"Of course! Why not? They're human, an' I tell you when you hear a man

brag that he never was lost, I know he never was far from his mother's

apron string. Every one is bound to get lost, but the real woodsman

gets out all right; that's the difference."

"Well, what would you do if you got lost?"

"Depends on where. If it was a country that I didn't know, and I had

friends in camp, after I'd tried my best I'd jest set right down and

make two smoke fires. 'Course, if I was alone I'd try to make a bee

line in the likeliest direction, an' this is easy to make if ye kin

see the sun and stars, but stormy weather 'tain't possible. No man kin

do it, an' if ye don't know the country ye have to follow some stream;

but I'm sorry for ye if ever ye have to do that, for it's the worst

walking on earth. It will surely bring ye out some place--that is, it

will keep ye from walking in a circle--but ye can't make more than

four or five miles a day on it."

[Illustration: "The Two Smokes"]

"Can't you get your direction from moss on the tree trunks?"

"_Naw!_ Jest try it an' see; moss on the north side of a tree

and rock; biggest branches on the south of a trunk; top of a Hemlock

pointing to east; the biggest rings of growth on the south side of

a stump, an' so on. It fits a tree standin' out by itself in the

open--the biggest ring is in the south, but it don't fit a tree on the

south side of an opening; then the biggest rings is on the north. If

ye have a compass in hand it's all kind o' half true--that is, just

a little bit true; but it ain't true; it's on'y a big lie, when ye'r

scared out o' your wits an' needin' to know. I never seen but one good

compass plant, an' that was the prairie Golden Rod. Get a bunch of

them in the open and the most of them point north, but under cover of

taller truck they jest point every which way for Sunday.

"If ye find a beaten game trail, ye follow that an it'll bring ye to

water--that is, if ye go the right way, an' that ye know by its gettin'

stronger. If it's peterin' out, ye'r goin' in the wrong direction. A

flock of Ducks or a Loon going over is sure to be pointing for water.

Y're safe to follow.

"If ye have a Dog or a Horse with ye he kin bring ye home all right.

Never knew them to fail but oncet, an' that was a fool Horse; there is

sech oncet in awhile, though there's more fool Dogs.

"But come right down to it, the compass is the safest thing. The sun

and stars is next, an' if ye know your friends will come ye'r best

plan is to set right down and make two smoke fires, keep them a-going,

holler every little while, and keep calm. Ye won't come to no harm

unless ye'r a blame fool, an' such ought to stay to hum, where they'll

be nursed."

XIII

Tanning Skins and Making Moccasins

Sam had made a find. A Calf had been killed and its skin hung limp on

a beam in the barn. His father allowed him to carry this off, and now

he appeared with a "fresh Buffalo hide to make a robe."

"I don't know how the Injuns dress their robes," he explained,

"but Caleb does, and he'll tell you, and, of course, I'll pay no

attention."

The old Trapper had nothing to do, and the only bright spots in his

lonely life, since his own door was shut in his face, were visits

to the camp. These had become daily, so it was taken as a matter of

course when, within an hour after Sam's return, he "happened round."

"How do the Indians tan furs and robes?" Yan asked at once.

"Wall, different ways--"

But before he could say more Hawkeye reappeared and shouted:

"Say, boys, Paw's old Horse died!" and he grinned joyfully, merely

because he was the bearer of news.

"Sappy, you grin so much your back teeth is gettin' sunburned," and

the Head Chief eyed him sadly.

"Well, it's so, an' I'm going to skin out his tail for a scalp. I bet

I'll be the Injunest one of the crowd."

"Why don't you skin the hull thing, an' I'll show you how to make lots

of Injun things of the hide," Caleb added, as he lighted his pipe.

"Will you help me?

"It's same as skinnin a Calf. I'll show you where to get the sewing

sinew after the hide's off."

So the whole camp went to Burns's field. Guy hung back and hid when he

saw his father there drawing the dead Horse away with the plough team.

"Good-day, Jim," was Caleb's greeting, for they were good friends.

"Struck hard luck with the Horse?"

"No! Not much. Didn't cost nothing; got him for boot in a swap. Glad

he's dead, for he was foundered."

"We want his skin, if you don't."

"You're welcome to the hull thing."

"Well, just draw it over by the line fence we'll bury what's left when

we're through."

"All right. You hain't seen that durn boy o' mine, have you?"

"Why, yes; I seen him not long ago," said Sam. "He was p'inting right

for home then."

"H-m. Maybe I'll find him at the house."

"Maybe you will." Then Sam added under his breath, "I don't think."

So Burns left them, and a few minutes later Guy sneaked out of the

woods to take a secondary part in the proceedings.

Caleb showed them how to split the skin along the under side of each

leg and up the belly. It was slow work skinning, but not so unpleasant

as Yan feared, since the animal was fresh.

Caleb did the most of the work; Sam and Yan helped. Guy assisted with

reminiscences of his own Calf-skinning and with suggestions drawn from

his vast experiences.

When the upper half of the skin was off, Caleb remarked: "Don't

believe we can turn him over, and when the Injuns didn't have a Horse

at hand to turn over the Buffalo they used to cut the skin in two down

the line of the back. I guess we better do that. We've got all the

rawhide we need, anyhow."

So they cut off the half they had skinned, took the tail and the mane

for "scalps," and then Caleb sent Yan for the axe and a pail.

He cut out a lump of liver and the brains of the Horse. "That," said

he, "is for tanning, an' here is where the Injun woman gits her sewing

thread."

He made a deep cut alongside the back bone from the middle of the back

to the loin, then forcing his fingers under a broad band of whitish

fibrous tissue, he raised it up, working and cutting till it ran down

to the hip bone and forward to the ribs. This sewing sinew was about

four inches wide, very thin, and could easily be split again and again

till it was like fine thread.

"There," he said, "is a hank o' thread. Keep that. It'll dry up, but

can be split at any time, and soaking in warm water for twenty minutes

makes it soft and ready for use. Usually, when she's sewing, the squaw

keeps a thread soaking in her mouth to be ready. Now we've got a Horse

skin and a Calfskin I guess we better set up a tan-yard."

"Well, how do you tan furs, Mr. Clark?"

"Good many different ways. Sometimes just scrape and scrape till I get

all the grease and meat off the inside, then coat it with alum and

salt and leave it rolled up for a couple of days till the alum has

struck through and made the skin white at the roots of the hair, then

when this is half dry pull and work it till it is all soft.

"But the Injuns don't have alum and salt, and they make a fine tan out

of the liver and brains, like I'm going to do with this."

"Well, I want to do it the Indian way."

"All right, you take the brains and liver of your Calf."

"Why not some of the Horse brains and liver?"

"Oh, I dunno. They never do it that way that I've seen. Seems like it

went best with its own brains."

"Now," remarked the philosophical Woodpecker, "I call that a wonderful

provision of nature, always to put Calf brains and liver into a

Calfskin, and just enough to tan it."

"First thing always is to clean your pelt, and while you do that I'll

put the Horsehide in the mud to soak off the hair." He put it in the

warm mud to soak there a couple of days, just as he had done the

Calfskin for the drum-heads, then came to superintend the dressing of

the Buffalo "robe."

Sam first went home for the Calf brains and liver, then he and Yan

scraped the skin till they got out a vast quantity of grease, leaving

the flesh side bluish-white and clammy, but not greasy to the touch.

The liver of the Calf was boiled for an hour and then mashed up with

the raw brains into a tanning "dope" or mash and spread on the flesh

side of the hide, which was doubled, rolled up and put in a cool place

for two days. It was then opened out, washed clean in the brook and

hung till nearly dry. Then Caleb cut a hardwood stake to a sharp edge

and showed Yan how to pull and work the hide over the edge till it was

all soft and leathery.

The treatment of the Horsehide was the same, once the hair was

removed, but the greater thickness needed a longer soaking in the "tan

dope."

After two days the Trapper scraped it clean and worked it on the

sharp-edged stake. It soon began to look like leather, except in one

or two spots. On examining these he said:

"H-m, Tanning didn't strike right through every place. So he buttered

it again with the mash and gave it a day more; then worked it as

before over the angle of the pole till it was soft and fibrous.

"There," said he, "that's Injun tan leather. I have seen it done by

soaking the hide for a few days in liquor made by boiling Hemlock or

Balsam bark in water till it's like brown ink, but it ain't any better

than that. Now it needs one thing more to keep it from hardening after

being wet. It has to be smoked."

So he made a smoke fire by smothering a clear fire with rotten wood;

then fastening the Horsehide into a cone with a few wooden pins, he

hung it in the dense smoke for a couple of hours, first one side out,

then the other till it was all of a rich smoky-tan colour and had the

smell so well known to those who handle Indian leather.

"There it is; that's Injun tan, an' I hope you see that elbow grease

is the main thing in tannin'."

"Now, will you show us how to make moccasins and war-shirts?" asked

Little Beaver, with his usual enthusiasm.

"Well, the moccasins is easy, but I won't promise about the

war-shirts. That's pretty much a case of following the pattern of your

own coat, with the front in one piece, but cut down just far enough

for your head to go through, instead of all the way, and fixed with

tie-strings at the throat and fringes at the seams and at the bottom;

it hain't easy to do. But any one kin larn to make moccasins. There is

two styles of them--that is, two main styles. Every Tribe has its own

make, and an Injun can tell what language another speaks as soon as

he sees his footgear. The two best known are the Ojibwa, with soft

sole--sole and upper all in one, an' a puckered instep--that's what

Ojibwa means--'puckered moccasin.' The other style is the one most

used in the Plains. You see, they have to wear a hard sole, 'cause the

country is full of cactus and thorns as well as sharp stones."

"I want the Sioux style. We have copied their teepee and war

bonnet--and the Sioux are the best Indians, anyway."

"Or the worst, according to what side you're on," was Caleb's reply.

But he went on: "Sioux Injuns are Plains Injuns and wear a hard sole.

Let's see, now. I'll cut you a pair."

"No, make them for _me_. It's my Horse," said Guy.

"No, you don't. Your Paw give that to me." Caleb's tone said plainly

that Guy's laziness had made a bad impression, so he had to stand

aside while Yan was measured. Caleb had saved a part of the hide

untanned though thoroughly cleaned. This was soaked in warm water till

soft. Yan's foot was placed on it and a line drawn around the foot

for a guide; this when cut out made the sole of one moccasin (A, cut

below), and by turning it underside up it served as pattern to cut the

other.

Now Caleb measured the length of the foot and added one inch, and

the width across the instep, adding half an inch, and with these as

greatest length and breadth cut out a piece of soft leather (B). Then

in this he made the cut _a b_ on the middle line one way and _c

d_ on the middle line the other way. A second piece the reverse of

this was cut, and next a piece of soft leather for inside tongue (C)

was sewn to the large piece (B), so that the edge _a b_ of C was

fast to _a b_ of B. A second piece was sewn to the other leather

(B reversed).

"Them's your vamps for uppers. Now's the time to bead 'em if you want

to."

"Don't know how."

"Well, I can't larn you that; that's a woman's work. But I kin show

you the pattern of the first pair I ever wore; I ain't likely to

forget 'em, for I killed the Buffalo myself and seen the hull making."

He might have added that he subsequently married the squaw, but he did

not.

"There's about the style" [D]. "Them three-cornered red and white

things all round is the hills where the moccasins was to carry me

safely; on the heel is a little blue pathway with nothing in it: that

is behind--it's past. On the instep is three red, white and blue

pathways where the moccasin was to take me: they're ahead--in the

future. Each path has lots of things in it, mostly changes and trails,

an' all three ends in an Eagle feather--that stands for an honour. Ye

kin paint them that way after they're made. Well, now, we'll sew on

the upper with a good thick strand of sinew in the needle--or if you

have an awl you kin do without a needle on a pinch--and be sure to

bring the stitches out the edge of the sole instead of right through,

then they don't wear off. That's the way." [E.]

So they worked away, clumsily, while Guy snickered and sizzled, and

Sam suggested that Si Lee would make a better squaw than both of them.

The sole as well as the upper being quite soft allowed them to turn

the moccasin inside out as often as they liked--and they did like; it

seemed necessary to reverse it every few minutes. But at length the

two pieces were fastened together all around, the seam gap at the heel

was quickly sewn up, four pairs of lace holes were made (_a, b, c,

d_, in D), and an eighteen-inch strip of soft leather run through

them for a lace.

Now Yan painted the uppers with his Indian paints in the pattern that

Caleb had suggested, and the moccasins were done.

A squaw would have made half a dozen good pairs while Yan and Caleb

made the one poor pair, but she would not have felt so happy about it.

XIV

Caleb's Philosophy

The tracks of Mink appeared from time to time on Yan's creekside mud

albums, and at length another of these tireless watchers, placed at

the Wakan Rock, reported to him that Mink as well as Skunks came there

now for a nightly feast.

The Mink was a large one, judging by the marks, and Caleb was asked to

help in trapping it.

"How do you trap Mink, Mr. Clark?" was the question.

"Don't trap 'em at all this time o' year, for they're no good till

October," was the answer.

"Well, how do you trap them when they are in season?"

"Oh, different ways."

It was slow work, but Yan kept on and at length got the old man going.

"Airly days we always used a deadfall for Mink. That's made like this,

with a bird or a Partridge head for bait. That kills him sure, sudden

and merciful. Then if it's cold weather he freezes and keeps O.K.

till you come around to get him; but in warm weather lots o' pelts are

spoiled by being kept too long, so ye have to go round pretty often

to save all you kill. Then some one brought in them new-fangled steel

traps that catches them by the foot and holds them for days and days,

some times, till they jest starve to death or chaw their foot off to

get free. I mind once I ketched a Mink with only two legs left. He had

been in a steel trap twice before and chawed off his leg to get

away. Them traps save the trapper going round so often, but they're

expensive, and heavy to carry, and you have got to be awful

hard-hearted before ye kin use 'em. I tell ye, when I thought of all

the sufferin' that Mink went through it settled me for steel traps.

Since then, says I, if ye must trap, use a deadfall or a ketchalive,

one or other; no manglin' an' tormentin' for days. I tell ye that thar

new Otter trap that grabs them in iron claws ought to be forbid by

law; it ain't human.

"Same way about huntin'. Huntin's great sport, an' it can't be bad,

'cause I can't for the life of me see that it makes men bad. 'Pears

to me men as hunt is humaner than them as is above it; as for the

cruelty--wall, we know that no wild animal dies easy abed. They all

get killed soon or late, an' if it's any help to man to kill them I

reckon he has as good a right to do it as Wolves an' Wildcats. It

don't hurt any more--yes, a blame sight less--to be killed by a rifle

ball than to be chawed by Wolves. The on'y thing I says is don't do

it cruel--an' don't wipe out the hull bunch. If ye never kill a thing

that's no harm to ye 'live an' no good to ye dead nor more than the

country kin stand, 'pears to me ye won't do much harm, an' ye'll have

a lot o' real fun to think about afterward.

"But I mind a feller from Europe, some kind o' swell, that I was

guidin' out West. He had crippled a Deer so it couldn't get away. Then

he sat down to eat lunch right by, and every few moments he'd fire a

shot into some part or another, experimentin' an' aimin' not to kill

it for awhile. I heard the shootin' an' blattin', an when I come up I

tell ye it set my blood a-boilin'. I called him some names men don't

like, an' put that Deer out o' pain quick as I could pull trigger.

That bu'st up our party--I didn't want no more o' him. He come pretty

near lyin' by the Deer that day. It makes me hot yet when I think of

it.

"If he'd shot that Deer down runnin' an' killed it as quick as he

could it wouldn't 'a' suffered more than if it had been snagged a

little, 'cause bullets of right weight numb when they hit. The Deer

wouldn't have suffered more than he naturally would at his finish,

maybe less, an' he'd 'a' suffered it at a time when he could be some

good to them as hunted him. An' these yer new repeatin' guns is a

curse. A feller knows he has lots of shot and so blazes away into a

band o' Deer as long as he can see, an lots gets away crippled, to

suffer an' die; but when a feller has only one shot he's going to

place it mighty keerful. Ef it's sport ye want, get a single-shot

rifle, ef it's destruction, get a Gatling-gun.

"Sport's good, but I'm agin this yer wholesale killin' an' cruelty.

Steel traps, light-weight bullets an' repeatin' guns ain't human. I

tell ye it's them as makes all the sufferin'."

This was a long speech for Caleb, but it was really less connected

than here given. Yan had to keep him going with occasional questions.

This he followed up.

"What do you think about bows and arrows, Mr. Clark?"

"I wouldn't like to use them on big game like Bear and Deer, but I'd

be glad if shotguns was done away with and small game could be killed

only with arrows. They are either sure death or clear miss. There's no

cripples to get away and die. You can't fire an arrow into a flock of

birds and wipe out one hundred, like you can with one of them blame

scatterguns. It's them things that is killing off all the small game.

Some day they'll invent a scattergun that is a pump repeater like them

new rifles, and when every fool has one they'll wonder where all the

small game has gone to.

"No, sir, I'm agin them. Bows and arrows is less destructful an' calls

for more Woodcraft an' give more sport--that is, for small game.

Besides, they don't make that awful racket, an' you know who is the

party that owns the shot, for every arrow is marked."

Yan was sorry that Caleb did not indorse the arrow for big game, too.

The Trapper was well started now; he seemed ready enough with

information to-day, and Yan knew enough to "run the rapids on the

freshet."

"How do you make a ketchalive?"

"What for?"

"Oh, Mink."

"They ain't fit to catch now, and the young ones need the mothers."

"I wouldn't keep it. I only want to make a drawing."

"Guess that won't harm it if you don't keep it too long. Have ye any

boards? We used to chop the whole thing out of a piece of Balsam wood

or White Pine, but the more stuff ye find ready-made the easier it is.

Now I'll show you how to make a ketchalive if ye'll promise me never

to miss a day going to it while it is set."

The boys did not understand how any one could miss a day in visiting a

place of so much interest, and readily promised.

So they made a ketchalive, or box-trap, two feet long, using hay wire

to make a strong netting at one end.

"Now," said the trapper, "that will catch Mink, Muskrat, Skunk,

Rabbit--'most anything, 'cording to where you put it and how you bait

it."

"Seems to me the Wakan Rock will be a good place to try."

So the trap was baited with a fish head firmly lashed on the wire

trigger.

In the morning, as Yan approached, he saw that it was sprung. A

peculiar whining and scratching came from it and he shouted in great

excitement: "Boys, boys, I've got him! I've got the Mink!"

They seized the trap and held it cautiously up for the sunlight to

shine through the bars, and there saw to their disgust that they had

captured only the old gray Cat. As soon as the lid was raised she

bounded away, spitting and hissing, no doubt to hurry home to tell the

Kittens that it was all right, although she had been away so long.

XV

A Visit from Raften

"Sam, I must have another note-book. It's no good getting up a new

'massacree' of Whites, 'cause there ain't any note-books there, but

maybe your father would get one the next time he drove to Downey's

Dump. I suppose I'll have to go on a peace party to ask him."

Sam made no answer, but looked and listened out toward the trail, then

said: "Talk of the er--Angels, here comes Da."

When the big man strode up Yan and Guy became very shy and held back.

Sam, in full war-paint, prattled on in his usual style.

"Morning, Da; I'm yer kid. Bet ye'r in trouble an' want advice or

something."

Raften rolled up his pendulous lips and displayed his huge front tusks

in a vast purple-and-yellow grin that set the boys' hearts at ease.

"Kind o' thought you'd be sick av it before now."

"Will you let us stay here till we are?" chimed in Sam, then without

awaiting the reply that he did not want, "Say, Da, how long is it

since there was any Deer around here?"

"Pretty near twenty years, I should say."

"Well, look at that now," whispered the Woodpecker.

Raften looked and got quite a thrill for the dummy, half hidden in the

thicket, looked much like a real deer.

"Don't you want to try a shot?" ventured Yan.

Raften took the bow and arrow and made such a poor showing that he

returned them with the remark. "Sure a gun's good enough for me,"

then, "Ole Caleb been around since?"

"Old Caleb? I should say so; why, he's our stiddy company."

"'Pears fonder o'you than he is of me."

"Say, Da, tell us about that. How do you know it was Caleb shot at

you?"

"Oh, I don't know it to prove it in a coort o' law, but we quarr'led

that day in town after the Horse trade an' he swore he'd fix me an'

left town. His own stepson, Dick Pogue, stood right by and heard him

say it; then at night when I came along the road by the green bush I

was fired at, an' next day we found Caleb's tobacco pouch and some

letters not far away. That's about all I know, an' all I want to know.

Pogue served him a mean trick about the farm, but that's none o' my

business. I 'spect the old fellow will have to get out an' scratch for

himself pretty soon."

"He seems kind-hearted," said Yan.

"Ah, he's got an awful temper, an' when he gets drunk he'd do

anything. Other times he's all right."

"Well, how is it about the farm?" Sam asked. "Doesn't he own it?"

"No, I guess not now. I don't r'aly know. I only hear them say. Av

coorse, Saryann ain't his own daughter. She's nowt o' kin, but he has

no one else, and Dick was my hired man--a purty slick feller with his

tongue; he could talk a bird off a bush; but he was a good worker. He

married Sary and persuaded the old man to deed them the place, him to

live in comfort with them to the end of his days. But once they got

the place, 'twas aisy to see that Dick meant to get rid o' Caleb, an'

the capsheaf was put last year, about his Dog, old Turk. They wouldn't

have him 'round. They said he was scaring the hens and chasing sheep,

which is like enough, for I believe he killed wan ov my lambs, an' I'd

give ten dollars to have him killed--making sure 'twas him, av coorse.

Rather than give up the Dog, Caleb moved out into the shanty on the

creek at the other end of the place. Things was better then, for Dick

and Saryann let up for awhile an' sent him lots o' flour an' stuff,

but folks say they're fixin' it to put the old man out o' that and get

shet of him for good. But I dunno; it's none o' my business, though he

does blame me for putting Dick up to it."

"How's the note-book?" as Raften's eye caught sight of the open

sketch-book still in Yan's hand.

"Oh, that reminds me," was the reply. "But what is this?" He showed

the hoof-mark be had sketched. Raften examined it curiously.

"H-m, I dunno'; 'pears to me moighty loike a big Buck. But I guess

not; there ain't any left."

"Say, Da," Sam persisted, "wouldn't you be sore if you was an old man

robbed and turned out?"

"Av coorse; but I wouldn't lose in a game of swap-horse, an' then go

gunnin' after the feller. If I had owt agin him I'd go an' lick him or

be licked, an' take it all good-natured. Now that's enough. We'll talk

about something else."

"Will you buy me another note-book next time you go to Downey's Dump?

I don't know how much it will cost or I'd give you the money," said

Yan, praying mentally that it be not more than the five or ten cents

which was all his capital.

"Shure; I'll charge it up. But ye needn't wait till next week.

Thayer's one back at the White settlement ye can have for nothin'."

"Say, Mr. Raften," Guy broke in, "I kin lick them all at

Deer-hunting."

Sam looked at Yan and Yan looked at Sam, then glanced at Guy, made

some perfectly diabolical signs, seized each a long knife and sprung

toward the Third War Chief, but he dodged behind Raften and commenced

his usual "Now you let me 'lone--"

Raften's eye twinkled. "Shure, I thought ye was all wan Tribe an'

paceable."

"We've got to suppress crime," retorted his son.

"Make him let me 'lone," whimpered Sapwood.

"We'll let ye off this time if ye find that Woodchuck. It's near two

days since we've had a skirmish."

"All right," and he went. Within five minutes he came running back,

beckoning. The boys got their bows and arrows, but fearing a trick

they held back. Guy dashed for his own weapons with unmistakable and

reassuring zest; then all set out for the field. Raften followed,

after asking if it would be safe for him to come along.

The grizzly old Woodchuck was there feeding in a bunch of clover. The

boys sneaked under the fence, crawling through the grass in true Injun

fashion, till the Woodchuck stood up to look around, then they lay

still; when he went down they crawled again, and all got within forty

yards. Now the old fellow seemed suspicious, so Sam said, "Next time

he feeds we all fire together." As soon, then, as the Woodchuck's

breast was replaced by the gray back, the boys got partly up and

fired. The arrows whizzed around Old Grizzly, but all missed, and he

had scrambled to his hole before they could send a second volley.

"Hallo, why didn't you hit him, Sappy?"

"I'll bet I do next time."

When they returned to Raften he received them with ridicule.

"But ye'r a poor lot o' hunters. Ye'd all starve if it wasn't for the

White settlement nearby. Faith, if ye was rale Injun ye'd sit up all

night at that hole till he come out in the morning: then ye'd get him;

an' when ye get through with that one I've got another in the high

pasture ye kin work on."

So saying, he left them, and Sam called after him:

"Say, Da; where's that note-book for Yan? He's the Chief of the

'coup-tally,' and I reckon he'll soon have a job an' need his book. I

feel it in my bones."

"I'll lave it on yer bed." Which he did, and Yan and Sam had the

pleasure of lifting it out of the window with a split stick.

XVI

How Yan Knew the Ducks Afar

One day as the great Woodpecker lay on his back in the shade he said

in a tone of lofty command:

"Little Beaver, I want to be amused. Come hyar. Tell me a story."

"How would you like a lesson in Tutnee?" was the Second Chief's

reply, but he had tried this before, and he found neither Sam nor Guy

inclined to take any interest in the very dead language.

"Tell me a story, I said," was the savage answer of the scowling and

ferocious Woodpecker.

"All right," said Little Beaver. "I'll tell you a story of such a fine

boy--oh, he was the noblest little hero that ever wore pantaloons or

got spanked in school. Well, this boy went to live in the woods, and

he wanted to get acquainted with all the living wild things. He found

lots of difficulties and no one to help him, but he kept on and

on--oh! he was so noble and brave--and made notes, and when he learned

anything new he froze on to it like grim death. By and by he got a

book that was some help, but not much. It told about some of the birds

as if you had them _in your hand_. But this heroic youth only saw

them at a distance and he was stuck. One day he saw a wild Duck on a

pond so far away he could only see some spots of colour, but he made

a sketch of it, and later he found out from that rough sketch that it

was a Whistler, and then this wonderful boy had an idea. All the

Ducks are different; all have little blots and streaks that are their

labels, or like the uniforms of soldiers. 'Now, if I can put their

uniforms down on paper I'll know the Ducks as soon as I see them on a

pond a long way off.' So he set to work and drew what he could

find. One of his friends had a stuffed Wood-duck, so the

'Boy-that-wanted-to-know' drew that from a long way off. He got

another from an engraving and two more from the window of a

taxidermist shop. But he knew perfectly well that there are twenty or

thirty different kinds of Ducks, for he often saw others at a distance

and made far-sketches, hoping some day he'd find out what they were.

Well, one day the 'Boy-that-wanted-to-know' sketched a new Duck on a

pond, and he saw it again and again, but couldn't find out what it

was, and there was his b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l sketch, but no one to tell

him its name, so when he saw that he just had to go into the teepee

and steal the First War Chief's last apple and eat it to hide his

emotion."

Here Yan produced an apple and began to eat it with an air of sadness.

Without changing a muscle, the Great Woodpecker continued the tale:

"Then when the First War Chief heard the harrowing tale of a blighted

life, he said: 'Shucks, I didn't want that old apple. It was fished

out of the swill-barrel anyway, but 'pears to me when a feller sets

out to do a thing an' don't he's a 'dumb failure,' which ain't much

difference from a 'durn fool.'

"Now, if this heroic youth had had gumption enough to come out

flat-footed, an' instead of stealing rotten apples that the pigs has

walked on, had told his trouble to the Great Head War Chief, that

native-born noble Red-man would 'a' said: 'Sonny, quite right. When in

doubt come to Grandpa. You want to get sharp on Duck. Ugh! Good'--then

he'd 'a' took that simple youth to Downey's Hotel at Downey's Dump an'

there showed him every kind o' Duck that ever was born, an' all tagged

an' labelled. Wah! I have spoken."

And the Great Woodpecker scowled ferociously at Guy, who was vainly

searching his face for a clue, not sure but what this whole thing was

some subtle mockery. But Yan had been on the lookout for this. Sam's

face throughout had shown nothing but real and growing interest. The

good sense of this last suggestion was evident, and the result was an

expedition was formed at once for Downey's Dump, a little town five

miles away, where the railroad crossed a long bog on the Skagbog

River. Here Downey, the contractor, had carried the railroad dump

across a supposed bottomless morass and by good luck had soon made

a bottom and in consequence a small fortune, with which he built a

hotel, and was now the great man of the town for which he had done so

much.

"Guess we'll leave the Third War Chief in charge of camp," said Sam,

"an' I think we ought to go disguised as Whites."

"You mean to go back to the Settlement and join the Whites?"

"Yep, an' take a Horse an' buggy, too. It's five miles."

That was a jarring note. Yan's imagination had pictured a foot

expedition through the woods, but this was more sensible, so he

yielded.

They went to the house to report and had a loving reception from

the mother and little Minnie. The men were away. The boys quickly

harnessed a Horse and, charged also with some commissions from the

mother, they drove to Downey's Dump.

On arriving they went first to the livery-stable to put up the horse,

then to the store, where Sam delivered his mother's orders, and having

made sure that Yan had pencil, paper and rubber, they went into

Downey's. Yan's feelings were much like those of a country boy going

for the first time to a circus--now he is really to see the things he

has dreamed of so long; now all heaven is his.

And, curiously enough, he was not disappointed. Downey was a rough,

vigorous business man. He took no notice of the boys beyond a brief

"Morning, Sam," till he saw that Yan was making very fair sketches.

All the world loves an artist, and now there was danger of too much

assistance.

The cases could not be opened, but were swung around and shades

raised to give the best light. Yan went at once to the bird he

had "far-sketched" on the pond. To his surprise, it was a female

Wood-duck. He put in the whole afternoon drawing those Ducks, male

and female, and as Downey had more than fifty specimens Yan felt like

Aladdin in the Fairy Garden--overpowered with abundance of treasure.

The birds were fairly well labelled with the popular names, and Yan

brought away a lot of sketches, which made him very happy. These he

afterward carefully finished and put together in a Duck Chart that

solved many of his riddles about the Common Duck.

* * * * *

[Illustration: The Fish-Ducks, Sawbills, or Mergansers]

[Illustration: The River Ducks]

(See description below.)

Far-sketches showing common Ducks as seen on the water at about 50

yards distance. The pair is shown in each square, the male above.

N.B. The wings are rarely seen when the bird is swimming.

THE FISH-DUCK, SAWBILLS OR MERGANSERS

Largely white and all are crested, wings with large white areas in

flight.

1. The Shelldrake or Goosander (_Merganser americanus_).

Bill, feet and eye red.

2. The Sawbill or Red-breasted Merganser (_Merganser

serrator_). Bill and feet red.

3. Hooded Merganser (_Lophodytes cucullatus_). Bill and feet

dark, paddle-box buff.

THE RIVER DUCKS

The males usually with shining green and black on head and wings,

the females streaky gray-brown.

4. Mallard _(Anas boschas_). Red feet; male has pale,

greenish bill. Known in flight by white tail feathers and thin

white bar on wing.

5. Black Duck or Dusky Duck (_Anas obscura_). Dark bill, red

feet, no white except in flight, then shows white lining of wings.

6. Gadwall or Gray Duck (_Anas strepera_). Beak

flesh-coloured on edges, feet reddish, a white spot on wing

showing in flight.

7. Widgeon or Baldpate (_A. americana_). Bill and feet dull

blue; a large white spot on wing in flight; female has sides

reddish.

8. Green-winged Teal (_A. carolinensis_). Bill and feet dark.

9. Blue-winged Teal (_A. discors_). Bill and feet dark.

10. Shoveller (_Spatula clypeata_). Bill dark, feet red, eye

yellow-orange; a white patch on wings showing in flight

11. Pintail or Sprigtail (_Dafila acuta_). Bill and feet dull

blue.

12. Wood Duck or Summer Duck (_Aix sponsa_). Bill of male

red, paddle-box buff, bill of female and feet of both dark.

[Illustration: The Sea Ducks]

THE SEA DUCKS

Chiefly black and white in colour; the female brownish instead of

black; most have yellow or orange eye, and more or less white on

wings which does not show as they swim.

13. Red-head (_Aythya americana_). Head and neck bright red;

eye of male yellow, bill and feet blue.

14. Canvasback (_A. vallisneria_). Head and neck dark-red,

eye of male red, bill and feet of both dark or bluish.

15. Ring-necked Bluebill (_A. collaria_). Bill and feet

bluish.

16. Big Bluebill (_A. marila_). Bill and feet bluish.

17. Little Bluebill (_A. affinis_). Same colour as the

preceding.

18. Whistler or Goldeneye (_Clangula clangula americana_).

Feet orange.

19. Bufflehead or Butterball (_Charitonetta albeola_).

20. Old-Squaw or Longtail (_Harelda hyemalis_). This is its

winter plumage, in which it is mostly seen.

21. Black Scoter (_Oidemia americana_). A jet-black Duck with

orange bill; no white on it anywhere.

22. White-winged Scoter (_O. deglandi_). A black Duck with

white on cheek and wing; feet and bill orange; much white on wing

shows as they fly, sometimes none as they swim.

23. Surf Duck or Sea Coot (_O. perspicillata_). A black Duck

with white on head, but none on wings: bill and feet orange.

24. Ruddy Duck or Stiff-tailed Duck (_Erismatura

jamaicensis_). Bill and feet bluish; male is in general a dull

red with white face.

* * * * *

When they got back to camp at dusk they found a surprise. On the

trail was a white thing, which on investigation proved to be a ghost,

evidently made by Guy. The head was a large puff-ball carved like a

skull, and the body a newspaper.

But the teepee was empty. Guy probably felt too much reaction after

the setting up of the ghost to sit there alone in the still night.

XVII

Sam's Woodcraft Exploit

Sam's "long suit," as he put it, was axemanship. He was remarkable

even in this land of the axe, and, of course, among the "Injuns" he

was a marvel. Yan might pound away for half an hour at some block that

he was trying to split and make no headway, till Sam would say, "Yan,

hit it right there," or perhaps take the axe and do it for him; then

at one tap the block would fly apart. There was no rule for this happy

hit. Sometimes it was above the binding knot, sometimes beside it,

sometimes right in the middle of it, and sometimes in the end of the

wood away from the binder altogether--often at the unlikeliest places.

Sometimes it was done by a simple stroke, sometimes a glancing stroke,

sometimes with the grain or again angling, and sometimes a compound of

one or more of each kind of blow; but whatever was the right stroke,

Sam seemed to know it instinctively and applied it to exactly the

right spot, the only spot where the hard, tough log was open to

attack, and rarely failed to make it tumble apart as though it were a

trick got ready beforehand. He did not brag about it. He simply took

it for granted that he was the master of the art, and as such the

others accepted him.

On one occasion Yan, who began to think he now had some skill, was

whacking away at a big, tough stick till he had tried, as he thought,

every possible combination and still could make no sign of a crack.

Then Guy insisted on "showing him how," without any better result.

"Here, Sam," cried Yan, "I'll bet this is a baffler for you."

Sam turned the stick over, selected a hopeless-looking spot, one as

yet not touched by the axe, set the stick on end, poured a cup of

water on the place, then, when that had soaked in, he struck with all

his force a single straight blow at the line where the grain spread to

embrace the knot. The aim was true to a hair and the block flew open.

"Hooray!" shouted Little Beaver in admiration.

"Pooh!" said Sapwood. "That was just chance. He couldn't do that

again."

"Not to the same stick!" retorted Yan. He recognized the consummate

skill and the cleverness of knowing that the cup of water was just

what was needed to rob the wood of its spring and turn the balance.

But Guy continued contemptuously, "I had it started for him."

"_I_ think that should count a _coup_," said Little Beaver.

"Coup nothin'," snorted the Third War Chief, in scorn. "I'll give you

something to do that'll try if you can chop. Kin you chop a six-inch

tree down in three minutes an' throw it up the wind ?"

"What kind o' tree?" asked the Woodpecker.

"Oh, any kind."

"I'll bet you five dollars I kin cut down a six-inch White Pine in two

minutes an' throw it any way I want to. You pick out the spot for me

to lay it. Mark it with a stake an' I'll drive the stake."

"I don't think any of the Tribe has five dollars to bet. If you can do

it we'll give you a grand coup feather," answered Little Beaver.

"No spring pole," said Guy, eager to make it impossible.

"All right," replied the Woodpecker; "I'll do it without using a

spring pole."

So he whetted up his axe, tried the lower margin of the head, found it

was a trifle out of the true--that is, its under curve centred, not on

the handle one span down, but half an inch out from the handle. A nail

driven into the point of the axe-eye corrected this and the chiefs

went forth to select a tree. A White Pine that measured roughly six

inches through was soon found, and Sam was allowed to clear away the

brush around it. Yan and Guy now took a stout stake and, standing

close to the tree, looked up the trunk. Of course, every tree in the

woods leans one way or another, and it was easy to see that this

leaned slightly southward. What wind there was came from the north, so

Yan decided to set the stake due north.

Sam's little Japanese eyes twinkled. But Guy who, of course, knew

something of chopping, fairly exploded with scorn. "Pooh! What do you

know? That's easy; any one can throw it straight up the wind. Give him

a cornering shot and let him try. There, now," and Guy set the stake

off to the north-west. "Now, smarty. Let's see you do that."

"All right. You'll see me. Just let me look at it a minute."

Sam walked round the tree, studied its lean and the force of the wind

on its top, rolled up his sleeves, slipped his suspenders, spat on his

palms, and, standing to west of the tree, said _"Ready_."

Yan had his watch out and shouted "_Go_."

Two firm, unhasty strokes up on the south side of the tree left a

clean nick across and two inches deep in the middle. The chopper then

stepped forward one pace and on the north-northwesterly side, eighteen

inches lower down than the first cut, after reversing his hands--which

is what few can do--he rapidly chopped a butt-kerf. Not a stroke

was hasty; not a blow went wrong. The first chips that flew were

ten inches long, but they quickly dwindled as the kerf sank in. The

butt-kerf was two-thirds through the tree when Yan called "One minute

up." Sam stopped work, apparently without cause, leaned one hand

against the south side of the tree and gazed unconcernedly up at its

top.

"Hurry up, Sam. You're losing time!" called his friend. Sam made no

reply. He was watching the wind pushes and waiting for a strong one.

It came--it struck the tree-top. There was an ominous crack, but Sam

had left enough and pushed hard to make sure; as soon as the recoil

began he struck in very rapid succession three heavy strokes, cutting

away all the remaining wood on the west side and leaving only a

three-inch triangle of uncut fibre. All the weight was now northwest

of this. The tree toppled that way, but swung around on the uncut

part; another puff of wind gave help, the swing was lost, the tree

crashed down to the northwest and drove the stake right out of sight

in the ground.

"Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! One minute and forty-five seconds!" How Yan

did cheer. Sam was silent, but his eyes looked a little less dull and

stupid than usual, and Guy said "Pooh? That's nothin'."

Yan took out his pocket rule and went to the stump. As soon as he laid

it on, he exclaimed "Seven and one-half inches through where you cut,"

and again he had to swing his hat and cheer.

"Well, old man, you surely did it that time. That's a grand coup if

ever I saw one," and so, notwithstanding Guy's proposal to "leave it

to Caleb," Sam got his grand Eagle feather as Axeman A1 of the Sanger

Indians.

XVIII

The Owls and The Night School

One night Sam was taking a last look at the stars before turning in. A

Horned Owl had been hooting not far away.

"_Hoo--hohoo-hoho--hoooooo_."

And as he looked, what should silently sail to the top of the medicine

pole stuck in the ground twenty yards away but the Owl.

"Yan! Yan! Give me my bow and arrow, quick. Here's a Cat-Owl--a

chicken stealer, he's fair game."

"He's only codding you, Yan," said Guy sleepily from his blanket. "I

wouldn't go."

But Yan rushed out with his own and Sam's weapons.

Sam fired at the great feathery creature, but evidently missed, for

the Owl spread its wings and sailed away.

"There goes my best arrow. That was my 'Sure-death.'"

"Pshaw!" growled Yan, as he noted the miss. "You can't shoot a little

bit."

But as they stood, there was a fluttering of broad wings, and there,

alighting as before on the medicine pole, was the Owl again.

"My turn now!" exclaimed Yan in a gaspy whisper.

He drew his bow, the arrow flew, and the Owl slipped off unharmed as

it had the first time.

"Yan, you're no good. An easy shot like that. Why, any idiot could hit

that. Why didn't you fetch her?"

"'Cause I'm not an idiot, I suppose. I hit the same place as you did,

anyway, and drew just as much blood."

"Ef he comes back again you call me," piped Guy in his shrill voice.

"I'll show you fellers how to shoot. You're no good at all 'thout me.

Why, I mind the time I was Deer-shooting----" but a fierce dash of the

whole Tribe for Sappy's bed put a stop to the reminiscent flow and

replaced it with whines of "Now you let me alone. I ain't doin'

nothin' to you."

During the night they were again awakened by the screech in the

tree-tops, and Yan, sitting up, said, "Say, boys, that's nothing but

that big Cat Owl."

"So it is," was Sam's answer; "wonder I didn't think of that before."

"I did," said Guy; "I knew it all the time."

In the morning they went out to find their arrows. The medicine pole

was a tall pole bearing a feathered shield, with the tribal totem, a

white Buffalo, which Yan had set up to be in Indian fashion. Sighting

in line from the teepee over this, they walked on, looking far beyond,

for they had learned always to draw the arrow to the head. They

had not gone twenty-five feet before Yan burst out in unutterable

astonishment: "Look! Look at that--and _that_------"

There on the ground not ten feet apart were two enormous Horned Owls,

both shot fairly through the heart, one with Sam's "Sure-death" arrow,

the other with Yan's "Whistler"; both shots had been true, and the

boys could only say, "Well, if you saw that in print you would say it

was a big lie!" It was indeed one of those amazing things which happen

only in real life, and the whole of the Tribe with one exception voted

a _grand coup_ to each of the hunters.

Guy was utterly contemptuous. "They got so close they hit by chance

an' didn't know they done it. If he had been shooting," etc., etc.,

etc.

"How about that screech in the tree-tops, Guy?"

"Errrrh."

What a fascination the naturalist always finds in a fine Bird. Yan

revelled in these two. He measured their extent of wing and the length

from beak to tail of each. He studied the pattern on their quills;

he was thrilled by their great yellow eyes and their long, powerful

claws, and he loved their every part. He hated to think that in a few

days these wonderful things would be disgusting and fit only to be

buried.

"I wish I knew hew to stuff them," he said.

"Why don't you get Si Lee to show you," was Sam's suggestion. "Seems

to me I often seen pictures of Injun medicine men with stuffed birds,"

he added shrewdly and happily.

"Well, that's just what I will do."

Then arose a knotty question. Should he go to Si Lee and thereby turn

"White" and break the charm of the Indian life, or should he attempt

the task of persuading Si to come down there to work without proper

conveniences. They voted to bring Si to camp. "Da might think we was

backing out." After all, the things needed were easily carried, and

Si, having been ambushed by a scout, consented to come and open a

night-school in taxidermy.

The tools and things that he brought were a bundle of tow made by

unravelling a piece of rope, some cotton wool, strong linen thread,

two long darning needles, arsenical soap worked up like cream,

corn-meal, some soft iron wire about size sixteen and some of

stovepipe size, a file, a pair of pliers, wire cutters, a sharp knife,

a pair of stout scissors, a gimlet, two ready-made wooden stands, and

last of all a good lamp. The boys hitherto had been content with the

firelight.

Thus in the forest teepee Yan had his first lesson in the art that was

to give him so much joy and some sorrow in the future.

Guy was interested, though scornful; Sam was much interested; Yan was

simply rapt, and Si Lee was in his glory. His rosy red cheeks and his

round figure swelled with pride; even his semi-nude head and fat,

fumbling fingers seemed to partake of his general elation and

importance.

First he stuffed the Owls' throats and wounds with cotton wool.

Then he took one, cut a slit from the back of the breast-bone nearly

to the tail (_A_ to _B_, Fig. 1), while Yan took the other and tried

faithfully to follow his example.

He worked the skin from the body chiefly by the use of his finger

nails, till he could reach the knee of each leg and cut this through

at the joint with the knife (_Kn,_ Fig. 1). The flesh was removed from

each leg-bone down to the heel-joint (_Hl, Hl_, Fig. 1), leaving the

leg and skin as in _Lg_, Figure 2. Then working back on each side of

the tail, he cut the "pope's nose" from the body and left it as part

of the skin, with the tail feathers in it, and this, Si explained, was

a hard place to get around. Sam called it "rounding Cape Horn." As the

flesh was exposed Si kept it powdered thickly with corn-meal, and this

saved the feathers from soiling.

Once around Cape Horn it was easy sailing. The skin was rapidly pushed

off till the wings were reached. These were cut off at the joint deep

in the breast (under _J J_, Fig. 1, or seen on the back, _W J_, Fig. 2),

the first bone of each wing was cleared of meat, and the skin, now

inside out and well mealed, was pushed off the neck up to the head.

Here Si explained that in most birds it would slip easily over the head,

but in Owls, Woodpeckers, Ducks and some others one had sometimes to

help it by a lengthwise slit on the nape (_Sn_, Fig. 2). "Owls is hard,

anyway," he went on, "though not so bad as Water-fowl. If ye want a real

easy bird for a starter, take a Robin or a Blackbird, or any land Bird

about that size except Woodpeckers."

When the ears were reached they were skinned and pulled out of the skull

without cutting, then, after the eyes were passed, the skin and body

looked as in Figure 2. Now the back of the head with the neck and body

was cut off (_Ct_, Fig. 2), and the first operation of the skinning was

done.

Yan got along fairly well, tearing and cutting the skin once or twice,

but learning very quickly to manage it.

Now began the cleaning of the skin.

The eyes were cut clean out and the brains and flesh carefully scraped

away from the skull.

The wing bones were already cleaned of meat down to the elbow joint,

where the big quill feathers began, and the rest of the wing had to

be cleared of flesh by cutting open the under side of the next joint

(_H_ to _El_, Fig. 1). The "pope's nose" and the skin generally was

freed from meat and grease by scraping with a knife and rubbing with

the meal.

Then came the poisoning. Every part of the bones and flesh had to be

painted with the creamy arsenical soap, then the head was worked back

into its place and the skin turned right side out.

When this was done it was quite late. Guy was asleep, Sam was nearly

so, and Yan was thoroughly tired out.

"Guess I'll go now," said Si. "Them skins is in good shape to keep,

only don't let them dry," so they were wrapped up in a damp sack and

put away in a tin till next night, when Si promised to return and

finish the course in one more lesson.

[Illustration: Owl-stuffing plate]

OWL-STUFFING PLATE

Fig. 1. The dead Owl, showing the cuts made in skinning it: A to

B, for the body; El to H, on each wing, to remove the meat of the

second joint.

Fig. 2. After the skinning is done the skull remains attached to

the skin, which is now inside out, the neck and body are cut off

at Ct. Sn to Sn shows the slit in the nape needed for Owls and

several other kinds.

Fig. 3. Top view of the tow body, neck end up, and neck wire

projecting.

Fig. 4. Side view of the tow body, with the neck wire put through

it; the tail end is downward.

Fig. 5. The heavy iron wire for neck.

Fig. 6. The Owl after the body is put in; it is now ready to close

up, by stitching up the slit on the nape, the body slit B to C and

the two wing slits El to H, on each wing.

Fig. 7. A dummy as it _would look_ if all the feathers were

off; this shows the proper position for legs and wings on the

body. At W is a glimpse of the leg wire entering the body at the

middle of the side.

Fig. 8. Another view of the body without feathers; the dotted

lines show the wires of the legs through the hard body, and the

neck wire.

Fig. 9. Two views of one of the wooden eyes; these are on a much

larger scale than the rest of the figures in this plate.

Fig. 10. The finished Owl, with the thread wrappings on and

the wires still projecting; Nw is end of the neck wire; Bp is

back-pin--that is, the wire in the center of the back; Ww and Ww

are the wing wires; Tl are the cards pinned on the tail to hold it

flat while it dries. The last operation is to remove the threads

and cut all the wires off close so that the feathers hide what

remains.

While they were so working Sam had busied himself opening the Owls'

stomachs--"looking up their records," as he called it. He now reported

that one had lynched a young Partridge and the other had killed a

Rabbit for its latest meal.

Next night Si Lee came as promised, but brought bad news. He had

failed to find the glass Owl eyes he had hoped were in his trunk. His

ingenuity, however, was of the kind that is never balked in a small

matter. He produced some black and yellow oil paints, explaining,

"Guess we'll make wooden eyes do for the present, an' when you get to

town you can put glass ones in their place." So Sam was set to work

whittling four wooden eyes the shape of well-raised buns and about

three-quarters of an inch across. When whittled, scraped and smooth,

Si painted them brilliant yellow with a central black spot and put

them away to dry (shown on a large scale on Owl Stuffing Plate, Fig. 9,

_a_ and _b_).

Meanwhile, he and Yan got out the two skins. The bloody feathers on

the breasts were washed clean in a cup of warm water, then dried with

cotton and dusted all over with meal to soak up any moisture left. The

leg and wing bones were now wrapped with as much tow as would take the

place of the removed meat. The eye sockets were partly filled with

cotton, then a long soft roll of tow about the length and thickness of

the original neck was worked up into the neck skin and into the skull

and left hanging. The ends of the two wing bones were fastened two

inches apart with a shackle of strong string (_X_, Fig. 2 and

Fig. 7). Now the body was needed.

For this Si rolled and lashed a wad of tow with strong thread until

he made a dummy of the same size and shape as the body taken out,

squeezing and sewing it into a hard solid mass. Next he cut about two

and a half feet of the large wire, filed both ends sharp, doubled

about four inches of one end back in a hook (Fig. 5), then drove the

long end through the tow body from the tail end out where the neck

should join on (Figs. 3 and 4). This was driven well in so that the

short end of the hook was buried out of sight. Now Si passed the

projecting ends of the long wire up the neck in the middle of the tow

roll or neck already there, worked it through the skull and out at the

top of the Owl's head, and got the tow body properly placed in the

skin with the string that bound the wing bones across the back

(_X_, Fig. 7).

Two heavy wires each eighteen inches long and sharp at one end were

needed for the legs. These were worked up one through the sole of

each foot under the skin of the leg behind (_Lw_, Fig. 6), then

through the tow body at the middle of the side (_W_, Fig. 7),

after which the sharp end was bent with pliers into a hook and driven

back into the hard body (after the manner of the neck wire, Fig. 4).

Another wire was sharpened and driven through the bones of the tail,

fastening that also to the tow body (_Tw_, Fig. 7).

Now a little soft tow was packed into places where it seemed needed

to fit the skin on, and it remained to sew up the opening below

(_Bc_ in Fig. 6), the wing slits (_El, H_, Fig. 6 and Fig.

1), and the slit in the nape (_Sn Sn_, Fig. 2) with half a dozen

stitches, always putting the needle into the skin from the flesh side.

The projecting wires of the feet were put through gimlet holes in the

perch and made firm, and Si's Owls were ready for their positions.

They were now the most ridiculous looking things imaginable, wings

floppy, heads hanging.

"Here is where the artist comes in," said Si proudly, conscious that

this was himself. He straightened up the main line of the body by

bending the leg wires and set the head right by hunching the neck into

the shoulders. "An Owl always looks over its shoulder," he explained,

but took no notice of Sam's query as to "whose shoulder he expected it

to look over." He set two toes of each foot forward on the perch and

two back to please Yan, who insisted that that was Owly, though Si

had his doubts. He spread the tail a little by pinning it between two

pieces of card (_Tl_, Fig. 10), gave it the proper slant, and now

had the wings to arrange.

They were drooping like those of a clucking hen. A sharp wire of the

small size was driven into the bend of each wing (_0_, Fig. 7),

nailing it in effect to the body (_Ww_ and _Ww_, Fig. 10). A long pin

was set in the middle of the back (_Bp_, Fig. 10), then using these

with the wing wires and head wire as lashing points, Si wrapped the

whole bird with the thread (Fig. 10), putting a wad of cotton here or

a bit of stick there under the wrapping till he had the position and

"feathering" perfect, as he put it.

"We can put in the eyes now," said he, "or later, if we soften

the skin around the eye-sockets by putting wet cotton in them for

twenty-four hours."

Yan had carefully copied Si's method with the second Owl, and

developed unusual quickness at it.

His teacher remarked, "Wall, I larned lots o' fellows to stuff birds,

but you ketch on the quickest I ever seen."

Si's ideas of perfection might differ from those of a trained

taxidermist; indeed, these same Owls afforded Yan no little amusement

in later years, but for the present they were an unmitigated joy.

They were just the same in position. Si knew only one; all his birds

had that. But when they had dried fully, had their wrappings removed,

the wires cut off flush and received the finishing glory of their

wooden eyes, they were a source of joy and wonder to the whole Tribe

of Indians.

XIX

The Trial of Grit

The boys had made war bonnets after the "really truly" Indian style

learned from Caleb. White Turkey tail-feathers and white Goose

wing-feathers dyed black at the tips made good Eagle feathers. Some

wisps of red-dyed horsehair from an old harness tassel; strips of red

flannel from an old shirt, and some scraps of sheepskin supplied the

remaining raw material. Caleb took an increasing interest, and helped

them not only to make the bonnet, but also to decide on what things

should count _coup_ and what _grand coup_. Sam had a number

of feathers for shooting, diving, "massacreeing the Whites," and his

grand tufted feathers for felling the pine and shooting the Cat-Owl.

Among other things, Yan had counted coup for trailing. The Deer hunt

had been made still more real by having the "Deer-boy" wear a pair of

sandals made from old boots; on the sole of each they put two lines

of hobnails in V shape, pointing forward. These made hooflike marks

wherever the Deer went. One of the difficulties with the corn was that

it gave no clue to the direction or doubling of the trail, but the

sandals met the trouble, and with a very little corn to help they had

an ideal trail. All became very expert, and could follow fast a very

slight track, but Yan continued the best, for what he lacked in

eyesight he more than made up in patience and observation. He already

had a _grand coup_ for finding and shooting the Deer in the heart,

that time, at first shot before the others came up even, and had won

six other _grand coups_--one for swimming 200 yards in five minutes,

one for walking four measured miles in one hour, one for running 100

yards in twelve seconds, one for knowing 100 wild plants, one for

knowing 100 birds, and the one for shooting the Horned Owl.

Guy had several good _coups_, chiefly for eyesight. He could see

"the papoose on the squaws back," and in the Deer hunt he had several

times won _coups_ that came near being called _grand coup_,

but so far fate was against him, and even old Caleb, who was partial

to him, could not fairly vote him a _grand coup_.

"What is it that the Injuns most likes in a man: I mean, what would

they druther have, Caleb?" asked Sappy one day, confidently expecting

to have his keen eyesight praised.

"Bravery," was the reply. "They don't care what a man is if he's

brave. That's their greatest thing--that is, if the feller has the

stuff to back it up. An' it ain't confined to Injuns; I tell you there

ain't anything that anybody goes on so much. Some men pretends to

think one thing the best of all, an' some another, but come right down

to it, what every man, woman an' child in the country loves an'

worships is pluck, clear grit, well backed up."

"_Well, I tell you_," said Guy, boiling up with enthusiasm at

this glorification of grit, "_I_ ain't scared o' nothin'."

"Wall, how'd you like to fight Yan there?"

"Oh, that ain't fair. He's older an' bigger'n I am."

"Say, Sappy, I'll give you one. Suppose you go to the orchard alone

an' get a pail of cherries. All the men'll be away at nine o'clock."

"Yes, and have old Cap chaw me up."

"Thought you weren't scared of anything, an' a poor little Dog smaller

than a yearling Heifer scares you."

"Well, I don't like cherries, anyhow."

"Here, now, Guy, I'll give you a real test. You see that stone?" and

Caleb held up a small round stone with a hole in it. "Now, you know

where old Garney is buried?"

Garney was a dissolute soldier who blew his head off, accidentally,

his friends claimed, and he was buried on what was supposed to be his

own land just north of Raften's, but it afterward proved to be part of

the highway where a sidepath joined in, and in spite of its diggers

the grave was at the _crossing of two roads_. Thus by the hand of

fate Bill Garney was stamped as a suicide.

The legend was that every time a wagon went over his head he must

groan, but unwilling to waste those outcries during the rumbling of

the wheels, he waited till midnight and rolled them out all together.

Anyone hearing should make a sympathetic reply or they would surely

suffer some dreadful fate. This was the legend that Caleb called up

to memory and made very impressive by being properly impressed

himself.

"Now," said he, "I am going to hide this stone just behind the rock

that marks the head of Garney's grave, an' I'll send you to git it

some night. Air ye game?"

"Y-e-s, I'll go," said the Third War Chief without visible enthusiasm.

"If he's so keen for it now, there'll be no holding him back when

night comes," remarked the Woodpecker.

"Remember, now," said Caleb, as he left them to return to his own

miserable shanty, "this is the chance to show what you're made of.

I'll tie a cord to the stone to make sure that you get it."

"We're just going to eat. Won't you stay and jine with us," called

Sam, but Caleb strode off without taking notice of the invitation.

In the middle of the night the boys were aroused by a man's voice

outside and the scratching of a stick on the canvas.

"Boys! Guy--Yan! Oh, Guy!"

"Hello! Who is it?"

"Caleb Clark! Say, Guy, it's about half-past eleven now. You have just

about time to go to Garney's grave by midnight an' get that stone,

and if you can't find the exact spot _you listen for the groaning

_--_that'll guide you_."

This cheerful information was given in a hoarse whisper that somehow

conveyed the idea that the old man was as scared as he could be.

"I--I--I--" stammered Guy, "I can't see the way."

"This is the chance of your life, boy. You get that stone and you'll

get a _grand coup_ feather, top honours fur grit. I'll wait here

till you come back."

"I--I--can't find the blamed old thing on such a dark night.

I--I--ain't goin'."

"Errr--you're scared," whispered Caleb.

"I ain't scared, on'y what's the use of goin' when I couldn't find the

place? I'll go when it's moonlight."

"Err--anybody here brave enough to go after that stone?"

"I'll go," said the other two at the same time, though with a certain

air of "But I hope I don't have to, all the same."

"You kin have the honour, Yan," said the Woodpecker, with evident

relief.

"Of course, I'd like the chance--but--but--I don't want to push ahead

of you--you're the oldest; that wouldn't be square," was the reply.

"Guess we'd better draw straws for it."

So Sam sought a long straw while Yan stirred up the coals to a blaze.

The long straw was broken in two unequal pieces and hidden in Sam's

hand. Then after shuffling he held it toward Yan, showing only the

two tips, and said, "Longest straw takes the job." Yan knew from old

experience that a common trick was to let the shortest straw stick out

farthest, so he took the other, drew it slowly out and out--it seemed

endless. Sam opened his hand and showed that the short straw remained,

then added with evident relief: "You got it. You are the luckiest

feller I ever did see. Everything comes your way."

If there had been any loophole Yan would have taken it, but it was

now clearly his duty to go for that stone. It was pride rather than

courage that carried him through. He dressed quietly and nervously;

his hands trembled a little as he laced his shoes. Caleb waited

outside when he heard that it was Yan who was going. He braced him up

by telling him: "You're the stuff. I jest love to see grit. I'll

go with you to the edge of the woods--'twouldn't be fair to go

farther--and wait there till you come back. It's easy to find. Go four

panels of fence past the little Elm, then right across on the other

side of the road is the big stone. Well, on the side next the north

fence you'll find the ring pebble. The coord is lying kind o' cross

the big white stone, so you'll find it easy; and here, take this

chalk; if your grit gives out, you mark on the fence how far you did

get, but don't you worry about that groaning--it's nothing but a

yarn--don't be scairt."

"I am afraid I am scared, but still I'll go."

"That's right," said the Trapper with emphasis. "Bravery ain't so much

not being scairt as going ahead when you are scairt, showing that you

kin boss your fears."

So they talked till they struck out of the gloom of the trees to the

comparative light of the open field.

"It's just fifteen minutes to midnight," said Caleb, looking at his

watch with the light of a match, "You'll make it easy. I'll wait

here."

Then Yan went on alone.

It was a somber night, but he felt his way along the field fence to

the line fence and climbed that into the road that was visible as a

less intense darkness on the black darkness of the grass. Yan walked

on up the middle cautiously. His heart beat violently and his hands

were cold. It was a still night, and once or twice little mousey

sounds in the fence corner made him start, but he pushed on. Suddenly

in the blackness to the right of the road he heard a loud "whisk,"

then he caught sight of a white thing that chilled his blood. It was

the shape of a man wrapped in white, but lacked a head, just as the

story had it. Yan stood frozen to the ground. Then his intellect came

to the rescue of his trembling body. "What nonsense! It must be a

white stone." But no, it moved. Yan had a big stick in his hand. He

shouted: "Sh, sh, sh!" Again the "corpse" moved. Yan groped on the

road for some stones and sent one straight at the "white thing." He

heard a "whooff" and a rush. The "white thing" sprang up and ran past

him with a clatter that told him he had been scared by Granny de

Neuville's white-faced cow. At first the reaction made him weak at the

knees, but that gave way to a better feeling. If a harmless old Cow

could lie out there all night, why should he fear? He went on more

quietly till he neared the rise in the road. He should soon see the

little Elm. He kept to the left of the highway and peered into the

gloom, going more slowly. He was not so near as he had supposed, and

the tension of the early part of the expedition was coming back more

than ever. He wondered if he had not passed the Elm--should he go

back? But no, he could not bear the idea; that would mean retreat.

Anyhow, he would put his chalk mark here to show how far he did get.

He sneaked cautiously toward the fence to make it, then to his relief

made out the Elm not twenty-five feet away. Once at the tree, he

counted off the four panels westward and knew that he was opposite the

grave of the suicide. It must now be nearly midnight. He thought he

heard sounds not far away, and there across the road he saw a whitish

thing--the headstone. He was greatly agitated as he crawled quietly as

possible toward it. Why quietly he did not know. He stumbled through

the mud of the shallow ditch at each side, reached the white stone,

and groped with clammy, cold hands over the surface for the string. If

Caleb had put it there it was gone now. So he took his chalk and wrote

on the stone "Yan."

Oh, what a scraping that chalk made! He searched about with his

fingers around the big boulder. Yes, there it was; the wind, no doubt,

had blown it off. He pulled it toward him. The pebble was drawn across

the boulder with another and louder rasping that sounded fearfully

in the night. Then at once a gasp, a scuffle, a rush, a splash of

something in mud, or water--horrible sounds of a being choking,

strangling or trying to speak. For a moment Yan sank down in terror.

His lips refused to move. But the remembrance of the cow came to help

him. He got up and ran down the road as fast as he could go, a cold

sweat on him. He ran so blindly he almost ran into a man who shouted

"Ho, Yan; is that you?" It was Caleb coming to meet him. Yan could

not speak. He was trembling so violently that he had to cling to the

Trapper's arm.

"What was it, boy? I heard it, but what was it?"

"I--I--don't know," he gasped; "only it was at the g-g-grave."

"Gosh! I heard it, all right," and Caleb showed no little uneasiness,

but added, "We'll be back in camp in ten minutes."

He took Yan's trembling hand and led him for a little while, but he

was all right when he came to the blazed trail. Caleb stepped ahead,

groping in the darkness.

Yan now found voice to say, "I got the stone all right, and I wrote my

name on the grave, too."

"Good boy! You're the stuff!" was the admiring response.

They were very glad to see that there was a fire in the teepee

when they drew near. At the edge of the clearing they gave a loud

"_O-hoo_--_O-hoo_--O-hoo-oo," the Owl cry that they had

adopted because it is commonly used by the Indians as a night signal,

and they got the same in reply from within.

"All right," shouted Caleb; "he done it, an' he's bully good stuff and

gets an uncommon _grand coup_."

"Wish I had gone now," said Guy. "I could 'a' done it just as well as

Yan."

"Well, go on now."

"Oh, there ain't any stone to get now for proof."

"You can write your name on the grave, as I did."

"Ah, that wouldn't prove nothin'," and Guy dropped the subject.

Yan did not mean to tell his adventure that night, but his excitement

was evident, and they soon got it out of him in full. They were

a weird-looking crowd as they sat around the flickering fire,

experiencing as he told it no small measure of the scare he had just

been through.

When he had finished Yan said, "Now, Guy, don't you want to go and try

it?"

"Oh, quit," said Guy; "I never saw such a feller as you for yammering

away on the same subjek."

Caleb looked at his watch now, as though about to leave, when Yan

said:

"Say, Mr. Clark, won't you sleep here? There's lots o' room in Guy's

bed."

"Don't mind if I do, seem' it's late."

XX

The White Revolver

In the morning Caleb had the satisfaction of eating a breakfast

prepared by the son of his enemy, for Sam was cook that day.

The Great Woodpecker expressed the thought of the whole assembly when

after breakfast he said: "Now I want to go and see that grave. I

believe Yan wrote his name on some old cow that was lying down and she

didn't like it and said so out loud!"

They arrived at the spot in a few minutes. Yes, there it was

plainly written on the rude gravestone, rather shaky, but perfectly

legible--"Yan."

"Pretty poor writing," was Guy's remark.

"Well, you sure done it! Good boy!" said Sam warmly. "Don't believe

I'd 'a' had the grit."

"Bet I would," said Guy.

"Here's where I crossed the ditch. See my trail in the mud? Out there

is where I heard the yelling. Let's see if ghosts make tracks. Hallo,

what the--"

There were the tracks in the mud of a big man. He had sprawled,

falling on his hands and knees. Here was the print of his hands

several times, and in the mud, half hidden, something shining--Guy saw

it first and picked it up. It was a white-handled Colt's revolver.

"Let's see that," said Caleb. He wiped off the mud. His eye kindled.

"That's my revolver that was stole from me 'way back, time I lost my

clothes and money." He looked it over and, glancing about, seemed lost

in thought. "This beats me!" He shook his head and muttered from time

to time, "This beats me!" There seemed nothing more of interest to

see, so the boys turned homeward.

On the way back Caleb was evidently thinking hard. He walked in

silence till they got opposite Granny de Neuville's shanty, which was

the nearest one to the grave. At the gate he turned and said: "Guess

I'm going in here. Say, Yan, you didn't do any of that hollering last

night, did you?"

"No, sir; not a word. The only sound I made was dragging the

ring-stone over the boulder."

"Well, I'll see you at camp," he said, and turned in to Granny's.

"The tap o' the marnin' to ye, an' may yer sowl rest in pace," was the

cheery old woman's greeting. "Come in--come in, Caleb, an' set down.

An' how is Saryann an' Dick?"

"They seem happy an' prosperin'," said the old man with bitterness.

"Say, Granny, did you ever hear the story about Garney's grave out

there on the road?"

"For the love av goodness, an' how is it yer after askin' me that now?

Sure an' I heard the story many a time, an' I'm after hearin' the

ghost last night, an' it's a-shiverin' yit Oi am."

"What did you hear, Granny?"

"Och, an' it was the most divilish yells iver let out av a soul in

hell. Shure the Dog and the Cat both av thim was scairt, and the owld

white-faced cow come a-runnin' an' jumped the bars to get aff av the

road."

Here was what Caleb wanted, and he kept her going by his evident

interest. After she tired of providing more realistic details of

the night's uproar, Caleb deliberately tapped another vintage of

tittle-tattle in hope of further information leaking out.

"Granny, did you hear of a robbery last week down this side of

Downey's Dump?"

"Shure an' I did not," she exclaimed, her eyes ablaze with

interest--neither had Caleb, for that matter; but he wanted to start

the subject--"An" who was it was robbed?"

"Don't know, unless it was John Evans's place."

"Shure an' I don't know him, but I warrant he could sthand to lose.

Shure an' it's when the raskils come after me an' Cal Conner the

moment it was talked around that we had sold our Cow; then sez I, it's

gittin' onraisonable, an' them divils shorely seems to know whin a wad

o' money passes."

"That's the gospel truth. But when wuz you robbed, Granny?"

"Robbed? I didn't say I wuz robbed," and she cackled. "But the robbers

had the best av intintions when they came to me," and she related

at length her experience with the two who broke in when her Cow was

reported sold. She laughed over their enjoyment of the Lung Balm, and

briefly told how the big man was sulky and the short, broad one was

funny. Their black beards, the "big wan" with his wounded head, his

left-handedness and his accidental exposure of the three fingers of

the right hand, all were fully talked over.

"When was it, Granny?"

"Och, shure an' it wuz about three years apast."

Then after having had his lungs treated, old Caleb left Granny and set

out to do some very hard thinking.

There had been robberies all around for the last four years; There was

no clue but this: They were all of the same character; nothing but

cash was taken, and the burglars seemed to have inside knowledge of

the neighbourhood, and timed all their visits to happen just after the

householder had come into possession of a roll of bills.

As soon as Caleb turned in at the de Neuville gate, Yan, acting on a

belated thought, said:

"Boys, you go on to camp; I'll be after you in five minutes." He wanted

to draw those tracks in the mud and try to trail that man, so went

back to the grave.

He studied the marks most carefully and by opening out the book he was

able to draw the boot tracks life-size, noting that each had three

rows of small hobnails on the heel, apparently put in at home because

so irregular, while the sole of the left was worn into a hole. Then he

studied the hand tracks, selected the clearest, and was drawing the

right hand when something odd caught his attention.

Yes! It appeared in all the impressions of that hand--the middle

finger was gone.

[Illustration: The three-fingered hand-print]

Yan followed the track on the road a little way, but at the corner it

turned southward and was lost in the grass.

As he was going back to camp he overtook Caleb also returning.

"Mr. Clark," he said. "I went back to sketch those tracks, and do you

know--that man had only three fingers on his right hand?"

"Consarn me!" said Caleb. "Are you sure?"

"Come and see for yourself."

Yes! It surely was true, and Caleb on the road back said, "Yan, don't

say a word of this to the others just now."

The old Trapper went to the Pogue house at once. He found the tracks

repeated in the dust near the door, but they certainly were not made

by Dick. On a line was a pair of muddy trousers drying.

From this night Yan went up and Guy went down in the old man's

opinion, for he spoke his own mind that day when he gave first place

to grit. He invited Yan to come to his shanty to see a pair of

snow-shoes he was making. The invitation was vague and general, so the

whole Tribe accepted. Yan had not been there since his first visit.

The first part of their call was as before. In answer to their knock

there was a loud baying from the Hound, then a voice ordering him

back. Caleb opened the door, but now said "Step in." If he was

displeased with the others coming he kept it to himself. While Yan

was looking at the snow-shoes Guy discovered something much more

interesting on the old man's bunk; that was the white revolver, now

cleaned up and in perfect order. Caleb's delight at its recovery,

though not very apparent, was boundless. He had not been able to buy

himself another, and this was as warmly welcomed back as though a

long-lost only child.

"Say, Caleb, let's try a shot. I bet I kin beat the hull gang,"

exclaimed Sapwood.

Caleb got some cartridges and pointed to a white blaze on a stump

forty yards away. Guy had three or four shots and Yan had the same

without hitting the stump. Then Caleb said, "Lemme show you."

His big rugged hand seemed to swallow up the little gun-stock. His

long knobbed finger fitted around the lock in a strange but familiar

way. Caleb was a bent-arm shot, and the short barrel looked like his

own forefinger pointing at the target as he pumped away six times in

quick succession. All went into the blaze and two into the charcoal

spot that marked the centre.

"By George! Look at that for shooting!" and the boys were loud in

their praise.

"Well, twenty year ago I used to be a pretty good shot," Caleb

proceeded to explain with an air of unnecessary humility and a very

genial expression on his face. "But that's dead easy. I'll show you

some real tricks."

Twenty-five feet away he set up three cartridges in a row, their caps

toward him, and exploded them in succession with three rapid shots.

Then he put the revolver in the side pocket of his coat, and

recklessly firing it without drawing, much less sighting or even

showing it, he peppered a white blaze at twenty yards. Finally he

looked around for an old fruit tin. Then he cocked the revolver,

laid it across his right hand next the thumb and the tin across the

fingers. He then threw them both in the air with a jerk that sent the

revolver up ten feet and the tin twenty. As the revolver came down he

seized it and shot a hole through the tin before it could reach the

ground.

The boys were simply dumbfounded. They had used up all their

exclamations on the first simple target trial.

Caleb stepped into the shanty to get a cleaning-rag for his darling,

and Sam burst out:

"Well, now I know he never shot at Da, for if he did he'd 'a' got him

sure."

It was not meant for Caleb's ears, but it reached him, and the old

Trapper came to the door at once with a long, expressive "H-m-m-mrr."

Thus was broken the dam of silent scorn, for it was the first time

Caleb had addressed himself to Sam. The flood had forced the barrier,

but it still left plenty of stuff in the channel to be washed away by

time and wear, and it was long before he talked to Sam as freely as to

the others, but still in time he learned.

There was an air of geniality on all now, and Yan took advantage of

this to ask for something he had long kept in mind.

"Mr. Clark, will you take us out for a Coon hunt? We know where there

are lots of Coons that feed in a corn patch up the creek."

If Yan had asked this a month ago he would have got a contemptuous

refusal. Before the visit to Carney's grave it might have been, "Oh, I

dunno--I ain't got time," but he was on the right side of Caleb now,

and the answer was:

"Well, yes! Don't mind if I do, first night it's coolish, so the Dog

kin run."

[Illustration: Raccoon in tree]

XXI

The Triumph Of Guy

The boys had hunted the Woodchuck quite regularly since first meeting

it. Their programme was much the same--each morning about nine or ten

they would sneak out to the clover field. It was usually Guy who first

discovered the old Grizzly, then all would fire a harmless shot, the

Woodchuck would scramble into his den and the incident be closed for

the day. This became as much a part of the day's routine as getting

breakfast, and much more so than the washing of the dishes. Once or

twice the old Grizzly had narrow escapes, but so far he was none the

worse, rather the better, being wiser. The boys, on the other

hand, gained nothing, with the possible exception of Guy. Always

quick-sighted, his little washed-out optics developed a marvellous

keenness. At first it was as often Yan or Sam who saw the old Grizzly,

but later it was always Guy.

One morning Sam approached the game from one point, Guy and Yan from

another some yards away. "No Woodchuck!" was the first opinion, but

suddenly Guy called "I see him." There in a little hollow fully sixty

yards from his den, and nearly a hundred from the boys, concealed in a

bunch of clover, Guy saw a patch of gray fur hardly two inches square.

"That's him, sure."

Yan could not see it at all. Sam saw but doubted. An instant later

the Woodchuck (for it was he) stood up on his hind legs, raised his

chestnut breast above the clover, and settled all doubt.

"By George!" exclaimed Yan in admiration. "_That is great_. You

have the most wonderful eyes I ever did see. Your name ought to be

'Hawkeye'--that should be your name."

"All right," shrilled out Guy enthusiastically. "Will you--will

you, Sam, will you call me Hawkeye? I think you ought to," he added

pleadingly.

"I think so, Sam," said the Second Chief. "He's turned out great

stuff, an' it's regular Injun."

"We'll have to call a Council and settle that. Now let's to business."

"Say, Sapwood, you're so smart, couldn't you go round through the

woods to your side and crawl through the clover so as get between the

old Grizzly and his den?" suggested the Head Chief.

"I bet I can, an' I'll bet a dollar--"

"Here, now," said Yan, "Injuns don't have dollars."

"Well, I'll bet my scalp--my black scalp, I mean--against Sam's that I

kill the old Grizzly first."

"Oh, let me do it first--you do it second," said Sam imploringly.

"Errr--yer scared of yer scalp."

"I'll go you," said Sam.

Each of the boys had a piece of black horsehair that he called his

scalp. It was tied with a string to the top of his head--and this was

what Guy wished to wager.

Yan now interfered: "Quit your squabbling, you Great War Chiefs, an'

'tend to business. If Woodpecker kills old Grizzly he takes Sapwood's

scalp; if Sappy kills him he takes the Woodpecker's scalp, an' the

winner gets a grand feather, too."

Sam and Yan waited impatiently in the woods while Guy sneaked around.

The Woodchuck seemed unusually bold this day. He wandered far from his

den and got out of sight in hollows at times. The boys saw Guy crawl

through the fence, though the Woodchuck did not. The fact was, that he

had always had the enemy approach him from the other side, and was not

watching eastward.

Guy, flat on his breast, worked his way through the clover. He crawled

about thirty yards and now was between the Woodchuck and his den.

Still old Grizzly kept on stuffing himself with clover and watching

toward the Raften woods. The boys became intensely excited. Guy could

see them, but not the Woodchuck. They pointed and gesticulated. Guy

thought that meant "Now shoot." He got up cautiously. The Woodchuck

saw him and bounded straight for its den--that is, toward Guy. Guy

fired wildly. The arrow went ten feet over the Grizzly's head, and,

that "huge, shaking mass of fur" bounding straight at him, struck

terror to his soul. He backed up hastily, not knowing where to run. He

was close to the den.

The Woodchuck chattered his teeth and plunged to get by the boy, each

as scared as could be. Guy gave a leap of terror and fell heavily just

as the Woodchuck would have passed under him and home. But the boy

weighed nearly 100 pounds, and all that weight came with crushing

force on old Grizzly, knocking the breath out of his body. Guy

scrambled to his feet to run for his life, but he saw the Woodchuck

lying squirming, and plucked up courage enough to give him a couple

of kicks on the nose that settled him. A loud yell from the other two

boys was the first thing that assured Guy of his victory. They came

running over and found him standing like the hunter in an amateur

photograph, holding his bow in one hand and the big Woodchuck by the

tail in the other.

[Illustration: The hunter]

"Now, I guess you fellers will come to me to larn you how to kill

Woodchucks. Ain't he an old socker? I bet he weighs fifty pounds--yes,

near sixty." (It weighed about ten pounds.)

"Good boy! Bully boy! Hooray for the Third War Chief! Hooray for Chief

Sapwood!" and Guy had no cause to complain of lack of appreciation on

the part of the others.

He swelled out his chest and looked proud and haughty. "Wished I knew

where there was some more Woodchucks," he said. "_I_ know how to

get them, if the rest don't."

"Well, that should count for a _grand coup_, Sappy."

[Illustration: "Guy gave a leap of terror and fell."]

"You tole me you wuz goin' to call me 'Hawkeye' after this morning."

"We'll have to have a Grand Council to fix that up," replied the Head

Chief.

"All right; let's have it this afternoon, will you?"

"All right."

"'Bout four o'clock?"

"Why, yes; any time."

"And you'll fix me up as 'Hawkeye,' and give me a dandy Eagle feather

for killing the Woodchuck, at four o'clock?"

"Yes, sure, only, why do you want it at four o'clock?"

But Guy seemed not to hear, and right away after dinner he

disappeared.

"He's dodging the dishwashing again," suggested the Woodpecker.

"No, he isn't," said the Second Chief. "I believe he's going to bring

his folks to see him in his triumph."

"That's so. Let's chip right in and make it an everlasting old

blowout--kind of a new date in history. You'll hear me lie like sixty

to help him out."

"Good enough. I'm with you. You go and get your folks. I'll go after

old Caleb, and we'll fix it up to call him 'Hawkeye' and give him his

_grand coup_ feather all at once."

"'Feard my folks and Caleb wouldn't mix," replied Sam, "but I believe

for a splurge like this Guy'd ruther have my folks. You see, Da has

the mortgage on their place."

So it was agreed Sam was to go for his mother, while Yan was to

prepare the Eagle feather and skin the Woodchuck.

It was not "as big as a bear," but it was a very large Woodchuck, and

Yan was as much elated over the victory as any of them. He still had

an hour or more before four o'clock, and eager to make Guy's triumph

as Indian as possible, he cut off all the Woodchuck's claws, then

strung them on a string, with a peeled and pithed Elder twig an inch

long between each two. Some of the claws were very, very small, but

the intention was there to make a Grizzly-claw necklace.

Guy made for home as fast as he could go. His father hailed him as he

neared the garden and evidently had plans of servitude, but Guy

darted into the dining-room-living-room-bedroom-kitchen-room, which

constituted nine-tenths of the house.

"Oh, Maw, you just ought to seen me; you just want to come this

afternoon--I'm the Jim Dandy of the hull Tribe, an they're going to

make me Head Chief. I killed that whaling old Woodchuck that pooty

nigh killed Paw. They couldn't do a thing without me--them fellers in

camp. They tried an' tried more'n a thousand times to get that old

Woodchuck--yes, I bet they tried a million times, an' I just waited

till they was tired and give up, then I says, 'Now, I'll show you

how.' First I had to point him out. Them fellers is no good to see

things. Then I says, 'Now, Sam and Yan, you fellers stay here, an'

just to show how easy it is when you know how, I'll leave all my

bosenarrers behind an' go with nothing.' Wall, there they stood an'

watched me, an' I s-n-e-a-k-e-d round the fence an' c-r-a-w-l-e-d in

the clover just like an Injun till I got between him an' his hole, and

then I hollers and he come a-snortin' an' a-chatterin' his teeth at

me to chaw me up, for he seen I had no stick nor nothin', an' I never

turned a hair; I kep' cool an' waited till jest as he was going to

jump for my throat, then I turned and gave him one kick on the snoot

that sent him fifty feet in the air, an' when he come down he was

deader'n Kilsey's hen when she was stuffed with onions. Oh, Maw, I'm

just the bully boy; they can't do nothin' in camp 'thout me. I had to

larn 'em to hunt Deer an' see things--an'--an'--an'--lots o' things,

so they are goin' to make me Head Chief of the hull Tribe, an' call

me 'Hawkeye,' too; that's the way the Injuns does. It's to be at four

o'clock this afternoon, an' you got to come."

Burns scoffed at the whole thing and told Guy to get to work at the

potatoes, and if he left down the bars so that the Pig got out he'd

skin him alive; he would have no such fooling round his place. But Mrs

Burns calmly informed him that _she_ was going. It was to her

much like going to see a university degree conferred on her boy.

Since Burns would not assist, the difficulty of the children now

arose. This, however, was soon settled. They should go along. It was

two hours' toil for the mother to turn the four brown-limbed, nearly

naked, dirty, happy towsle-tops into four little martyrs, befrocked,

beribboned, becombed and be-booted. Then they all straggled across the

field, Mrs. Burns carrying the baby in one arm and a pot of jam in

the other. Guy ran ahead to show the way, and four-year-old,

three-year-old and two-year-old, hand in hand, formed a diagonal line

in the wake of the mother.

They were just a little surprised on getting to camp to find Mrs.

Raften and Minnie there in holiday clothes. Marget's first feeling was

resentment, but her second thought was a pleasant one. That "stuck-up"

woman, the enemy's wife, should see her boy's triumph, and Mrs. Burns

at once seized on the chance to play society cat.

"How do ye do, Mrs. Raften; hope you're well," she said with a tinge

of malicious pleasure and a grand attempt at assuming the leadership.

"Quite well, thank you. We came down to see how the boys were getting

on in camp."

"They've got on very nicely _sense my boy j'ined them_," retorted

Mrs. Burns, still fencing.

"So I understand; the other two have become very fond of him,"

returned Mrs. Raften, seeking to disarm her enemy.

This speech had its effect. Mrs. Burns aimed only to forestall the

foe, but finding to her surprise that the enemy's wife was quite

gentle, a truce was made, and by the time Mrs. Raften had petted and

praised the four tow-tops and lauded Guy to the utmost the air of

latent battle was replaced by one of cordiality.

The boys now had everything ready for the grand ceremony. On the

Calfskin rug at one end was the Council; Guy, seated on the skin of

the Woodchuck and nearly hiding it from view, Sam on his left hand

and Yan with the drum, on his right. In the middle the Council fire

blazed. To give air, the teepee cover was raised on the shady side and

the circle of visitors was partly in the teepee and partly out.

The Great War Chief first lighted the peace pipe, puffed for a minute,

then blew off the four smokes to the four winds and handed it to the

Second and Third War Chiefs, who did the same.

Little Beaver gave three thumps on the drum for silence, and the Great

Woodpecker rose up:

"Big Chiefs, Little Chiefs, Braves, Warriors, Councillors, Squaws,

and Papooses of the Sanger Indians: When our Tribe was at war with

them--them--them--other Injuns--them Birchbarks, we took prisoner one

of their warriors and tortured him to death two or three times, and he

showed such unusual stuff that we took him into our Tribe--"

Loud cries of "How--How--How," led by Yan.

"We gave a sun-dance for his benefit, but he didn't brown--seemed too

green--so we called him Sapwood. From that time he has fought his way

up from the ranks and got to be Third War Chief--"

"How--How--How."

"The other day the hull Tribe j'ined to attack an' capture a big

Grizzly and was licked bad, when the War Chief Sapwood came to the

rescue an' settled the owld baste with one kick on the snoot. Deeds

like this is touching. A feller that kin kick like that didn't orter

be called Sapwood nor Saphead nor Sapanything. No, sirree! It ain't

right. He's the littlest Warrior among the War Chiefs, but he kin see

farder an' do it oftener an' better than his betters. He kin see round

a corner or through a tree. 'Cept maybe at night, he's the swell seer

of the outfit, an' the Council has voted to call him 'Hawkeye.'"

"How--How--How--How--How--"

Here Little Beaver handed the Head War Chief a flat white stick on

which was written in large letters "Sapwood."

"Here's the name he went by before he was great an' famous, an' this

is the last of it." The Chief put the stick in the fire, saying, "Now

let us see if you're too green to burn." Little Beaver then handed

Woodpecker a fine Eagle feather, red-tufted, and bearing in outline

a man with a Hawk's head and an arrow from his eye. "This here's a

swagger Eagle feather for the brave deed he done, and tells about him

being Hawkeye, too" (the feather was stuck in Guy's hair and the claw

necklace put about his neck amid loud cries of "How--How--" and thumps

of the drum), "and after this, any feller that calls him Sapwood has to

double up and give Hawkeye a free kick."

There was a great chorus of "How--How." Guy tried hard to look

dignified and not grin, but it got beyond him. He was smiling right

across and half way round. His mother beamed with pride till her eyes

got moist and overflowed.

Every one thought the ceremony was over, but Yan stood up and began:

"There is something that has been forgotten, Chiefs, Squaws and

Pappooses of the Sanger Nation: When we went out after this Grizzly I

was witness to a bargain between two of the War Chiefs. According to a

custom of our Tribe, they bet their scalps, each that he would be the

one to kill the Grizzly. The Head Chief Woodpecker was one and Hawkeye

was the other. Hawkeye, you can help yourself to Woodpecker's scalp."

Sam had forgotten about this, but he bowed his head. Guy cut the

string, and holding up the scalp, he uttered a loud, horrible

war-whoop which every one helped with some sort of noise. It was the

crowning event. Mrs. Burns actually wept for joy to see her heroic boy

properly recognized at last.

Then she went over to Sam and said, "Did you bring your folks here to

see my boy get praised?"

Sam nodded and twinkled an eye.

"Well, I don't care who ye are, Raften or no Raften, you got a good

heart, an' it's in the right place. I never did hold with them as says

'There ain't no good in a Raften.' I always hold there's some good in

every human. I know your Paw _did_ buy the mortgage on our place,

but I never did believe your Maw stole our Geese, _an' I never

will_, an' next time I hear them runnin' on the Raftens I'll jest

open out an' tell what I know."

[Illustration: The picture on the Teepee Lining, to record Guy's

Exploit.]

XXII

The Coon Hunt

Yan did not forget the proposed Coon hunt--in fact, he was most

impatient for it, and within two days the boys came to Caleb about

sundown and reminded him of his promise. It was a sultry night, but

Yan was sure it was just right for a Coon hunt, and his enthusiasm

carried all before it. Caleb was quietly amused at the "_cool

night_" selected, but reckoned it would be "better later."

"Set down--set down, boys," he said, seeing them standing ready for an

immediate start. "There's no hurry. Coons won't be running for three

or four hours after sundown."

So he sat and smoked, while Sam vainly tried to get acquainted with

old Turk; Yan made notes on some bird wings nailed to the wall,

and Guy got out the latest improved edition of his exploits in

Deer-hunting and Woodchuck killing, as well as enlarged on his plans

for gloriously routing any Coon they might encounter.

By insisting that it would take an hour to get to the place, Yan

got them started at nine o'clock, Caleb, on a suggestion from Guy,

carrying a small axe. Keeping old Turk well in hand, they took the

highway, and for half an hour tramped on toward the "Corners." Led by

Sam, they climbed a fence crossed a potato field, and reached the corn

patch by the stream.

"Go ahead, Turk. Sic him! Sic him! Sic him!" and the company sat in a

row on the fence to await developments.

Turk was somewhat of a character. He hunted what he pleased and when

he pleased. His master could bring him on the Coon grounds, but he

couldn't make him hunt Coon nor anything else unless it suited his own

fancy. Caleb had warned the boys to be still, and they sat along the

fence in dead silence, awaiting the summons from the old Hound. He had

gone off beating and sniffing among the cornstalks. His steps sounded

very loud and his sniffs like puffs of steam. It was a time of tense

attention; but the Hound wandered, farther away, and even his noisy

steps were lost.

They had sat for two long minutes, when a low yelp from a distant part

of the field, then a loud "_bow-wow"_ from the Hound, set Yan's

heart jumping.

"Game afoot," said Sam in a low voice.

"Bet I heered him first," piped Guy.

Yan's first thought was to rush pell-mell after the Dog. He had often

read of the hunt following furiously the baying of the Hounds, but

Caleb restrained him.

"Hold on, boy; plenty of time. Don't know yet what it is."

For Turk, like most frontier Hounds, would run almost any trail--had

even been accused of running on his own--and it rested with those who

knew him best to discover from his peculiar style of tonguing just

what the game might be. But they waited long and patiently without

getting another bay from the Hound. Presently a rustling was heard and

Turk came up to his master and lay down at his feet.

"Go ahead, Turk, put him up," but the Dog stirred not. "Go ahead," and

Caleb gave him a rap with a small stick. The Dog dodged away, but lay

down again, panting.

"What was it, Mr. Clark?" demanded Yan.

"Don't hardly know. Maybe he only spiked himself on a snag. But this

is sure; there's no Coons here to-night. There won't be after this. We

come too early, and it's too hot for the Dog, anyway."

"We could cross the creek and go into Boyle's bush," suggested the

Woodpecker. "We're like to strike anything there. Larry de Neuville

swears he saw a Unicorn there the night he came back from Garney's

wake."

"How can you tell the kind of game by the Dog's barking?" asked Yan.

"H-m!" answered Caleb, as he put a fresh quid in his lantern jaw. "You

surely can if you know the country an' the game an' the Dog. Course,

no two Dogs is alike; you got to study your Dog, an' if he's good

he'll larn you lots about trailing."

The brook was nearly dry now, so they crossed where they would. Then

feeling their way through the dark woods with eyes for the most part

closed, they groped toward Boyle's open field, then across it to the

heavy timber. Turk had left them at the brook, and, following its

course till he came to a pool, had had a bath. As they entered the

timber tract he joined them, dripping wet and ready for business.

"Go ahead, Turk," and again all sat down to await the opinion of the

expert.

It came quickly. The old Hound, after circling about in a way that

seemed to prove him independent of daylight, began to sniff loudly,

and gave a low whine. He followed a little farther, and now his tail

was heard to '_tap, tap, tap_' the brush as he went through a dry

thicket.

"Hear that? He's got something this time," said Caleb in a low voice.

"Wait a little."

The Hound was already working out a puzzle, and when at last he got

far enough to be sure, he gave a short bark. There was another

spell of sniffing, then another bark, then several little barks at

intervals, and at last a short bay; then the baying recommenced, but

was irregular and not full-chested. The sounds told that the Hound was

running in a circle about the forest, but at length ceased moving,

for all the barking was at one place. When the hunters got there

they found the Dog half-way in a hole under a stump, barking and

scratching.

"Humph," said Caleb; "nothing but a Cottontail. Might 'a' knowed that

by the light scent an' the circling without treeing."

So Turk was called off and the company groped through the inky woods

in quest of more adventures.

"There's a kind of swampy pond down the lower end of the bush--a

likely place for Coons on a Frog-hunt," suggested the Woodpecker.

So the Hound was again "turned on" near the pond. The dry woods were

poor for scent, but the damp margin of the marsh proved good, and Turk

became keenly interested and very sniffy. A preliminary "_Woof!_"

was followed by one or two yelps and then a full-chested

"_Boooow!"_ that left no doubt he had struck a hot trail at last.

Oh, what wonderfully thrilling horn-blasts those were! Yan for the

first time realized the power of the "full cry," whose praises are so

often sung.

The hunters sat down to await the result, for, as Caleb pointed out,

there was "no saying where the critter might run."

The Hound bayed his fullest, roundest notes at quick intervals, but

did not circle. The sound of his voice told them that the chase was

straight away, out of the woods, easterly across an open field, and at

a hot pace, with regular, full bellowing, unbroken by turn or doubt.

"I believe he's after the old Callaghan Fox," said the Trapper.

"They've tried it together before now, an' there ain't anything but a

Fox will run so straight and fetch such a tune out of Turk."

The baying finally was lost in the distance, probably a mile away, but

there was nothing for it but to wait. If Turk had been a full-bred and

trained Foxhound he would have stuck to that trail all night, but in

half an hour he returned, puffing and hot, to throw himself into the

shallow pond.

"Everything scared away now," remarked Caleb. "We might try the other

side of the pond." Once or twice the dog became interested, but

decided that there was nothing in it, and returned to pant by his

master's feet.

They had now travelled so far toward home that a very short cut across

fields would bring them into their own woods.

The moon arose as they got there, and after their long groping in the

murky darkness this made the night seem very bright and clear.

They had crossed the brook below Granny de Neuville's, and were

following the old timber trail that went near the stream, when Turk

stopped to sniff, ran back and forth two or three times, then stirred

the echoes with a full-toned bugle blast and led toward the water.

"_Bow--bow--bow--bow_," he bawled for forty yards and came to a

stop. The baying was exactly the same that he gave on the Fox trail,

but the course of the animal was crooked, and now there was a break.

They could hear the dog beating about close at hand and far away, but

silent so far as tongue was concerned.

"What is it, Caleb?" said Sam with calm assurance, forgetting how

recent was their acquaintance.

"Dunno," was the short reply.

"'Tisn't a Fox, is it?" asked Yan.

But a sudden renewal of "_Bow--bow--bow--_" from the Hound one

hundred yards away, at the fence, ended all discussion. The dog had

the hot trail again. The break had been along the line of a fence that

showed, as Caleb said, "It was a Coon, 'cept it might be some old

house Cat maybe; them was the only things that would run along top of

a fence in the night time."

It was easy to follow now; the moonlight was good, and the baying of

the Hound was loud and regular. It led right down the creek, crossing

several pools and swamps.

"That settles it," remarked the Trapper decisively. "Cats don't take

to the water. That's a Coon," and as they hurried they heard a sudden

change in the dog's note, no longer a deep rich '_B-o-o-w-w_.' It

became an outrageous clamour of mingled yelps, growls and barks.

"Ha--heh. That means he's right on it. That is what he does when he

_sees_ the critter."

But the "view halloo" was quickly dropped and the tonguing of the dog

was now in short, high-pitched yelps _at one place_.

"Jest so! He's treed! That's a Coon, all right!" and Caleb led

straight for the place.

The Hound was barking and leaping against a big Basswood, and Caleb's

comment was: "Hm, never knowed a Coon to do any other way--always gets

up the highest and tarnalest tree to climb in the hull bush. Now who's

the best climber here?"

"Yan is," volunteered Sam.

"Kin ye do it, Yan?"

"I'll try."

"Guess we'll make a fire first and see if we can't see him," said the

Woodpecker.

"If it was a Woodchuck I'd soon get him for you," chimed in Hawkeye,

but no one heeded.

Sam and Yan gathered stuff and soon had a flood of flickering red

light on all the surrounding trees. They scanned the big Basswood

without getting sight of their quarry. Caleb took a torch and found on

the bark some fresh mud. By going back on the trail to where it had

crossed the brook they found the footprint--undoubtedly that of a

large Coon.

"Reckon he's in some hollow; he's surely up that tree, and Basswood's

are always hollow."

Yan now looked at the large trunk in doubt as to whether he could

manage it.

Caleb remarked his perplexity and said: "Yes; that's so. You ain't

fifteen foot spread across the wings, are you? But hold on--"

He walked to a tall thin tree near at hand, cut it through with the

axe in a few minutes, and threw it so as to rest against the lowest

branch of the big Basswood. Up this Yan easily swarmed, carrying a

stout Elm stick tied behind. When he got to the great Basswood he felt

lost in the green mass, but the boys below carried torches so as to

shed light on each part in turn. At first Yan found neither hole in

the trunk nor Coon, but after long search in the upper branches he saw

a great ball of fur on a high crotch and in it two glowing eyes that

gave him a thrill. He yelled: "Here he is! Look out below." He climbed

up nearer and tried to push the Coon off, but it braced itself firmly

and defied him until he climbed above it, when it leaped and scrambled

to a lower branch.

Yan followed it, while his companions below got greatly excited, as

they could see nothing, and only judged by the growling and snarling

that Yan and the Coon were fighting. After another passage at arms

the Coon left the second crotch and scrambled down the trunk till it

reached the leaning sapling, and there perched, glaring at the hunters

below. The old Hound raised a howl when he saw the quarry, and Caleb,

stepping to one side, drew his revolver and fired. The Coon fell dead

into their midst. Turk sprang to do battle, but he was not needed, and

Caleb fondly and proudly wiped the old white pistol as though it alone

were to be thanked for the clever shot.

Yan came down quickly, though he found it harder to get down than up.

He hurried excitedly into the ring and stroked the Coon with a mixture

of feelings--admiring its fur--sorry, after all, that it was killed,

and triumphant that he had led the way. _It was his Coon_, and

all admitted that. Sam "hefted" it by one leg and said, "Weighs thirty

pounds, I bet."

Guy said: "Pooh! Tain't half as big as that there big Woodchuck I

killed, an' you never would have got him if I hadn't thought of the

axe."

Yan thought it would weigh thirty-five pounds. Caleb guessed it at

twenty-five (and afterward they found out that it barely weighed

eighteen). While they were thus talking the Dog broke into an angry

barking such as he gave for strangers--his "human voice," Caleb called

it--and at once there stepped into the circle William Raften. He had

seen the lights in the woods, and, dreading a fire at this dry season,

had dressed and come out.

"Hello, Da; why ain't you in bed, where you ought to be?"

Raften took no notice of his son, but said sneeringly to Caleb: "Ye

ain't out trying to get another shot at me, air ye?" 'Tain't worth

your while; I hain't got no cash on me to-night."

"Now see here, Da," said Sam, interrupting before Caleb could answer,

"you don't play fair. I know, an' you ought to know, that's all rot

about Caleb shooting at you. If he had, he'd 'a' got you sure. I've

seen him shoot."

"Not when he was drunk."

"Last time I was drunk we was in it together," said Caleb fiercely,

finding his voice.

"Purty good for a man as swore he had no revolver," and Raften pointed

to Caleb's weapon. "I seen you with that ten years ago. An' sure

I'm not scairt of you an' yer revolver," said Raften, seeing Caleb

fingering his white pet; "an' I tell ye this. I won't have ye and yer

Sheep-killing cur ramatacking through my woods an' making fires this

dry saison."

"D---- you, Raften, I've stood all I'm goin' to stand from you." The

revolver was out in a flash, and doubtless Caleb would have lived up

to his reputation, but Sam, springing to push his father back, came

between, and Yan clung to Caleb's revolver arm, while Guy got safely

behind a tree.

"Get out o' the way, you kids!" snarled Caleb.

"By all manes," said Raften scoffingly; "now that he's got me

unarrumed again. You dhirty coward! Get out av the way, bhoys, an

Oi'll settle him," for Raften was incapable of fear, and the boys

would have been thrust aside and trouble follow, but that Raften as he

left the house had called his two hired men to follow and help fight

the fire, and now they came on the scene. One of them was quite

friendly with Caleb, the other neutral, and they succeeded in stopping

hostilities for a time, while Sam exploded:

"Now see here, Da, 'twould just 'a' served you right if you'd got a

hole through you. You make me sick, running on Caleb. He didn't make

that fire; 'twas me an' Yan, an' we'll put it out safe enough. You

skinned Caleb an' he never done you no harm. You run on him just as

Granny de Neuville done on you after she grabbed your groceries. You

ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tain't square, an' 'tain't being a

man. When you can't prove nothin' you ought to shut up."

Raften was somewhat taken aback by this outburst, especially as he

found all the company against him. He had often laughed at Granny de

Neuville's active hatred against him when he had done her nothing but

good. It never occurred to him that he was acting a similar part. Most

men would have been furious at the disrespectful manner of their son,

but Raften was as insensitive as he was uncowardly. His first shock

of astonishment over, his only thought of Sam was, "Hain't he got a

cheek! My! but he talks like a lawyer, an' he sasses right back like a

fightin' man; belave I'll make him study law instid of tooth-pullin'."

The storm was over, for Caleb's wrath was of the short and fierce

kind, and Raften, turning away in moral defeat, growled: "See that ye

put that fire out safe. Ye ought all to be in yer beds an' aslape,

like dacint folks."

"Well, ain't you dacint?" retorted Sam.

Raften turned away, heeding neither that nor Guy's shrill attempt

to interpolate some details of his own importance in this present

hunt--"Ef it hadn't been for me they wouldn't had no axe along, Mr.

Raften"--but William had disappeared.

The boys put out the fire carefully and made somewhat silently for

camp. Sam and Yan carried the Coon between them on a stick, and before

they reached the teepee they agreed that the carcass weighed at least

eighty pounds.

Caleb left them, and they all turned in at once and slept the sleep of

the tired camper.

XXIII

The Banshee's Wail and the Huge Night Prowler

Next day while working on the Coon-skin Sam and Yan discussed

thoroughly the unpleasant incident of the night before, but they

decided that it would be unwise to speak of it to Caleb unless he

should bring up the subject, and Guy was duly cautioned.

That morning Yan went to the mud albums on one of his regular rounds

and again found, first that curious hoof-mark that had puzzled

him before, and down by the pond album the track of a very large

bird--much like a Turkey track, indeed. He brought Caleb to see them.

The Trapper said that one was probably the track of a Blue Crane

(Heron), and the other, "Well, I don't hardly know; but it looks to me

mighty like the track of a big Buck--only there ain't any short of the

Long Swamp, and that's ten miles at least. Of course, _when there's

only out it ain't a track_; it's an accident."

"Yes; but I've found lots of them--a trail every time, but not quite

enough to follow."

That night after dark, when he was coming to camp with the product of

a "massacree," Yan heard a peculiar squawking, guttural sound that

rose from the edge of the pond and increased in strength, drawing

nearer, till it was a hideous and terrifying uproar. It was exactly

the sound that Guy had provoked on that first night when he came and

tried to frighten the camp. It passed overhead, and Yan saw for a

moment the form of a large slow-flying bird.

Next day it was Yan's turn to cook. At sunrise, as he went for water,

he saw a large Blue Heron rise from the edge of the pond and fly on

heavy pinions away over the tree-tops. It was a thrilling sight. The

boy stood gazing after it, absolutely rapt with delight, and when it

was gone he went to the place where it rose and found plenty of large

tracks just like the one he had sketched. Unquestionably it was the

same bird as on the night before, and the mystery of the Wolf with the

sore throat was solved. This explanation seemed quite satisfactory to

everybody but Guy. He had always maintained stoutly that the woods

were full of Bears right after sundown. Where they went at other times

was a mystery, but he "reckoned he hadn't yet run across the bird that

could scare him--no, nor the beast, nuther."

Caleb agreed that the grating cry must be that of the Blue Crane, but

the screech and wail in the tree-tops at night he could shed no light

on.

There were many other voices of the night that became more or less

familiar. Some of them were evidently birds; one was the familiar

Song-Sparrow, and high over the tree-tops from the gloaming sky they

often heard a prolonged sweet song. It was not till years afterward

that Yan found out this to be the night-song of the Oven-bird, but he

was able to tell them at once the cause of the startling outcry that

happened one evening an hour after sundown.

The Woodpecker was outside, the other two inside the teepee. A

peculiar sound fell on his ear. It kept on--a succession of long

whines, and getting stronger. As it gave no sign of ending, Sam called

the other boys. They stood in a row there and heard this peculiar

"_whine, whine, whine_" develop into a loud, harsh "_whow,

whow, whow_."

"It must be some new Heron cry," Yan whispered.

But the sound kept on increasing till it most resembled the yowling

of a very strong-voiced Cat, and still grew till each separate

"_meow_" might have been the yell of a Panther. Then at its

highest and loudest there was a prolonged "_meow"_ and silence,

followed finally by the sweet chant of the Song-sparrow.

A great light dawned on Little Beaver. Now he remembered that voice in

Glenyan so long ago, and told the others with an air of certainty:

"Boys, that's the yelling of a Lynx," and the next day Caleb said that

Yan was right.

Some days later they learned that another lamb had been taken from the

Raften flock that night.

In the morning Yan took down the tom-tom for a little music and found

it flat and soft.

"Hallo," said he; "going to rain."

Caleb looked up at him with an amused expression. "You're a reg'lar

Injun. It's surely an Injun trick that. When the tom-tom won't sing

without being warmed at the fire they allus says 'rain before night.'"

The Trapper stayed late that evening. It had been cloudy all the

afternoon, and at sundown it began to rain, so he was invited to

supper. The shower grew heavier instead of ending. Caleb went out and

dug a trench all round the teepee to catch the rain, then a leader to

take it away. After supper they sat around the campfire in the teepee;

the wind arose and the rain beat down. Yan had to go out and swing the

smoke poles, and again his ear was greeted with _the screech_. He

brought in an armful of wood and made the inside of the teepee a blaze

of cheerful light. A high wind now came in gusts, so that the canvas

flopped unpleasantly on the poles.

"Where's your anchor rope?" asked the Trapper.

Sam produced the loose end; the other was fastened properly to the

poles above. It had never been used, for so far the weather had been

fine; but now Caleb sunk a heavy stake, lashed the anchor rope to that,

then went out and drove all the pegs a little deeper, and the Tribe

felt safe from any ordinary storm.

There was nothing to attract the old Trapper to his own shanty. His

heirs had begun to forget that he needed food, and what little they

did send was of vilest quality. The old man was as fond of human

society as any one, and was easily persuaded now to stay all night,

"if you can stand Guy for a bedfeller." So Caleb and Turk settled down

for a comfortable evening within, while the storm raged without.

"Say, don't you touch that canvas, Guy; you'll make it leak."

"What, me? Oh, pshaw! How can it leak for a little thing like that?"

and Guy slapped it again in bravado.

"All right, it's on your side of the bed," and sure enough, within two

minutes a little stream of water was trickling from the place he had

rubbed, while elsewhere the canvas turned every drop.

This is well known to all who have camped under canvas during a storm,

and is more easily remembered than explained.

The smoke hung heavy in the top of the teepee and kept crowding down

until it became unpleasant.

"Lift the teepee cover on the windward side, Yan. There, that's

it--but hold on," as a great gust came in, driving the smoke and ashes

around in whirlwinds. "You had ought to have a lining. Give me that

canvas: that'll do." Taking great care not to touch the teepee cover,

Caleb fastened the lining across three pole spaces so that the opening

under the canvas was behind it. This turned the draught from their

backs and, sending it over their heads, quickly cleared the teepee of

smoke as well as kept off what little rain entered by the smoke hole.

"It's on them linings the Injuns paint their records and adventures.

They mostly puts their totems on the outside an' their records on the

lining."

"Bully," said Sam; "now there's a job for you. Little Beaver; by the

time you get our adventures on the inside and our totems on the out I

tell you we'll be living in splendour."

"I think," answered Yan indirectly, "we ought to take Mr. Clark into

the Tribe. Will you be our Medicine Man?" Caleb chuckled in a quiet

way, apparently consenting. "Now I have four totems to paint on the

outside," and this was the beginning of the teepee painting that Yan

carried out with yellow clay, blue clay dried to a white, yellow clay

burned to red, and charcoal, all ground in Coon grease and Pine gum,

to be properly Indian. He could easily have gotten bright colours

in oil paint, but scorned such White-man's truck, and doubtless the

general effect was all the better for it.

"Say, Caleb," piped Guy, "tell us about the Injuns--about their

bravery. Bravery is what _I_ like," he added with emphasis,

conscious of being now on his own special ground. "Why, I mind the

time that old Woodchuck was coming roaring at me--I bet some fellers

would just 'a' been so scared--"

"_Hssh!_" said Sam.

Caleb smoked in silence. The rain pattered on the teepee without; the

wind heaved the cover. They all sat silently. Then sounded loud

and clear a terrifying "_scrrrrrr--oouwurr_." The boys were

startled--would have been terrified had they been outside or alone.

"That's it--that's the Banshee," whispered Sam.

Caleb looked up sharply.

"What is it?" queried Yan. "We've heard it a dozen times, at least."

Caleb shook his head, made no reply, but turned to his Dog. Turk was

lying on his side by the fire, and at this piercing screech he had

merely lifted his head, looked backward over his shoulder, turned his

big sad eyes on his master, then laid down again.

"Turk don't take no stock in it."