair was easily scraped off and the two pieces

were pronounced all right for drumheads.

Caleb washed them thoroughly in warm water, with soap to clear off

the grease, scraping them on both sides with a blunt knife; then he

straightened the outer edge of the largest, and cut a thin strip

round and round it till he had some sixty feet of rawhide line, about

three-quarters of an inch wide. This he twisted, rolled and stretched

until it was nearly round, then he cut from the remainder a circular

piece thirty inches across, and a second from the "unchawed" part of

the other skin. He laid these one on the other, and with the sharp

point of a knife he made a row of holes in both, one inch from the

edge and two inches apart. Then he set one skin on the ground, the

drum-log on that and the other skin on the top, and bound them

together with the long lace, running it from hole No. 1 on the top

to No. 2 on the bottom, then to No. 3 on the top, and No. 4 on the

bottom, and so on twice around, till every hole had a lace through it

and the crossing laces made a diamond pattern all around. At first

this was done loosely, but tightened up when once around, and

finally both the drum-heads were drawn tense. To the surprise of all,

Guy promptly took possession of the finished drum. "Them's my

Calfskins," which, of course, was true.

And Caleb said, with a twinkle in his eye, "The wood _seems_ to

go with the skins."

A drumstick of wood, with a piece of sacking lashed on to soften it,

was made, and Guy was disgusted to find how little sound the drum gave

out.

"'Bout like pounding a fur cap with a lamb's tail," Sam thought.

"You hang that up in the shade to dry and you'll find a change," said

the Trapper.

It was quite curious to note the effect of the drying as the hours

went by. The drum seemed to be wracking and straining itself in

the agony of effort, and slight noises came from it at times. When

perfectly dry the semi-transparency of the rawhide came back, and the

sound now was one to thrill the Red-man's heart.

Caleb taught them a little Indian war chant, and they danced round

to it as he drummed and sang, till their savage instincts seemed to

revive. But above all it worked on Yan. As he pranced around in step

his whole nature seemed to respond; he felt himself a part of that

dance. It was in himself; it thrilled him through and through and sent

his blood exulting. He would gladly have given up all the White-man's

"glorious gains" to live with the feeling called up by that Indian

drum.

IX

The Cat And The Skunk

Sam was away on a "massacree" to get some bread. Guy had been trapped

by his natural enemy and was serving a term of hard labour in the

garden; so Yan was alone in camp. He went around the various mud

albums, but discovered nothing new, except the fact that tracks were

getting more numerous. There were small Skunk and Mink tracks with the

large ones now. As he came by the brush fence at the end of the blazed

trail he saw a dainty little Yellow Warbler feeding a great lubberly

young Cow-bird that, evidently, it had brought up. He had often heard

that the Cow-bird habitually "plays Cuckoo" and leaves its egg in the

nest of another bird, but this was the first time he had actually

seen anything of it with his own eyes. As he watched the awkward

mud-coloured Cow-bird flutter its ungrown wings and beg help from the

brilliant little Warbler, less than half its size, he wondered whether

the fond mother really was fooled into thinking it her own young, or

whether she did it simply out of compassion for the foundling. He now

turned down creek to the lower mud album, and was puzzled by a new

track like this.

[Illustration: Track of small mud turtle]

He sketched it, but before the drawing was done it dawned on him that

this must be the track of a young Mud-turtle. He also saw a lot of

very familiar tracks, not a few being those of the common Cat, and he

wondered why they should be about so much and yet so rarely seen. Of

course the animals were chiefly nocturnal, but the boys were partly

so, and always on the ground now, so that explanation was not

satisfactory. He lay down on his breast at the edge of the brook,

which had here cut in a channel with steep clay walls six feet high

and twenty feet apart. The stream was very small now--a mere thread

of water zigzagging over the level muddy floor of the "cañon," as Yan

loved to call it. A broad, muddy margin at each side of the water made

a fine place of record for the travelling Four-foots, and tracks new

and old were there in abundance.

The herbage on the bank was very rank and full of noisy Grasshoppers

and Crickets. Great masses of orange Jewelweed on one side were

variegated with some wonderful Cardinal flowers. Yan viewed all this

with placid content. He knew their names now, and thus they were

transferred from the list of tantalizing mysteries to that of engaging

and wonderful friends. As he lay there on his breast his thoughts

wandered back to the days when he did not know the names of any

flowers or birds--when all was strange and he alone in his hunger to

know them, and Bonnerton came back to him with new, strange force of

reminder. His father and mother, his brother and schoolmates were

there. It seemed like a bygone existence, though only two months ago.

He had written his mother to tell of his arrival, and once since to

say that he was well. He had received a kind letter from his mother,

with a scripture text or two, and a postscript from his father with

some sound advice and more scripture texts. Since then he had not

written. He could not comprehend how he could so completely drift

away, and yet clearly it was because he had found here in Sanger the

well for which he had thirsted.

As he lay there thinking, a slight movement nearer the creek caught

his eye. A large Basswood had been blown down. Like most of its kind,

it was hollow. Its trunk was buried in the tangle of rank summer

growth, but a branch had been broken off and left a hole in the main

stem. In the black cavern of the hole there appeared a head with

shining green eyes, then out there glided onto the log a common gray

Cat. She sat there in the sunshine, licked her paws, dressed her fur

generally, stretched her claws and legs after the manner of her kind,

walked to the end of the log, then down the easy slope to the bottom

of the cañon. Here she took a drink, daintily shook the water from

her paws, and set the hair just right with a stroke. Then to Yan's

amusement she examined all the tracks much as he had done, though it

seemed clear that her nose, not her eyes, was judge. She walked down

stream, leaving some very fine impressions that Yan mentally resolved

to have in his note-book, very soon suddenly stopped, looked upward

and around, a living picture of elegance, sleekness and grace, with

eyes of green fire then deliberately leaped from the creek bed to the

tangle of the bank and disappeared.

This seemed a very commonplace happening, but the fact of a house Cat

taking to the woods lent her unusual interest, and Yan felt much of

the thrill that a truly wild animal would have given him, and had gone

far enough in art to find exquisite pleasure in the series of pictures

the Cat had presented to his eyes.

He lay there for some minutes expecting her to reappear; then far up

the creek he heard slight rattling of the gravel. He turned and saw,

not the Cat, but a very different and somewhat larger animal. Low,

thick-set, jet black, with white marks and an immense bushy tail--Yan

recognized the Skunk at once, although he had never before met a wild

one in daylight. It came at a deliberate waddle, nosing this way and

that. It rounded the bend and was nearly opposite Yan, when three

little Skunks of this year's brood came toddling after the mother.

The old one examined the tracks much as the Cat had done, and Yan got

a singular sense of brotherhood in seeing the wild things at his own

study.

Then the old Skunk came to the fresh tracks of the Cat and paused so

long to smell them that the three young ones came up and joined in.

One of the young ones went to the bank where the Cat came down. As it

blew its little nose over the fresh scent, the old Skunk waddled to

the place, became quite interested, then climbed the bank. The little

ones followed in a disjointed procession, varied by one of them

tumbling backward from the steep trail.

The old Skunk reached the top of the bank, then mounted the log and

followed unerringly the Cat's back trail to the hole in the trunk.

Down this she peered a minute, then, sniffing, walked in, till nothing

could be seen but her tail. Now Yan heard loud, shrill mewing from the

log, "_Mew, mew, m-e-u-w, m-e-e-u-w,"_ and the old Skunk came

backing out, holding a small gray Kitten.

The little thing mewed and spit energetically, holding on to the

inside of the log. But the old Skunk was too strong--she dragged it

out. Then holding it down with both paws, she got a good firm grip

of its neck and turned to carry it down to the bed of the brook.

The Kitten struggled vigorously, and at last got its claws into the

Skunk's eye and gave such a wrench that the ill-smelling villain

loosened its hold a little and so gave the Kitten another chance to

squeal, which it did with a will, putting all its strength into a

succession of heartrending _mee-ow--mee-ows._ Yan's heart

was touched. He was about to dash to the rescue when there was a

scrambling in the far grass, a rush of gray, and the Cat--the old

mother Cat was on the scene, a picture of demon rage, eyes ablaze, fur

erect, ears back. With the spring of a Deer and the courage of a Lion

she made for the black murderer. Eye could not follow the flashings

of her paws. The Skunk recoiled and stared stupidly, but not long;

nothing was "long" about it. Her every superb muscle was tingling with

force and mad with hate as the mother Cat closed like a swooping

Falcon. The Skunk had no time to aim that dreadful gun, and in the

excitement fired a volley of the deadly musky spray backward,

drenching her own young as they huddled in the trail.

[Illustration: "The Cat and the Skunk"]

Tooth and claw and deadly grip--the old Cat raged and tore, the black

fur flew in every direction, and the Skunk for once lost her head and

fired random shots of choking spray that drenched herself as well as

the Cat. The Skunk's head and neck were terribly torn. The air was

suffocating with the poisonous musk. The Skunk was desperately wounded

and threw herself backward into the water. Blinded and choking, though

scarcely bleeding, the old Cat would have followed even there, but the

Kitten, wedged under the log, mewed piteously and stayed the mother's

fury. She dragged it out unharmed but drenched with musk and carried

it quickly to the den in the hollow log, then came out again and stood

erect, blinking her blazing eyes--for they were burning with the

spray--lashing her tail, the image of a Tigress eager to fight either

part or all the world for the little ones she nursed. But the old

Skunk had had more than enough. She scrambled off down the cañon. Her

three young ones had tumbled over each other to get out of the way

when they got that first accidental charge of their mother's battery.

She waddled away, leaving a trail of blood and smell, and they waddled

after, leaving an odour just as strong.

[Illustration: "The old Cat raged and tore"]

Yan was thrilled by the desperate fight of the heroic old Cat. Her

whole race went up higher in his esteem that day; and the fact that

the house Cat really could take to the woods and there maintain

herself by hunting was all that was needed to give her a place in his

list of animal heroes.

Pussy walked uneasily up and down the log, from the hole where the

Kittens were to the end overlooking the cañon. She blinked very hard

and was evidently suffering severely, but Yan knew quite well that

there was no animal on earth big enough or strong enough to frighten

that Cat from her post at the door of her home. There is no courage

more indomitable than that of a mother Cat who is guarding her young.

At length all danger of attack seemed over, and Pussy, shaking her

paws and wiping her eyes, glided into her hole. Oh, what a shock it

must have been to the poor Kittens, though partly prepared by their

brother's unsavoury coming back. There was the mother, whose return

had always been heralded by a delicious odour of fresh Mouse or bird,

interwoven with a loving and friendly odour of Cat, that was in itself

a promise of happiness. Scent is the main thing in Cat life, and now

the hole was darkened by a creature that was rank with every nasal

guarantee of deadly enmity. Little wonder that they all fled puffing

and spitting to the dark corners. It was a hard case; all the little

stomachs were upset for a long time. They could do nothing but make

the best of it and get used to it. The den never smelt any better

while they were there, and even after they grew up and lived elsewhere

many storms passed overhead before the last of the Skunk smell left

them.

X

THE ADVENTURES OF A SQUIRREL FAMILY

"I'll bet I kin make a Woodpecker come out of that hole," said

Sapwood, one day as the three Red-men proceeded, bow in hand, through

a far corner of Burns's Bush. He pointed to a hole in the top of a

tall dead stub, then going near he struck the stub a couple of heavy

blows with a pole. To the surprise of all there flew out, not a

Woodpecker, but a Flying Squirrel. It scrambled to the top of the

stub, looked this way and that, then spread its legs, wings and tail

and sailed downward, to rise slightly at the end of its flight against

a tree some twenty feet away. Yan bounded to catch it. His fingers

clutched on its furry back, but he got such a cut from its sharp teeth

that he was glad to let it go. It scrambled up the far side of the

trunk and soon was lost in the branches.

Guy was quite satisfied that he had carried out his promise of

bringing a Woodpecker out of the hole, "For ain't a Flying Squirrel a

kind of Woodpecker?" he argued. He was, in consequence, very "cocky"

the rest of the day, proposing to produce a Squirrel whenever they

came to a stub with a hole in it, and at length, after many failures,

had the satisfaction of driving a belated Woodpecker out of its nest.

The plan was evidently a good one for discovering living creatures.

Yan promptly adopted it, and picking up a big stick as they drew near

another stub with holes, he gave three or four heavy thumps. A Red

Squirrel scrambled out of a lower hole and hid in an upper one;

another sharp blow made it pop out and jump to the top of the stub,

but eventually back into the lower hole.

The boys became much excited. They hammered the stub now without

making the Squirrel reappear.

"Let's cut it down," said Little Beaver.

"Show you a better trick than that," replied the Woodpecker. He looked

about and got a pole some twenty feet long. This he placed against a

rough place high up on the stub and gave it a violent push, watching

carefully the head of the stub. Yes! It swayed just a little. Sam

repeated the push, careful to keep time with the stub and push always

just as it began to swing away from him. The other boys took hold of

the pole and all pushed together, as Sam called, "Now--now--now--"

A single push of 300 or 400 pounds would scarcely have moved the stub,

but these little fifty-pound pushes at just the right time made it

give more and more, and after three or four minutes the roots, that

had begun to crack, gave way with a craunching sound, and down crashed

the great stub. Its hollow top struck across a fallen log and burst

open in a shower of dust, splinters and rotten wood. The boys rushed

to the spot to catch the Squirrel, if possible. It did not scramble

out as they expected it would, even when they turned over the

fragments. They found the front of the stub with the old Woodpecker

hole in it, and under that was a mass of finely shredded cedar bark,

evidently a nest. Yan eagerly turned it over, and there lay the Red

Squirrel, quite still and unharmed apparently, but at the end of her

nose was a single drop of blood. Close beside her were five little

Squirrels, evidently a very late brood, for they were naked, blind and

helpless. One of them had at its nose a drop of blood and it lay as

still as the mother. At first the hunters thought the old one was

playing 'Possum, but the stiffness of death soon set in.

Now the boys felt very guilty and sorry. By thoughtlessly giving way

to their hunting instincts they had killed a harmless mother Squirrel

in the act of protecting her young, and the surviving little ones had

no prospect but starvation.

Yan had been the most active in the chase, and now was far more

conscience-stricken than either of the others.

"What are we going to do with them?" asked the Woodpecker. "They are

too young to be raised for pets."

"Better drown them and be done with them," suggested Sappy, recalling

the last honours of several broods of Kittens at home.

"I wish we could find another Squirrel's nest to put them into,"

said Little Beaver remorsefully, and then as he looked at the four

squirming, helpless things in his hand the tears of repentance filled

his eyes. "We might as well kill them and end their misery. We can't

find another Squirrel's nest so late as this." But after a little

silence he added, "I know some one who will put them out of pain. She

may as well have them. She'd get them anyway, and that's the old gray

wild Cat. Let's put them in her nest when she's away."

This seemed a reasonable, simple and merciful way of getting rid of

the orphans. So the boys made for the "cañon" part of the brook. At

one time of the afternoon the sun shone so as to show plainly all that

was in the hole. The boys went very quietly to Yan's lookout bank, and

seeing that only the Kittens were there, Yan crept across and dropped

the young Squirrels into the nest, then went back to his friends to

watch, like Miriam, the fate of the foundlings.

They had a full hour to wait for the old Cat, and as they were very

still all that time they were rewarded with a sight of many pretty

wild things.

A Humming-bird "boomed" into view and hung in a misty globe of wings

before one Jewel-flower after another.

"Say, Beaver, you said Humming-birds was something or other awful

beautiful," said Woodpecker, pointing to the dull grayish-green bird

before them.

"And I say so yet. Look at that," as, with a turn in the air, the

hanging Hummer changed its jet-black throat to flame and scarlet that

silenced the critic.

After the Humming-bird went away a Field-mouse was seen for a moment

dodging about in the grass, and shortly afterward a Shrew-mole, not so

big as the Mouse, was seen in hot pursuit on its trail.

Later a short-legged brown animal, as big as a Rabbit, came nosing up

the dry but shady bed of the brook, and as it went beneath them Yan

recognized by its little Beaver-like head and scaly oar-shaped tail

that it was a Muskrat, apparently seeking for water.

There was plenty in the swimming-pond yet, and the boys realized that

this had become a gathering place for those wild things that were

"drowned out by the drought," as Sam put it.

The Muskrat had not gone more than twenty minutes before another

deep-brown animal appeared. "Another Muskrat; must be a meeting,"

whispered the Woodpecker. But this one, coming close, proved a very

different creature. As long as a Cat, but lower, with broad, flat head

and white chin and throat, short legs, in shape a huge Weasel, there

was no mistaking it; this was a Mink, the deadly enemy of the Muskrat,

and now on the track of its prey. It rapidly turned the corner, nosing

the trail like a Hound. If it overtook the Muskrat before it got to

the pond there would be a tragedy. If the Muskrat reached the deep

water it might possibly escape. But just as sure as the pond became a

gathering place for Muskrats it would also become a gathering place

for Mink.

Not five minutes had gone since the Mink went by before a silent gray

form flashed upon the log opposite. Oh, how sleek and elegant it

looked! What perfection of grace she seemed after the waddling, hunchy

Muskrat and the quick but lumbering Mink. There is nothing more supple

and elegant than a fine Cat, and men of science the world over have

taken the Cat as the standard of perfection in animal make-up. Pussy

glanced about for danger. She had brought no bird or Mouse, for the

Kittens were yet too young for such training. The boys watched her

with intensest interest. She glided along the log to the hole--the

Skunk-smelling hole--uttered her low "_purrow, purrow_," that

always sets the hungry Kittens agog, and was curling in around them,

when she discovered the pink Squirrel-babies among her own. She

stopped licking the nearest Kitten, stared at a young Squirrel, and

smelled it. Yan wondered what help that could be when everything

smelled of Skunk. But it did seem to decide her, for she licked it

a moment, then lying down she gathered them all in her four-legged

embrace, turned her chin up in the air and Sappy announced gleefully

that "The little Squirrels were feeding with the little Cats."

The boys waited a while longer, then having made sure that the little

Squirrels had been lovingly adopted by their natural enemy, they went

quietly back to camp. Now they found a daily pleasure in watching the

mixed family.

And here it may be as well to give the rest of the story. The old gray

Cat faithfully and lovingly nursed those foundlings. They seemed

to prosper, and Yan, recalling that he had heard of a Cat actually

raising a brood of Rabbits, looked forward to the day when Kittens

and Squirrelets should romp together in the sun. After a week Sappy

maintained that only one Squirrel appeared at the breakfast table, and

in ten days none. Yan stole over to the log and learned the truth. All

four were dead in the bottom of the nest. There was nothing to tell

why. The old Cat had done her best--had been all love and tenderness,

but evidently had not been able to carry out her motherly intentions.

[Illustration: Four tiny headstones]

XI

HOW TO SEE THE WOODFOLK

The days went merrily now, beginning each morning with a hunting of

the Woodchuck. The boys were on terms of friendship with the woods

that contrasted strongly with the feelings of that first night.

This was the thought in Sam's mind when he one day remarked, "Say,

Yan, do you remember the night I slep' with the axe an' you with the

hatchet?"

The Indians had learned to meet and conquer all the petty annoyances

of camp life, and so forgot them. Their daily routine was simplified.

Their acquaintance with woodfolk and wood-ways had grown so fast

that now they were truly at home. The ringing "_Kow_--_Kow_--_Kow_"

in the tree-tops was no longer a mere wandering voice, but the

summer song of the Black-billed Cuckoo. The loud, rattling, birdy

whistle in the low trees during dull weather Yan had traced to the

Tree-frog.

The long-drawn "_Pee--re-e-e-e"_ of hot afternoons was the call

of the Wood-peewee, and a vast number of mysterious squeaks and

warbles had been traced home to the ever-bright and mischievous Blue

Jay.

The nesting season was now over, as well as the song season; the birds,

therefore, were less to be seen, but the drying of the streams had

concentrated much life in the swimming-pond. The fence had been

arranged so that the cattle could reach one end of it to drink, but

the lower parts were safe from their clumsy feet, and wild life of

many kinds were there in abundance.

The Muskrats were to be seen every evening in the calm pool, and fish

in great numbers were in the deeper parts. Though they were small,

the boys found them so numerous and so ready to bite that fishing was

great sport, and more than one good meal they had from that pond.

There were things of interest discovered daily. In a neighbour's field

Sam had found another Woodchuck with a "price on his head." Rabbits

began to come about the camp at night, especially when the moon was

bright, and frequently of late they had heard a querulous, yelping

bark that Caleb said was made by a Fox "probably that old rascal that

lives in Callahan's woods."

The gray Cat in the log was always interesting. The boys went very

regularly to watch from a distance, but for good reasons did not go

near. First, they did not wish to scare her; second, they knew that if

they went too close she would not hesitate to attack them.

One of the important lessons that Yan learned was this. In the woods

_the silent watcher sees the most_. The great difficulty in

watching was how to pass the time, and the solution was to sit and

_sketch._ Reading would have done had books been at hand, but

not so well as sketching, because then the eyes are fixed on the book

instead of the woods, and the turning of the white pages is apt to

alarm the shy woodfolk.

Thus Yan put in many hours making drawings of things about the edge of

the pond.

[Illustration: Kingfisher]

As he sat one day in stillness a Minnow leaped from the water and

caught a Fly. Almost immediately a Kingfisher that had been shooting

past stopped in air, hovered, and darting downward, came up with a

Minnow in his beak, flew to a branch to swallow its prey, but no

sooner got there when a Chicken-hawk flashed out of a thick tree,

struck the Kingfisher with both feet and bore him downward to the

bank--in a moment would have killed him, but a long, brown creature

rushed from a hole in the bank and sprang on the struggling pair, to

change the scene in a twinkling. The three stragglers separated, the

Hawk to the left, the Kingfisher to the right, the Minnow flopped back

into the pool, and the Mink was left on the shore with a mouthful of

feathers and looking very foolish. As it stood shaking the down from

its nose another animal came gliding down through the shrubbery to the

shore--the old gray Cat. The Mink wrinkled up his nose, showed two

rows of sharp teeth and snarled in a furious manner, but backed off

under a lot of roots. The Cat laid down her ears; the fur on her back

and tail stood up; she crouched a little, her eyes blazing and the end

of her tail twitching, and she answered the snarling of the Mink with

a low growl. The Mink was evidently threatening "sudden death" to the

Cat, and Pussy evidently was not much impressed. The Mink retreated

farther under the roots till nothing but the green glowing of his eyes

was to be seen, and the Cat, coming forward, walked calmly by his

hiding-place and went about her business. The snarling under the root

died away, and as soon as his enemy was gone the Mink dived into the

water and was lost to view.

These two animals had a second meeting, as Yan had the luck to witness

from his watching-place. He had heard the "plop" of a deft plunge, and

looked in time only to see the spreading rings near the shore. Then

the water was ruffled far up in the pond. A brown spot showed and was

gone. A second appeared, to vanish as the first had done. Later, a

Muskrat crawled out on the shore, waddled along for twenty feet, then,

plunging in, swam below, came up at the other bank, and crawled under

a lot of overhanging roots. A minute later the Mink appeared, his hair

all plastered close till he looked like a four-legged Snake. He landed

where the Muskrat had come out, followed the trail so that it was

lost, then galloped up and down the shore, plunged in, swam across,

and beat about the other shore. At last he struck the trail and

followed. Under the root there were sounds of a struggle, the snarling

of the mink, and in two or three minutes he appeared dragging out the

body of the Muskrat. He sucked its blood and was eating the brains

when again the gray Cat came prowling up the edge of the pond and,

not ten feet off, stood face to face with the Mink, as she had done

before.

The Water Weasel saw his enemy but made no attempt to escape from

her. He stood with forepaws on his victim and snarling a warning and

defiance to the Cat. Pussy, after glaring for a few seconds, leaped

lightly to the high bank, passed above the Mink, then farther on

leaped down, and resumed her journey up the shore.

Why should the Mink fear the Cat the first time, and the Cat the Mink

the second? Yan believed that ordinarily the Cat could "lick,"

but that now the Mink had right on his side; he was defending his

property, and the Cat, knowing that, avoided a quarrel; whereas the

same Cat would have faced a thousand Mink in defense of her Kittens.

These two scenes did not happen the same day, but are told together

because Yan always told them together afterward to show that the

animals understand something of right and wrong.

But later Yan had another experience with the Muskrats. He and Sam

were smoothing out the lower album for the night, when a long stream

of water came briskly down the middle of the creek bed, which had been

dry for more than a week.

"Hallo," said Woodpecker, "where's that from?"

"A leak in the dam," said Little Beaver, with fear in his voice.

The boys ran up to the dam and learned that the guess was right.

The water had found an escape round the end of the dam, and a close

examination showed that it had been made by a burrowing Muskrat.

It was no little job to get it tightly closed up. But the spade was

handy, and a close-driven row of stakes with plenty of stiff clay

packed behind not only stopped the leak but gave a guarantee that in

future that corner at least would be safe.

When Caleb heard of the Muskrat mischief he said:

"Now ye know why the Beavers are always so dead sore on the Muskrats.

They know the Rats are liable to spoil their dams any time, so they

kill them whenever they get the chance."

Little Beaver rarely watched an hour without seeing something of

interest in the swamp. The other warriors had not the patience to wait

so long and they were not able to make a pastime of sketching.

Yan made several hiding-places where he found that living things were

most likely to be seen. Just below the dam was a little pool where

various Crawfish and thread-like Eels abounding proved very attractive

to Kingfisher and Crow, while little Tip-ups or Teetering Snipe would

wiggle their latter end on the level dam, or late in the day the

never-failing Muskrat would crawl out on a flat stone and sit like

a fur cap. The cañon part of the creek was another successful

hiding-place, but the very best was at the upper end of the pond, for

the simple reason that it gave a view of more different kinds of land.

First the water with Muskrats and occasionally a Mink, next the little

marsh, always there, but greatly increased now by the back-up of the

water. Here one or two Field-mice and a pair of Sora Rails were at

home. Close at hand was the thick woods, where Partridges and Black

Squirrels were sometimes seen.

Yan was here one day sketching the trunk of a Hemlock to pass the

watching time, but also because he had learned to love that old tree.

He never sketched because he loved sketching; he did not; the motive

always was love of the thing he was drawing.

A Black-and-white Creeper had crawled like a Lizard over all the

trunks in sight. A Downy Woodpecker had digged a worm out of a log by

labour that most birds would have thought ill-paid by a dozen such

worms. A Chipmunk had come nearer and nearer till it had actually run

over his foot and then scurried away chattering in dismay at its

own rashness; finally, a preposterous little Cock Chickadee sang

"_Spring soon_--_spring soon_," as though any one were interested in

the gratuitous and unconvincing fib, when a brown, furry form hopped

noiselessly from the green leaves by the pond, skipped over a narrow

bay without wetting its feet, paused once or twice, then in the middle

of the open glade it sat up in plain view--a Rabbit. It sat so long

and so still that Yan first made a sketch that took three of four

minutes, then got out his watch and timed it for three minutes longer

before it moved in the least. Then it fed for some time, and Yan

tried to make a list of the things it ate and the things it shunned,

but could not do so with certainty.

A noisy Flicker came out and alighted close by on a dried branch. The

Rabbit, or really a Northern Hare, "froze"--that is, became perfectly

still for a moment--but the Flicker marks were easy to read and had

long ago been learned as the uniform of a friend, so the Rabbit

resumed his meal, and when the Flicker flew again he paid no heed.

A Crow passed over, and yet another. "No; no danger from them." A

Red-shouldered Hawk wailed in the woods; the Rabbit heard that and

every other sound, but the Red-shoulder is not dangerous, and he knew

it. A large Hawk with _red tail_ circled silently over the glade,

and the Rabbit froze on the instant. That same red tail was the mark

of a dreaded foe. How well Bunny had learned to know them all!

A bunch of clover tempted him to a full repast, after which he hopped

into a tussock in the midst of the glade and there turned himself into

a moss-bump, his legs swallowed up in his fur, and his ears laid over

his back like a pair of empty gloves or a couple of rounded shingles;

his nose-wabblings reduced in number, and he seemed to be sleeping in

the last warm rays of the sun. Yan was very anxious to see whether his

eyes were open or not; he had been told that Rabbits sleep with

open eyes, but at this distance he could not be sure. He had no

field-glass and Guy was not at hand, so the point remained in doubt.

The last sun-blots had gone from the trail and the pond was all

shadowed by the trees on the western side. A Robin began its evening

hymn on a tall tree, where it could see the red sun going down, and a

Veery was trilling his _weary, weary, weary_ in the Elder thicket

along the brook, when another, a larger animal, loomed up in the

distant trail and glided silently toward Yan. Its head was low and he

could not make out what it was. As it stood there for a few seconds

Yan wet his finger in his mouth and held it up. A slight coolness on

the side next the coming creature told Yan that the breeze was from it

to him and would not betray him. It came on, seeming to grow larger,

turned a little to one side, and then Yan saw plainly by the sharp

nose and ears and the bushy tail that it was nothing less than a Fox,

probably the one that often barked near camp at night.

It was trotting away at an angle, knowing nothing of the watching boy

nor of the crouching Rabbit, when Yan, merely to get a better look at

the cunning one, put the back of his hand to his mouth and by sucking

made a slight Mouse-like squeak, sweetest music, potent spellbinder,

to a hungry Fox, and he turned like a flash. For a moment he stood,

head erect, full of poise and force in curb; a second squeak--he came

slowly back toward the sound and in so doing passed between Yan and

the Rabbit. He had crossed its old trail without feeling much

interest, but now the breeze brought its _body scent_. Instantly the

Fox gave up the Mouse hunt--no hunter goes after Mice when big game is

at hand--and began an elaborate and beautiful stalk of the Rabbit--the

Rabbit that he had not seen. But his nose was his best guide. He

cautiously zigzagged up the wind, picking his steps with the greatest

care, and pointing with his nose like a Pointer Dog. Each step was

bringing him nearer to Bunny as it slept or seemed asleep in the

tussock. Yan wondered whether he ought not to shout out and end the

stalk before the Rabbit was caught, but as a naturalist he was eager

to see the whole thing out and learn how the Fox would make the

capture. The red-furred gentleman was now within fifteen feet of the

tussock and still the gray one moved not. Now he was within twelve

feet--and no move; ten feet--and Bunny seemed in tranquil sleep; eight

feet--and now the Fox for the first time seemed to actually see his

victim. Yan had hard work to keep from shouting a warning; six

feet--and now the Fox was plainly preparing for a final spring.

"Is it right to let him?" and Yan's heart beat with excitement.

The Fox brought his feet well under him, tried the footing till it

was perfect, gathered all his force, then with silent, vicious energy

sprung straight for the sleeper. Sleeping? Oh, no! Not at all. Bunny

was playing his own game. The moment the Fox leaped, he leaped with

equal vigour the opposite way and out under his enemy, so Reynard

landed on the empty bunch of grass. Again he sprang, but the Rabbit

had rebounded like a ball in the other direction, and continued this

bewildering succession of marvellous erratic hops. The Fox in vain

tried to keep up, for these wonderful side jumps are the Rabbit's

strength and the Fox's weakness; and Bunny went zigzag--hop--skip--

into the thicket and was gone before the Fox could get his heavier

body under speed at all.

Had the Rabbit bounded out as soon as he saw the Fox coming he might

have betrayed himself unnecessarily; had he gone straight away when

the Fox leaped for him he might have been caught in three or four

leaps, for the enemy was under full speed, but by biding his time he

had courted no danger, and when it did come he had played the only

possible offset, and "lives in the greenwood still."

The Fox had to seek his supper somewhere else, and Yan went to camp

happy in having learned another of the secrets of the woods.

XII

Indian Signs And Getting Lost

"What do you mean when you say Indian signs, Mr. Clark?"

"Pretty near anything that shows there's Injuns round: a moccasin

track, a smell of smoke, a twig bent, a village, one stone a-top of

another or a white settlement scalped and burned--they all are Injun

signs. They all mean something, and the Injuns read them an' make

them, too, jest as you would writing."

"You remember the other day you told us three smokes meant you were

coming back with scalps."

"Well, no; it don't har'ly mean that. It means 'Good news'--that is,

with some tribes. Different tribes uses 'em different."

"Well, what does one smoke mean?"

"As a rule just simply '_Camp is here_'"

"And two smokes?"

"Two smokes means '_Trouble_'--may mean, _'I am lost.'_"

"I'll remember that; _double for trouble_."

"Three means good news. _There's luck in odd numbers_."

"And what is four?"

"Well, it ain't har'ly ever used. If I seen four smokes in camp I'd

know _something big_ was on--maybe a Grand Council."

"Well, if you saw five smokes what would you think?"

"I'd think some blame fool was settin' the hull place a-blaze," Caleb

replied with the sniff end of a laugh.

"Just now you said one stone on another was a sign. What does it

mean?"

"Course I can't speak for all Injuns. Some has it for one thing an'

some for another, but usually in the West two stones or 'Buffalo

chips' settin' one on the other means 'This is the trail'; and a

little stone at the left of the two would mean 'Here we turned off to

the left'; and at the other side, 'Here we turned to the right.' Three

stones settin' one on top of another means, 'This is sure enough the

trail,' 'Special' or 'Particular' or 'Look out'; an' a pile of stones

just throwed together means 'We camped here 'cause some one was sick.'

They'd be the stones used for giving the sick one a steam bath."

"Well, what would they do if there were no stones?"

"Ye mean in the woods?"

"Yes, or smooth prairie."

"Well, I pretty near forget, it's so long ago, but le's see now," and

Yan worried Caleb and Caleb threshed his memory till they got out a

general scheme, or Indian code, though Caleb was careful to say that

"some Injuns done it differently."

[Illustration: INDIAN SIGNS]

Yan must needs set about making a signal fire at once, and was

disappointed to find that a hundred yards away the smoke could not be

seen above the tree-tops, till Caleb showed him the difference between

a clear fire and a smoke or smudge fire.

"Begin with a clear fire to get the heat, then smother it with green

grass and rotten wood. There, now you see the difference," and a great

crooked, angling pillar of smoke rolled upward as soon as the grass

and punk began to sizzle in the glow of embers.

"I bet ye kin see that ten miles away if ye'r on a high place to look

for it."

"I bet I could see it twenty miles," chirped in Guy.

"Mr. Clark, were you ever lost?" continued the tireless asker.

"Why, course I was, an' more than once. Every one that goes in the

woods is bound to get lost once in awhile."

"What--do the Indians?"