"Dogs never hear a Banshee," objected Sam, "no more than they can see

a ghost; anyway, that's what Granny de Neuville says." So the Dog's

negative testimony was the reverse of comforting.

"Hawkeye," said the Woodpecker, "you're the bravest one of the crowd.

Don't you want to go out and try a shot at the Banshee? I'll lend you

my Witch-hazel arrow. We'll give you a _grand coup_ feather if

you hit him. Go ahead, now--you know bravery is what _you_ like."

"Yer nothin' but a passel o' blame dumb fools," was the answer, "an' I

wouldn't be bothered talking to ye. Caleb, tell us something about the

Indians."

"What the Injuns love is bravery," said the Medicine Man with a

twinkle in his eye, and everybody but Guy laughed, not very loudly,

for each was restrained by the thought that _he_ would rather not

be called upon to show his bravery to-night.

"I'm going to bed," said Hawkeye with unnecessary energy.

"Don't forget to roost under the waterspout you started when you got

funny," remarked the Woodpecker.

Yan soon followed Guy's example, and Sam, who had already learned to

smoke, sat up with Caleb. Not a word passed between them until after

Guy's snore and Yan's regular puffs told of sound sleep, when Sam,

taking advantage of a long-awaited chance, opened out rather abruptly:

"Say, Caleb, I ain't going to side with no man against Da, but I know

him just about as well as he knows me. Da's all right; he's plumb and

square, and way down deep he's got an awful kind heart; it's pretty

deep, I grant you, but it's there, O.K. The things he does on the

quiet to help folks is done on the quiet and ain't noticed. The things

he does to beat folks--an' he does do plenty--is talked all over

creation. But I know he has a wrong notion of you, just as you have of

him, and it's got to be set right."

Sam's good sense was always evident, and now, when he laid aside his

buffoonery, his voice and manner were very impressive--more like those

of a grown man than of a fifteen-year-old boy.

Caleb simply grunted and went on smoking, so Sam continued, "I want to

hear your story, then Ma an' me'll soon fix Da."

The mention of "Ma" was a happy stroke. Caleb had known her from youth

as a kind-hearted girl. She was all gentleness and obedience to her

husband except in matters of what she considered right and wrong, and

here she was immovable. She had always believed in Caleb, even after

the row, and had not hesitated to make known her belief.

"There ain't much to tell," replied Caleb bitterly. "He done me on

that Horse-trade, an' crowded me on my note so I had to pay it off

with oats at sixty cents, then he turned round and sold them within

half an hour for seventy-five cents. We had words right there, an' I

believe I did say I'd fix him for it. I left Downey's Dump early that

day. He had about $300 in his pocket--$300 of my money--the last I had

in the world. He was too late to bank it, so was taking it home, when

he was fired at in going through the 'green bush'. My tobacco pouch

and some letters addressed to me was found there in the morning.

Course he blamed me, but I didn't have any shootin'-iron then; my

revolver, the white one, was stole from me a week before--along with

them same letters, I expect. I consider they was put there to lay the

blame on me, an' it was a little overdone, most folks would think.

Well, then your Da set Dick Pogue on me, an' I lost my farm--that's

all."

Sam smoked gravely for awhile, then continued:

"That's true about the note an' the oats an' the Horse-trade--just

what Da would do; that's all in the game: but you're all wrong about

Dick Pogue--that's too dirty for Da."

"_You_ may think so, but _I don't_."

Sam made no answer, but after a minute laid his hand on Turk, who

responded with a low growl. This made Caleb continue: "Down on me,

down on my Dog. Pogue says he kills Sheep 'an' every one is ready to

believe it. I never knowed a Hound turn Sheep-killer, an' I never

knowed a Sheep-killer kill at home, an' I never knowed a Sheep-killer

content with one each night, an' I never knowed a Sheep-killer leave

no tracks, an' Sheep was killed again and again when Turk was locked

up in the shanty with me."

"Well, whose Dog is it does it?"

"I don't know as it's any Dog, for part of the Sheep was eat each

time, they say, though I never seen one o' them that was killed or I

could tell. It's more likely a Fox or a Lynx than a Dog."

There was a long silence, then outside again the hair-lifting screech

to which the Dog paid no heed, although the Trapper and the boy were

evidently startled and scared.

They made up a blazing fire and turned in silently for the night.

The rain came down steadily, and the wind swept by in gusts. It was

the Banshee's hour, and two or three times, as they were dropping off,

that fearful, quavering human wail, "like a woman in distress," came

from the woods to set their hearts a-jumping, not Caleb and Sam only,

but all four.

In the diary which Yan kept of those times each day was named after

its event; there was Deer day, Skunk-and-Cat day, Blue Crane day, and

this was noted down as the night of the Banshee's wailing.

Caleb was up and had breakfast ready before the others were fully

awake. They had carefully kept and cleaned the Coon meat, and Caleb

made of it a "prairie pie," in which bacon, potatoes, bread, one small

onion and various scraps of food were made important. This, warmed

up for breakfast and washed down with coffee, made a royal meal, and

feasting they forgot the fears of the night.

The rain was over, but the wind kept on. Great blockish clouds were

tumbling across the upper sky Yan went out to look for tracks. He

found none but those of raindrops.

The day was spent chiefly about camp, making arrows and painting the

teepee.

Again Caleb was satisfied to sleep in the camp. The Banshee called

once that night, and again Turk seemed not to hear, but half an hour

later there was a different and much lower sound outside, a light,

nasal "_wow_." The boys scarcely heard it, but Turk sprang up

with bristling hair, growling, and forcing his way out under the door,

he ran, loudly barking, into the woods.

"He's after something now, all right," said his master; "and now he's

treed it," as the Dog began his high-pitched yelps.

"Good old Dog; he's treed the Banshee," and Yan rushed out into

the darkness. The others followed, and they found Turk barking and

scratching at a big leaning Beech, but could get no hint of what the

creature up it might be like.

"How does he usually bark for a Banshee?" asked the Woodpecker, but

got no satisfaction, and wondering why Turk should bother himself so

mightily over a little squeal and never hear that awful scream, they

retired to camp.

Next morning in the mud not far from the teepee Yan found the track of

a common Cat, and shrewdly guessed that this was the prowler that had

been heard and treed by the Dog; probably it was his old friend of the

Skunk fight. The wind was still high, and as Yan pored over the tracks

he heard for the first time in broad daylight the appalling screech.

It certainly was _loud_, though less dreadful than at night, and

peering up Yan saw _two large limbs that crossed and rubbed each

other, when the right puff of wind came_. This was the Banshee that

did the wailing that had scared them all--_all but the Dog_. His

keener senses, unspoiled by superstition, had rightly judged the awful

sound as the harmless scraping of two limbs in the high wind, but the

lower, softer noise made by the prowling Cat he had just as truly

placed and keenly followed up.

Guy was the only one not convinced. He clung to his theory of Bears.

Late in the night the two Chiefs were awakened by Guy. "Say, Sam--Sam.

Yan--Yan--Yan--Yan, get up; that big Bear is 'round again. I told you

there was a Bear, an' you wouldn't believe me."

There was a loud champing sound outside, and occasionally growls or

grumbling.

"There's surely something there, Sam. I wish Turk and Caleb were here

now."

The boys opened the door a little and peered out. There, looming up in

the dim starlight, was a huge black animal, picking up scraps of meat

and digging up the tins that were buried in the garbage hole. All

doubts were dispelled. Guy had another triumph, and he would have

expressed his feelings to the full but for fear of the monster

outside.

"What had we better do?"

"Better not shoot him with arrows. That'll only rile him. Guy, you

blow up the coals and get a blaze."

All was intense excitement now, "Oh, why haven't we got a gun!"

"Say, Sam, while Sap--I mean Hawkeye--makes a blaze, let's you and me

shoot with blunt arrows, if the Bear comes toward the teepee." So they

arranged themselves, Guy puttering in terror at the fire and begging

them not to shoot.

"What's the good o' riling him? It--it--it's croo-oo-el."

Sam and Yan stood with bows ready and arrows nocked.

Guy was making a failure of the fire, and the Bear began nosing

nearer, champing his teeth and grunting. Now the boys could see the

great ears as the monster threw up its head.

"Let's shoot before he gets any nearer." At this Guy promptly

abandoned further attempts to make a fire and scrambled up on a cross

stick that was high in the teepee for hanging the pot. He broke out

into tears when he saw Sam and Yan actually drawing their bows.

"He'll come in and eat us, he will."

But the Bear was coming anyway, and having the two tomahawks ready,

the boys let fly. At once the Bear wheeled and ran off, uttering the

loud, unmistakable squeal of an old Pig--Burns's own Pig--for young

Burns had again forgotten to put up the bars that crossed his trail

from the homestead to the camp.

Guy came down quickly to join in the laugh. "I tole you fellers not to

shoot. I just believed it was our old Hog, an' I couldn't help crying

when I thought how mad Paw'd be when he found out."

"I s'pose you got up on that cross pole to see if Paw was coming,

didn't you?"

"No; he got up there to show how brave he was."

This was the huge night prowler that Guy had seen, and in the morning

one more mystery was explained, for careful examination of Yan's diary

of the big Buck's track showed that it was nothing more than the track

of Burns's old Hog. Why had Caleb and Raften both been mistaken?

First, because it was a long time since they had seen a Buck track,

and second, because this Pig happened to have a very unpiggy foot--one

as much like that of a Buck as of a Hog.

XXIV

Hawkeye Claims Another Grand Coup

"_Wa wa wa wa wa! Wa wa wa wa wa! Wa wa wa wa wa!_" Three times it

echoed through the woods--a loud, triumphant cry.

"That's Hawkeye with a big story of bravery; let's hide."

So Sam and Yan scrambled quickly into the teepee, hid behind the

lining and watched through an "arrow hole." Guy came proudly stepping,

chin in air, uttering his war-whoop at intervals as he drew near, and

carrying his coat bundled up under one arm.

"_Coup! Grand coup! Wa wa wa wa!_" he yelled again and again, but

looked simple and foolish when he found the camp apparently deserted.

So he ceased his yells and, walking deliberately into the teepee,

pulled out the sugar box and was stuffing a handful into his mouth

when the other two Chiefs let off their wildest howls and, leaping

from their concealment, chased him into the woods--not far, for Yan

laughed too much, and Sam had on but one boot.

This was their re-gathering after a new search for adventures. Early

in the morning, as he wiped off the breakfast knives by sticking them

into the sod, the Second War Chief had suggested: "Say, boys, in old

days Warriors would sometimes set out in different directions in

search of adventure, then agree to meet at a given time. Let's do that

to-day and see what we run across."

"Get your straws," was Woodpecker's reply, as he returned from putting

the scraps on the Wakan Rock.

"No you don't," put in Hawkeye hastily; "at least, not unless you let

me hold the straws. I know you'll fix it so I'll have to go home."

"All right. You can hold the three straws; long one is

Woodpecker--that's his head with a bit of red flannel to prevent

mistakes; the middle-sized thin one is me; and the short fat one is

you. Now let them drop. Sudden death and no try over."

The straws fell, and the two boys gave a yell as Hawkeye's fate

pointed straight to the Burns homestead.

"Oh, get out; that's no good. We'll take the other end," he said

angrily, and persisted in going the opposite way.

"Now we all got to go straight till we find something, and meet here

again when that streak of sunlight gets around in the teepee to that

pole."

As the sunstreak, which was their Indian clock, travelled just about

one pole for two hours, this gave about four hours for adventures.

Sam and Yan had been back some minutes, and now Guy, having recovered

his composure, bothered not to wipe the stolen sugar from his lips,

but broke out eagerly:

"Say, fellers, I bet I'm the bully boy. I bet you I--"

"Silence!" roared Woodpecker. "You come last."

"All right; I don't care. I bet I win over all of you. I bet a million

dollars I do."

"Go ahead, Chief Woodpecker-settin'-on-the-edge."

So Sam began:

"I pulls on my boots" [he went barefooted half the time]. "Oh, I tell

you I know when to wear my boots--an' I set out following my straw

line straight out. I don't take no back track. _I'm_ not scared

of the front trail," and he turned his little slit eyes sadly on Guy,

"and I kep' right on, and when I came to the dry bed of the creek it

didn't turn _me_; no, not a dozen rods; and I kept right till I

came to a Wasp's nest, and I turned and went round that coz it's

cruel to go blundering into a nest of a lot of poor innocent little

Wasps--and I kep' on, till I heard a low growl, and I looked up and

didn't see a thing. Then the growling got louder, and I seen it was a

hungry Chipmunk roaring at me and jest getting ready to spring. Then

when I got out my bonearrer he says to me, he says, as bold as brass

'Is your name Woodpecker?' Now that scared me, and so I told a lie--my

very first. I says, says I. 'No,' says I. 'I'm Hawkeye.' Well, you

should 'a seen him. He just turned pale; every stripe on his back

faded _when I said that name_, and he made for a hollow log and

got in. Now I was mad, and tried to get him out, but when I'd run to

one end he'd run to the other, so we ran up and down till I had a

deep-worn trail alongside the log, an' he had a deep-worn trail inside

the log, an' I was figgerin' to have him wear it right through at the

bottom so the log'd open, but all of a sudden I says, 'I know what to

do for you.' I took off my boot and stuffs the leg into one end of the

log. Then I rattles a stick at the other end and I heard him run into

the boot. Then I squeezes in the leg and ties a string around it an'

brings him home, me wearing one boot and the Chipmunk the other, and

there he is in it now," and Sam curled up his free bunch of toes in

graphic comment and added: "Humph! I s'pose you fellers thought I

didn't know what I was about when I drawed on my long boots this

morning."

"Well, I just want to see that Chipmunk an' maybe I'll believe you."

"In there hunting for a loose patch," and Sam held up the boot.

"Let's turn him out," suggested the Second Chief.

So the string was cut and the Chipmunk scrambled out and away to a

safer refuge.

"Now, sonny," said Sam, as it disappeared, "don't tell your folks what

happened you or they'll swat you for a liar."

"Oh, shucks! That's no adventure. Why, I--"

"Hold on, Hawkeye; Little Beaver next."

"Well, I don't care. I bet I--"

Sam grabbed his knife and interrupted: "Do you know what Callahan's

spring lamb did when it saw the old man gathering mint? Go ahead,

Little Beaver."

"I hadn't much of an adventure, but I went straight through the woods

where my straw pointed and ran into a big dead stub. It was too old

and rotten for Birds to use now, as well as too late in the season, so

I got a pole and pushed it over, and I found the whole history of a

tenement in that stub. First of all, a Flicker had come years ago

and dug put a fine big nesting-place, and used it maybe two or three

times. When he was through, or maybe between seasons, the Chickadees

made a winter den of it, for there were some Chickadee tail-feathers

in the bottom. Next a Purple Blackbird came and used the hole, piling

up a lot of roots with mud on them. Next year it seems it came again

and made another nest on top of the last; then that winter the

Chickadees again used it for a cubby-hole, for there were some more

Chickadee feathers. Next year a Blue Jay found it out and nested

there. I found some of her egg-shells among the soft stuff of the

nest. Then I suppose a year after a pair of Sparrow-hawks happened on

the place, found it suited them, and made their nest in it and hatched

a brood of little Sparrow-hawks. Well, one day this bold robber

brought home to his little ones a Shrew."

"What's that?"

"Oh, a little thing like a Mouse, only it isn't a Mouse at all; it is

second cousin to a Mole."

"I allus thought a Mole _was_ a Mouse specie," remarked Hawkeye,

not satisfied with Yan's distinction.

"Oh, you!" interrupted Sam. "You'll try to make out the Burnses is

some kin to the Raftens next."

"I bet I won't!" and for once Guy got even.

"Well," Yan continued, "it so happened--about the first time in about

a million years--the little Hawks were not hungry just then. The Shrew

wasn't gobbled up at once, and though wounded, it set to work to

escape as soon as it was free of the old one's claws. First it hid

under the little ones, then it began to burrow down through the

feather-bed of the Sparrow-hawk's nest, then through the Blue Jay's

nest, then through the soft stuff of the Blackbird's nest and among

the old truck left by the Chickadees till it struck the hard mud

floor of the Blackbird's nest, and through that it could not dig. Its

strength gave out now, and it died there and lay hidden in the lowest

nest of the house, till years after I came by and broke open the old

stub and made it tell me a sad and mournful story--that--maybe--never

happened at all. But there's the drawing I made of it at the place,

showing all the nests just as I found them, and there's the dried up

body of the little Shrew."

Sam listened with intense interest, but Guy was at no pains to conceal

his contempt. "Oh, pshaw! That's no adventure--just a whole lot of

's'posens' without a blame thing doing. Now I'll tell you what I done.

I--"

"Now, Hawkeye," Sam put in, "please don't be rough about it. Leave out

the awful things: I ain't well to-day. You keep back the scary parts

till to-morrow."

"I tell you I left here and went straight as a die, an' I seen a

Woodchuck, but he wasn't in line, so I says: 'No, some other day. I

kin get you _easy_ any time.' Then I seen a Hawk going off with

a Chicken, but that was off my beat, an' I found lots o' old stumps

an' hundreds o' Chipmunks an' wouldn't be bothered with them. Then I

come to a farmhouse an'--an' I went around that so's not to scare the

Dog, an' I went pretty near as far as Downey's Dump--yes, a little

a-past it--only to one side--when up jumps a Partridge as big as a

Turkey, an' a hull gang of young ones--about thirty or forty. I bet I

seen them forty rod away, an' they all flew, but one that lighted on

a tree as far as--oh, 'cross that field, anyway. I bet you fellers

wouldn't 'a' seen it at all. Well, I jest hauled off as ca'm as ca'm

an' let him have it. I aimed straight for his eye--an' that's where I

hit him. _Now who gets a grand coup, for there he is_!" Hawkeye

unrolled his coat and turned out a bobtailed young Robin in the

speckled plumage, shot through the body.

"So that's your Partridge. I call that a young Robin," said the First

Chief with slow emphasis. "Rules is broke. Killed a Song-bird. Little

Beaver, arrest the criminal."

But Hawkeye struggled with all the ferocity born of his recent

exploit, and had to be bound hand and foot while a full Council was

called to try the case. The angry protests weakened when he found how

serious the Councillors were. Finally he pleaded "guilty" and was

condemned to wear a black feather of disgrace and a white feather for

cowardice for three days, as well as wash the dishes for a week. They

would also have made him cook for that term, but that they had had

some unhappy experiences with some dishes of Guy's make.

"Well, I won't do it, that's all," was the prisoner's defiant retort.

"I'll go home first."

"And hoe the garden? Oh, yes; I think I see you."

"Well, I won't do it. You better let me 'lone."

"Little Beaver, what do they do when an Injun won't obey the Council?"

"Strip him of his honours. Do you remember that stick we burned with

'Sapwood' on it?"

"Good idee. We'll burn Hawkeye for a name and dig up the old one"

"No, you won't, you dirty mean Skunks! Ye promised me you'd never call

me that again. I _am_ Hawkeye. I kin see farder'n--n--" and he

began to weep.

"Well, will you obey the Council?"

"Yes; but I won't wear no white feather--I'm _brave_, boohoo!"

"All right. We'll leave that off; but you must do the other

punishments.

"Will I still be Hawkeye?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'll do it."

XXV

The Three-Fingered Tramp.

Broad-shouldered, beetle-browed, brutal and lazy was Bill Hennard, son

of a prosperous settler. He had inherited a fine farm, but he was

as lazy as he was strong, and had soon run through his property and

followed the usual course from laziness to crime. Bill had seen the

inside of more than one jail. He was widely known in the adjoining

township of Emolan; many petty thefts were traced to him, and it was

openly stated that but for the help of a rich and clever confederate

he would certainly be in the penitentiary. It was darkly hinted,

further, that this confederate was a well-to-do Sangerite who had many

farms and a wife and son and a little daughter, and his first name was

William, and his second name Ra---- "But never mind; and don't for the

world say I told you." Oh, it's easy to get rich--if you know how. Of

course, these rumours never reached the parties chiefly concerned.

Hennard had left Downey's Dump the evening before, and avoiding the

roads, had struck through the woods, to visit his partner, with

important matters to arrange--very important for Hennard. He was much

fuddled when he left Downey's, the night was cloudy, and consequently

he had wandered round and round till he was completely lost. He slept

under a tree (a cold, miserable sleep it was), and in the sunless

morning he set out with little certainty to find his "pal." After

some time he stumbled on the trail that led him to the boys' camp. He

was now savage with hunger and annoyance, and reckless with bottle

assistance, for he carried a flask. No longer avoiding being seen, he

walked up to the teepee just as Little Beaver was frying meat for the

noonday meal he expected to eat alone. At the sound of footsteps Yan

turned, supposing that one of his companions had come back, but there

instead was a big, rough-looking tramp.

[Illustration: "Well, sonny, cookin' dinner?"]

"Well, sonny, cookin' dinner? I'll be glad to j'ine ye," he said with

an unpleasant and fawning smile.

His manner was as repulsive as it could be, though he kept the form of

politeness.

"Where's your folks, sonny?"

"Haven't any--here," replied Yan, in some fear, remembering now the

tramps of Glenyan.

"H-m--all alone--camped all alone, are ye?"

"The other fellers are away till the afternoon."

"Wall, how nice. Glad to know it. I'll trouble you to hand me that

stick," and now the tramp's manner changed from fawning to command, as

he pointed to Yan's bow hanging unstrung.

"That's my bow!" replied Yan, in fear and indignation.

"I won't tell ye a second time--hand me that stick, or I'll

spifflicate ye."

Yan stood still. The desperado strode forward, seized the bow, and

gave him two or three blows on the back and legs.

"Now, you young Pup, get me my dinner, and be quick about it, or I'll

break yer useless neck."

Yan now realized that he had fallen into the power of the worst enemy

of the harmless camper, and saw too late the folly of neglecting

Raften's advice to have a big Dog in camp. He glanced around and would

have run, but the tramp was too quick for him and grabbed him by the

collar. "Oh, no you don't; hold on, sonny. I'll fix you so you'll do

as you're told." He cut the bowstring from its place, and violently

throwing Yan down, he tied his feet so that they had about eighteen

inches' play.

"Now rush around and get my dinner; I'm hungry. An' don't you spile it

in the cooking or I'll use the gad on you; an' if you holler or cut

that cord I'll kill ye. See that?" and he got out an ugly-looking

knife.

Tears of fear and pain ran down Yan's face as he limped about to obey

the brute's orders.

"Here, you move a little faster!" and the tramp turned from poking the

fire with the bow to give another sounding blow. If he had looked down

the trail he would have seen a small tow-topped figure that turned and

scurried away at the sound.

Yan was trained to bear punishment, but the tyrant seemed careless of

even his life.

"Are you going to kill me?" he burst out, after another attack for

stumbling in his shackles.

"Don't know but I will when I've got through with ye," replied the

desperado with brutal coolness. "I'll take some more o' that meat--an'

don't you let it burn, neither. Where's the sugar for the coffee? I'll

get a bigger club if ye don't look spry," and so the tramp was served

with his meal. "Now bring me some tobaccer."

Yan hobbled into the teepee and reached down Sam's tobacco bag.

"Here, what's that box? Bring that out here," and the tramp pointed to

the box in which they kept some spare clothes. Yan obeyed in fear and

trembling. "Open it."

"I can't. It's locked, and Sam has the key."

"He has, has he? Well, I have a key that will open it," and so he

smashed the lid with the axe; then he went through the pockets, got

Yan's old silver watch and chain, and in Sam's trousers pocket he got

two dollars.

"Ha! That's just what I want, sonny," and the tramp put them in his

own pockets. "'Pears to me the fire needs a little wood," he remarked,

as his eye fell on Yan's quiverful of arrows, and he gave that a kick

that sent many of them into the blaze.

"Now, sonny, don't look at me quite so hard, like you was taking

notes, or I may have to cut your throat and put you in the swamp hole

to keep ye from telling tales."

Yan was truly in terror of his life now.

"Bring me the whetstone," the tyrant growled, "an' some more coffee."

Yan did so. The tramp began whetting his long knife, and Yan saw

two things that stuck in his memory: first, the knife, which was of

hunting pattern, had a brass Deer on the handle; second, the hand that

grasped it had only three fingers.

"What's that other box in there?"

"That's--that's--only our food box."

"You lie to me, will ye?" and again the stick descended. "Haul it

out."

"I can't."

"Haul it out or I'll choke ye."

Yan tried, but it was too heavy.

"Get out, you useless Pup!" and the tramp walked into the teepee and

gave Yan a push that sent him headlong out on the ground.

The boy was badly bruised, but saw his only chance. The big knife was

there. He seized it, cut the cord on his legs, flung the knife afar

in the swamp and ran like a Deer. The tramp rushed out of the teepee

yelling and cursing. Yan might have gotten away had he been in good

shape, but the tramp's cruelty really had crippled him, and the brute

was rapidly overtaking him. As he sped down the handiest, the south

trail, he sighted in the trees ahead a familiar figure, and yelling

with all his remaining strength, "Caleb! Caleb!! Caleb Clark!!!" he

fell swooning in the grass.

There is no mistaking the voice of dire distress. Caleb hurried up,

and with one impulse he and the tramp grappled in deadly struggle.

Turk was not with his master, and the tramp had lost his knife, so it

was a hand-to-hand conflict. A few clinches, a few heavy blows, and

it was easy to see who must win. Caleb was old and slight. The tramp,

strong, heavy-built, and just drunk enough to be dangerous, was too

much for him, and after a couple of rounds the Trapper fell writhing

with a foul blow. The tramp felt again for his knife, swore savagely,

looked around for a club, found only a big stone, and would have done

no one knows what, when there was a yell from behind, another big man

crashed down the trail, and the tramp faced William Raften, puffing

and panting, with Guy close behind. The stone meant for Caleb he

hurled at William, who dodged it, and now there was an even fight. Had

the tramp had his knife it might have gone hard with Raften, but fist

to fist the farmer had the odds. His old-time science turned the

day, and the desperado went down with a crusher "straight from the

shoulder."

It seemed a veritable battle-field--three on the ground and Raften,

red-faced and puffing, but sturdy and fearless, standing in utter

perplexity.

"Phwhat the divil does it all mane?"

"I'll tell you, Mr. Raften," chirped in Guy, as he stole from his safe

shelter.

"Oh, ye're here, are ye, Guy? Go and git a rope at camp--quick now,"

as the tramp began to move.

As soon as the rope came Raften tied the fellow's arms safely.

"'Pears to me Oi've sane that hand befoore," remarked Raften, as the

three fingers caught his eye.

Yan was now sitting up, gazing about in a dazed way. Raften went over

to his old partner and said: "Caleb, air ye hurrt? It's me--it's Bill

Raften. Air ye hurrt?"

Caleb rolled his eyes and looked around.

Yan came over now and knelt down. "Are you hurt, Mr. Clark?"

He shook his head and pointed to his chest.

"He's got his wind knocked out," Raften explained; "he'll be all right

in a minute or two. Guy, bring some wather."

Yan told his story and Guy supplied an important chapter. He had

returned earlier than expected, and was near to camp, when he heard

the tramp beating Yan. His first impulse to run home to his puny

father was replaced with the wiser one to go for brawny Mr. Raften.

The tramp was now sitting up and grumbling savagely.

"Now, me foine feller," said William. "We'll take ye back to camp for

a little visit before we take ye to the 'Pen.' A year in the cooler

will do ye moore good, Oi'm thinkin', than anny other tratement. Here,

Guy, you take the end av the rope and fetch the feller to camp, while

I help Caleb."

Guy was in his glory. The tramp was forced to go ahead; Guy followed,

jerking the rope and playing Horse, shouting, "Ch'--ch'--ch'--get

up, Horsey," while William helped old Caleb with a gentleness that

recalled a time long ago when Caleb had so helped him after a falling

tree had nearly killed him in the woods.

At camp they found Sam. He was greatly astonished at the procession,

for he knew nothing of the day's events, and fearfully disappointed he

was on learning what he had missed.

Caleb still looked white and sick when they got him to the fire, and

Raften said, "Sam, go home and get your mother to give you a little

brandy."

"You don't need to go so far," said Yan, "for that fellow has a bottle

in his pocket."

"I wouldn't touch a dhrap of annything he has, let alone give it to a

_sick friend_," was William's reply.

So Sam went for the brandy and was back with it in half an hour.

"Here now, Caleb," said William, "drink that now an' ye'll feel

better," and as he offered the cup he felt a little reviving glow of

sympathy for his former comrade.

When Sam went home that morning it was with a very clear purpose.

He had gone straight to his mother and told all he knew about the

revolver and the misunderstanding with Caleb, and they two had had a

long, unsatisfactory interview with the father. Raften was brutal and

outspoken as usual. Mrs. Raften was calm and clear-witted. Sam was

shrewd. The result was a complete defeat for William--a defeat that he

would not acknowledge; and Sam came back to camp disappointed for the

time being, but now to witness the very thing he had been striving

for--his father and the Trapper reconciled; deadly enemies two hours

ago, but now made friends through a fight. Though overpowered in

argument, Raften's rancour was not abated, but rather increased toward

the man he had evidently misused, until the balance was turned by the

chance of his helping that man in a time of direst straits.

XXVI

WINNING BACK THE FARM

Oh, the magic of the campfire! No unkind feeling long withstands its

glow. For men to meet at the same campfire is to come closer, to have

better understanding of each other, and to lay the foundations of

lasting friendship. "He and I camped together once!" is enough to

explain all cordiality between the men most wide apart, and Woodcraft

days are days of memories happy, bright and lifelong.

To sit at the same camp fireside has always been a sacred bond, and

the scene of twenty years before was now renewed in the Raften woods,

thanks to that campfire lit a month before--the sacred fire. How well

it had been named! William and Caleb were camped together in good

fellowship again, marred though it was with awkwardness as yet, but

still good fellowship.

Raften was a magistrate. He sent Sam with an order to the constable

to come for the prisoner. Yan went to the house for provisions and to

bring Mrs. Raften, and Guy went home with an astonishing account of

his latest glorious doings. The tramp desperado was securely fastened

to a tree; Caleb was in the teepee lying down. Raften went in for a

few minutes, and when he came out the tramp was gone. His bonds were

cut, not slipped. How could he nave gotten away without help?

"Never mind," said Raften. "That three-fingered hand is aisy to

follow. Caleb, ain't that Bill Hennard?"

"I reckon."

The men had a long talk. Caleb told of the loss of his revolver--he

was still living in the house with the Pogues then--and of its

recovery. They both remembered that Hennard was close by at the time

of the quarrel over the Horse-trade. There was much that explained

itself and much of mystery that remained.

But one thing was clear. Caleb had been tricked out of everything he

had in the world, for it was just a question of days now before Pogue

would, in spite of Saryann, throw off all pretense and order Caleb

from the place to shift for himself.

Raften sat a long time thinking, then said:

"Caleb, you do exactly as Oi tell ye and ye'll get yer farrum back.

First, Oi'll lend ye wan thousand dollars for wan week."

_A thousand dollars!!!_ Caleb's eyes opened, and what was next he

did not then learn, for the boys came back and interrupted, but later

the old Trapper was fully instructed.

When Mrs. Raften heard of it she was thunderstruck. A thousand dollars

in Sanger was like one hundred thousand dollars in a big city. It was

untold wealth, and Mrs. Raften fairly gasped.

"A thousand dollars, William! Why! isn't that a heavy strain to put on

the honesty of a man who thinks still that he has some claim on you?

Is it safe to risk it?"

"Pooh!" said William. "Oi'm no money-lender, nor spring gosling

nayther. Thayer's the money Oi'll lend him," and Raften produced a

roll of counterfeit bills that he as magistrate had happened to have

in temporary custody. "Thayer's maybe five hundred or six hundred

dollars, but it's near enough."

Caleb, however, was allowed to think it real money, and fully

prepared, he called at his own--the Pogue house--the next day,

knocked, and walked in.

"Good morning, father," said Saryann, for she had some decency and

kindness.

"What do you want here?" said Dick savagely; "bad enough to have you

on the place, without forcing yerself on us day and night."

"Hush now, Dick; you forget--"

"Forget--I don't forget nothin'," retorted Dick, interrupting his

wife. "He had to help with the chores an' work, an' he don't do a

thing and expects to live on me."

"Oh, well, you won't have me long to bother you," said Caleb sadly,

as he tottered to a chair. His face was white and he looked sick and

shaky.

"What's the matter, father?"

"Oh, I'm pretty bad. I won't last much longer You'll be quit o' me

before many days."

"Big loss!" grumbled Dick.

"I--I give you my farm an' everything I had--"

"Oh, shut up. I'm sick of hearing about it."

"At least--'most--everything. I--I--I--didn't say nothing about a

little wad o'--o'--bills I had stored away. I--I--" and the old man

trembled violently--"I'm so cold."

"Dick, do make a fire," said his wife.

"I won't do no sich fool trick. It's roastin' hot now."

"'Tain't much," went on the trembling old man, "only fif--fif--teen

hundred--dollars. I got it here now," and he drew out the roll of

greenbacks.

_FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!_ Twice as much as the whole farm and

stock were worth! Dick's eyes fairly popped out, and Caleb was careful

to show also the handle of the white revolver.

"Why, father," exclaimed Saryann, "you are ill: Let me go get you some

brandy. Dick, make a fire. Father is cold as ice."

"Yes--please--fire--I'm all of--a--tremble--with--cold."

Dick rushed around now and soon the big fire place was filled with

blaze and the room unpleasantly warm.

"Here, father, have some brandy and water," said Dick, in a very

different tone. "Would you like a little quinine?"

"No, no--I'm better now; but I was saying--I only got a few days to

live, an' having no legal kin--this here wad'd go to the gover'ment,

but I spoke to the lawyer, an' all I need do--is--add--a word to the

deed o' gift--for the farm--to include this--an' it's very right you

should have it, too." Old Caleb shook from head to foot and coughed

terribly.

"Oh, father, let me send for the doctor," pleaded Saryann, and Dick

added feebly, "Yes, father, let me go for the doctor."

"No, no; never mind. It don't matter. I'll be better off soon. Have

you the deed o' gift here?"

"Oh, yes, Dick has it in his chest." Dick ran to get the deed, for

these were the days before registration in Canada; possession of the

deed was possession of the farm, and to lose the deed was to lose the

land.

The old man tremblingly fumbled over the money, seeming to count

it--"Yes--just--fif-teen hun'erd," as Dick came clumping down the

ladder with the deed.

"Have you got a--pen--and ink--"

Dick went for the dried-up ink bottle while Saryann hunted for

_the_ pen. Caleb's hand trembled violently as he took the

parchment, glanced carefully over it--yes, this was it--the thing that

had made him a despised pauper. He glanced around quickly. Dick and

Saryann were at the other end of the room. He rose, took one step

forward and stuffed the deed into the blazing fire. Holding his

revolver in his right hand and the poker in the left, he stood erect

and firm, all sign of weakness gone; his eyes were ablaze, and with

voice of stern command he hissed "_Stand back!_" And pointed the

pistol as he saw Dick rushing to rescue the deed. In a few seconds it

was wholly consumed, and with that, as all knew, the last claim of the

Pogues on the property, for Caleb's own possessory was safe in a vault

at Downey's.

"Now," thundered Caleb, "you dirty paupers, get out of my house! Get

off my land, and don't you dare touch a thing belonging to me."

He raised his voice in a long "halloo" and rapped three times on the

table. Steps were heard outside. Then in came Raften with two men.

"Magistrate Raften, clear my house of them interlopers, if ye please."

Caleb gave them a few minutes to gather up their own clothes, then

they set out on foot for Downey's, wild with helpless rage, penniless

wanderers in the world, as they had meant to leave old Caleb.

Now he was in possession of his own again, once more comfortably

"fixed." After the men had had their rough congratulations and

uproarious laughter over the success of the trick, Raften led up to

the question of money, then left a blank, wondering what Caleb would

do. The good old soul pulled out the wad.

"There it is, Bill. I hain't even counted it, and a thousand times

obliged. If ever you need a friend, call on me."

Raften chuckled, counted the greenbacks and said "All right!" and to

this day Caleb doesn't know that the fortune he held in his hand that

day was nothing but a lot of worthless paper.

A week later, as the old Trapper sat alone getting his evening meal,

there was a light rap at the door.

"Come in."

A woman entered. Turk had sprung up growling, but now wagged his tail,

and when she lifted a veil Caleb recognized Saryann.

"What do you want?" he demanded savagely.

"'Twasn't my doing, father; you know it wasn't; and now he's left me

for good." She told him her sorrowful story briefly. Dick had not

courted Saryann, but the farm, and now that that was gone he had no

further use for her. He had been leading a bad life, "far worse than

any one knew," and now he had plainly told her he was done with her.

Caleb's hot anger never lasted more than five minutes. He must have

felt that her story was true, for the order of former days was

reestablished, and with Saryann for housekeeper the old man had a

comfortable home to the end of his days.

Pogue disappeared; folks say he went to the States. The three-fingered

tramp never turned up again, and about this time the serious robberies

in the region ceased. Three years afterward they learned that two

burglars had been shot while escaping from an American penitentiary.

One of them was undoubtedly Dick Pogue, and the other was described as

a big dark man with three fingers on the right hand.

XXVII

THE RIVAL TRIBE

The winning back of the farm, according to Sanger custom must be

celebrated in a "sociable" that took the particular form of a grand

house-warming, in which the Raftens, Burnses and Boyles were fully

represented, as Char-less was Caleb's fast friend. The Injun band

was very prominent, for Caleb saw that it was entirely owing to the

meetings at the camp that the glad event had come about.

Caleb acted as go-between for Char-less Boyle and William Raften,

and their feud was forgotten--for the time at least--as they related

stories of their early hunting days, to the delight of Yan and the

Tribe. There were four other boys there whom Little Beaver met for the

first time. They were Wesley Boyle, a dark-skinned, low-browed, active

boy of Sam's age; his brother Peter, about twelve, fair, fat and

freckled, and with a marvellous squint; and their cousin Char-less

Boyle, Jr., good-natured, giggly, and of spongy character; also Cyrus

Digby, a smart city boy, who was visiting "the folks," and who usually

appeared in white cuffs and very high stand-up collar. These boys were

greatly interested in the Sanger Indian camp, and one outcome of the

meeting at Caleb's was the formation of another Tribe of Indians,

composed of the three Boyle boys and their town friend.

Since most of these were Boyles and the hunting-ground was the Boyles

woods about that marshy pond, and especially because they had read of

a band of Indians named Boilers or Stoneboilers (Assineboines), they

called themselves the "Boilers." Wesley was the natural leader. He was

alert as well as strong, and eager to do things, so made a fine Chief.

His hooked nose and black hair and eyes won for him the appropriate

name of "Blackhawk." The city boy being a noisy "show-off," who did

little work, was called "Bluejay" Peter Boyle was "Peetweet," and

Char-less, from his peculiar snickering and showing two large front

teeth, was called "Red-squirrel."

They made their camp as much as possible like that of the Sangers, and

adopted their customs; but a deadly rivalry sprang up between them

from the first. The Sangers felt that they were old and experienced

Woodcrafters. The Boilers thought they knew as much and more, and they

outnumbered the Sangers. Active rivalry led to open hostilities. There

was a general battle with fists and mud; that proved a draw. Then a

duel between leaders was arranged, and Blackhawk won the fight and

the Woodpecker's scalp. The Boilers were wild with enthusiasm. They

proposed to take the whole Sanger camp, but in a hand-to-hand fight

of both tribes it was another draw. Guy, however, scored a glorious

triumph over Char-less and secured his scalp at the moment of victory.

Now Little Beaver sent a challenge to Blackhawk. It was scornfully

accepted. Again the Boiler Chief was victor and won another scalp,

while Little Beaver got a black eye and a bad licking, but the enemy

retired.

Yan had always been considered a timid boy at Bonnerton, but that was

largely the result of his repressive home training. Sanger was working

great changes. To be treated with respect by the head of the house was

a new and delightful experience. It developed his self-respect. His

wood life was making him wonderfully self-reliant, and improved health

helped his courage, so next day, when the enemy appeared in full

force, every one was surprised when Yan again challenged Blackhawk. It

really cost him a desperate and mighty effort to do so, for it is one

thing to challenge a boy that you think you can "lick" and another to

challenge one the very day after he has licked you. Indeed, if the

truth were known, Yan did it in fear and trembling, and therein lay

the courage--in going ahead when fear said "Go back."

It is quite certain that a year before he would not have ventured in

such a fight, and he only did it now because he had realized that

Blackhawk was left-handed, and a plan to turn this to account had

suggested itself. Every one was much surprised at the challenge,

but much more so when, to the joy of his tribe, Little Beaver won a

brilliant victory.

Inspired by this, they drove the Boilers from the field, scored a

grand triumph, and Sam and Yan each captured a scalp.

The Sangers held a Council and scalp-dance in celebration that night

around an outdoor fire. The Medicine Man was sent for to be in it.

After the dance, Chief Beaver, his face painted to hide his black

eye, made a speech. He claimed that the Boilers would surely look for

reinforcements and attempt a new attack, and that, therefore, the

Sangers should try to add to their number, too.

"I kin lick Char-less any time," piped in Guy proudly, and swung the

scalp he had won.

But the Medicine Man said: "If I were you boys I'd fix up a peace. Now

you've won you ought to ask them to a big pow-wow."

These were the events that led to the friendly meeting of the two

Tribes in full war-paint.

Chief Woodpecker first addressed them: "Say, fellers--Brother Chiefs,

I mean--this yere quar'lin' don't pay. We kin have more fun working

together. Let's be friends an' join in one Tribe. There's more fun

when there's a crowd."

"All right," said Blackhawk; "but we'll call the tribe the 'Boilers,'

coz we have the majority, and leave me Head Chief."

"You are wrong about that. Our Medicine Men makes us even number

and more than even weight. We've got the best camp--have the

swimming-pond, and we are the oldest Tribe, not to speak of the

success we had in a certain leetle business not long ago which the

youngest of us kin remember," and Guy grinned in appreciation of this

evident reference to his exploit.

As a matter of fact, it was the swimming-pond that turned the day. The

Boilers voted to join the Sangers. Their holiday was only ten days,

the Sangers had got a week's extension, and all knew that they could

get most out of their time by going to the pond camp. The question of

a name was decided by Little Beaver.

"Boiler Warriors," said he, "it is the custom of the Indians to have

the Tribes divided in clans. We are the Sanger clan. You are the

Boiler clan. But as we all live in Sanger we are all Sanger Indians."

"Who's to be Head Chief?"

Blackhawk had no notion of submitting to Woodpecker, whom he had

licked, nor would Woodpecker accept a Chief of the inferior tribe.

One suggested that Little Beaver be Chief, but out of loyalty to his

friend, the Woodpecker, Yan declined.

"Better leave that for a few days till you get acquainted," was the

Medicine Man's wise suggestion.

That day and the next were spent in camp. The Boilers had their teepee

to make and beds to prepare. The Sangers merrily helped, making a

"bee" of it.

Bow and arrow making were next to do. Little Beaver had not fully

replaced his own destroyed by the robber. A hunt of the Burlap Deer

was a pleasant variation of the second day, though there were but two

bows for all, and the Boilers began to realize that they were really

far behind the Sangers in knowledge of Woodcraft.

At swimming Blackhawk was easily first. Of course, this greatly

increased his general interest in the swimming-pond, and he chiefly

was responsible for the making of a canoe later on.

The days went on right merrily--oh, so fast! Little Beaver showed all

the things of interest in his kingdom. How happy he was in showing

them--playing experienced guide as he used to dream it! Peetweet took

a keen interest; so did the city boy. Char-less took a little interest

in it all, helped a little, was generally a little in everything, and

giggled a good deal. Hawkeye was disposed to bully Char-less, since he

found him quite lickable. His tone was high and haughty when he spoke

to him--not at all like his whining when addressing the others. He

volunteered to discipline Char-less if he should ill-treat any of the

others, and was about to administer grievous personal punishment for

some trifling offense, when Blackhawk gave him a warning that had good

effect.

Yan's note-book was fully discussed and his drawings greatly admired.

He set to work at once with friendly enthusiasm to paint the Boilers'

teepee. Not having any adventures that seemed important, except,

perhaps, Blackhawk's defeat of Woodpecker and Little Beaver, subjects

that did not interest the artist, the outside decorations were the

totem of the clan and its members.

XXVIII

White-Man's Woodcraft

Blackhawk was the introducer of a new game which he called "judging."

"How far is it from here to that tree?" he would ask, and when each

had written down his guess they would measure, and usually it was

Woodpecker or Blackhawk that came nearest to the truth. Guy still held

the leadership "for far sight," for which reason he suggested that

game whenever a change of amusement was wanted.

Yan, following up Blackhawk's suggestion, brought in the new game of

"White-man's Woodcraft."

"Can you," asked he, "tell a Dog's height by its track?"

"No; nor you nor any one else," was the somewhat scornful reply.

"Oh, yes, I can. Take the length in inches of his forefoot track,

multiply it by 8, and that gives his height at the shoulder. You try

it and you'll see. A little Dog has a 2-1/4-inch foot and stands about

18 inches, a Sheep Dog with a 3-inch track stands 24 inches, and a

Mastiff or any big Dog with a 4-inch track gives 30 to 32 inches."

"You mean every Dog is 8 feet high?" drawled Sam, doubtfully, but Yan

went on. "And you can tell his weight, too, by the track. You multiply

the width of his forefoot in inches by the length, and multiply that

by 5, and that gives pretty near his weight in pounds. I tried old

Cap. His foot is 3-1/2 by 3; that equals 10-1/2, multiplied by 5

equals 52-1/2 pounds: just about right."

"I'll bet I seen a Dog at the show that that wouldn't work on,"

drawled Sam. "He was as long as my two arms, he had feet as big as a

young Bear, an' he wasn't any higher than a brick. He was jest about

the build of a Caterpiller, only he didn't have but four legs at the

far ends. They was so far apart he couldn't keep step. He looked like

he was raised under a bureau. I think when they was cutting down so on

his legs they might have give him more of them; a row in the middle

would 'a' been 'bout right."

"Yes, I know him. That's a Dachshund. But you can't reckon on freaks;

nothing but straight Dog. It works on wild animals, too--that is, on

Wolves and Foxes and maybe other things," then changing the subject

Beaver continued:

"Can you tell the height of a tree by its shadow?"

"Never thought of that. How do you do it?"

"Wait till your own shadow is the same length as yourself--that is,

about eight in the morning or four in the afternoon--then measure the

tree's shadow. That gives its length."

"You'd have to wait all day to work that, and you can't do it at all

in the woods or on a dull day," objected Blackhawk. "I'd rather do it

by guess."

"I'll bet my scalp against yours I can tell the height of that

tree right now without climbing it, and get closer than you can by

guessing," said Little Beaver.

"No, I won't bet scalps on that--but I'll bet who's to wash the

dishes."

"All right. To the top of that tree, how much is it?"

"Better not take the top, 'cause we can't get there to measure it, but

say that knot," was the rejoinder. "Here, Woodpecker, you be judge."

"No, I want to be in this guessing. The loser takes the next turn of

dishwashing for each of the others."

So Blackhawk studied the knot carefully and wrote down his

guess--Thirty-eight feet.

Sam said, "Blackhawk! Ground's kind of uneven. I'd like to know the

exact spot under the tree that you'd measure to. Will you mark it with

a peg?"

So Blackhawk went over and put in a white peg, at the same time

unwittingly giving Woodpecker what he wanted--a gauge, for he knew

Blackhawk was something more than five feet high; judging then as he

stood there Sam wrote down Thirty-five feet.

Now it was Yan's turn to do it by "White-man's Woodcraft," as he

called it. He cut a pole exactly ten feet long, and choosing the

smoothest ground, he walked about twenty yards from the tree, propped

the pole upright, then lay down so that his eye was level with the

tree base and in line with the top of the pole and the knot on the

tree. A peg marked the spot.

Now he measured from this "eye peg" to the foot of the pole; it was 31

feet. Then from the eye peg to the peg under the tree; it was 87 feet.

Since the 10-foot pole met the line at 31 feet, then 31 is to 10 as 87

is to the tree--or 28 feet. Now one of the boys climbed and measured

the height of the knot. It was 29 feet, and Yan had an easy victory.

"Here, you close guessers, do you want another try, and I'll give you

odds this time, if you come within ten feet you'll win. I want only

two feet to come and go on."

"All right. Pick your trees."

"'Tisn't a tree this time, but the distance across that pond, from

this peg (H, in diagram) to that little Hemlock (D). You put down your

guesses and I'll show you another trick."

Sam studied it carefully and wrote Forty feet. Wes put down

Forty-five.

"Here, I want to be in this. I'll show you fellers how," exclaimed Guy

in his usual scornful manner, and wrote down Fifty feet.

"Let's all try it for scalps," said Char-less, but this was ruled

too unimportant for scalps, and again the penalty of failure was

dishwashing, so the other boys came and put down their guesses close

to that of their Chief--Forty-four, Forty-six and Forty-nine feet.

"Now we'll find out exactly," and Little Beaver, with an air of calm

superiority, took three straight poles of exactly the same length and

pegged them together in a triangle, leaving the pegs sticking up. He

placed this triangle on the bank at _A B C_, sighting the line

_A B_ for the little Hemlock _D_, and put three pegs in the

ground exactly under the three pegs where the triangle was; moved the

triangle to _E F G_ and placed it so that _F G_ should line

with _A C_ and _E G_ with _D_. Now _A G D_ also must be an equilateral

triangle; therefore, according to arithmetic, the line _D H_ must be

seven-eighths of _A G. A G_ was easily measured--70 feet. Seven-eighths

of 70 equals 61-1/4 feet. The width of the pond--they measured it with

tape line--was found to be 60 feet, so Yan was nearest, but Guy claimed

that 50 feet was within 10 feet of it, which was allowed. Thus there

were two winners--two who escaped dishwashing; and Hawkeye's bragging

became insufferable. He never again got so close in a guess, but no

number of failures could daunt him after such a success.

Sam was interested in the White-man's Woodcraft chiefly on Yan's

account, but Blackhawk was evidently impressed with the study itself,

and said:

"Little Beaver, I'll give you one more to do. Can you measure how far

apart those two trees are on that bank, without crossing?"

"Yes," said Yan; "easily." So he cut three poles 6, 8 and 10 feet long

and pegged them together in a triangle (in diagram). "Now," said he,

"_A B C_ is a right angle; it must be, when the legs of the

triangle are 6, 8 and 10; that's a law."

He placed this on the shore, the side _A B_ pointing to the inner

side of the first tree, and the side _B C_ as nearly as possible

parallel with the line between the two trees. Then he put in a stake

at _B_, another at _C_, and continued this line toward _K_. Now he

slid his triangle along this till the side _G F_ pointed to _E_, and

the side _H G_ in line with _C B_. The distance from _D_ to _E_, of

course, is equal to _B G_, which can be measured, and again the tape

line showed Yan to be nearly right.

This White-man's Woodcraft was easy for him, and he volunteered to

teach the other Indians, but they thought it looked "too much like

school." They voted him a _coup_ on finding how well he could do

it. But when Raften heard of it he exclaimed in wonder and admiration,

"My, but that's mightiful!" and would not be satisfied till the

_coup_ was made a _grand coup_.

"Say, Beaver," said Woodpecker sadly, harking back, "if a Dog's front

foot is 3-1/2 inches long and 3 inches wide, what colour is the end of

his tail?"

"White," was the prompt reply; "'cause a Dog with feet that size and

shape is most likely to be a yaller Dog, and a yaller Dog always has

some white hairs in the end of his tail."

"Well, this 'un hadn't, 'cause his tail was cut off in the days of his

youth!"

XXIX

The Long Swamp

The union of the tribes, however, was far from complete. Blackhawk was

inclined to be turbulent. He was heavier than Beaver. He could not

understand how that slighter, younger boy could throw him, and he

wished to try again. Now Yan was growing stronger every day. He was

quick and of very wiry build. In the first battle, which was entirely

fisty, he was worsted; on the try-over, which cost him such an effort,

he had arranged "a rough-and-tumble," as they called it, and had

won chiefly by working his only trick. But now Blackhawk was not

satisfied, and while he did not care to offer another deadly

challenge, by way of a feeler he offered, some days after the peace,

to try a friendly throw for scalps.

"Fists left out!" Just what Beaver wanted, and the biggest boy was

sent flying. "If any other Boiler would like to try I'd be pleased

to oblige him," said Yan, just a little puffed up, as he held up the

second scalp he had won from Blackhawk.

Much to his surprise, Bluejay, the city boy, accepted, and he was

still more surprised when the city boy sent _him_ down in the

dust.

"Best out of three!" shouted Woodpecker quickly, in the interest of

his friend, taking advantage of an unwritten law that when it is not

stated to be in one try, usually called "sudden death," it is "best

two out of three" that counts.

Yan knew now that he had found a worthy foe. He dodged, waiting for an

opening--gripped--locked--and had him on the hip, he thought, but the

city boy squirmed in time, yielding instead of resisting, and both

went down tight-gripped. For a minute it was doubtful.

"Go it, Yan."

"Give it to him, Bluejay."

But Yan quickly threw out one leg, got a little purchase, and turned

the city boy on his back.

"Hooray for Little Beaver!"

"One try more! So far even!" cried Blackhawk.

They closed again, but Yan was more than ever careful. The city boy

was puffing hard. The real trial was over and Cy went down quite

easily.

"Three cheers for Little Beaver!" A fourth scalp was added to his

collection, and Sam patted him on the back, while Bluejay got out a

pocket mirror and comb and put his hair straight.

But this did not help out in the matter of leadership, and when the

Medicine Man heard of the continued deadlock he said:

"Boys, you know when there is a doubt about who is to lead the only

way is for all Chiefs to resign and have a new election." The boys

acted on this suggestion but found another deadlock. Little Beaver

refused to be put up. Woodpecker got three votes, Blackhawk four, and

Guy one (his own), and the Sangers refused to stand by the decision.

"Let's wait till after the 'hard trip'--that will show who is the real

Chief--then have a new election," suggested Little Beaver, with an eye

to Woodpecker's interest, for this hard trip was one that had been

promised them by Caleb--a three-days' expedition in the Long Swamp.

This swamp was a wild tract, ten miles by thirty, that lay a dozen

miles north of Sanger. It was swampy only in parts, but the dry places

were mere rocky ridges, like islands in the bogs. The land on these

was worthless and the timber had been ruined by fire, so Long Swamp

continued an uninhabited wilderness.

There was said to be a few Deer on the hardwood ridges. Bears and Lynx

were occasionally seen, and Wolves had been heard in recent winters.

Of course there were Foxes, Grouse and Northern Hare. The streams were

more or less choked with logs, but were known to harbour a few Beavers

and an occasional Otter. There were no roads for summer use, only

long, dim openings across the bogs, known as winter trails and timber

roads. This was the region that the boys proposed to visit under

Caleb's guidance.

Thus at last they were really going on an "Indian trip"--to explore

the great unknown, with every probability of adventure.

At dawn Yan tapped the tom-tom. It sang a high and vibrant note, in

guarantee of a sunny day.

They left camp at seven in the morning, and after three hours' tramp

they got to the first part of the wilderness, a great tract of rocky

land, disfigured with blackened trees and stumps, but green in places

with groves of young Poplars or quaking Aspen.

The Indians were very ready to camp now, but the Medicine Man said,

"No; better keep on till we find water." In another mile they reached

the first stretch of level Tamarack bog and a welcome halt for lunch

was called. "Camp!" shouted the leader, and the Indians ran each to do

his part. Sam got wood for the fire and Blackhawk went to seek water,

and with him was Blue jay, conspicuous in a high linen collar and

broad cuffs, for Caleb unfortunately had admitted that he once saw an

Indian Chief in high hat and stand-up collar.

Beaver was just a little disappointed to see the Medicine Man light

the fire with a match. He wanted it all in truly Indian style, but the

Trapper remarked, "Jest as well to have some tinder and a thong along

when you're in the woods, but matches is handier than rubbing-sticks."

Blackhawk and Bluejay returned with two pails of dirty, tepid, swampy

water.

"Why, that's all there is!" was their defense.

"Yan, you go and show them how to get good water," said Caleb, so

the Second Sanger Chief, remembering his training, took the axe and

quickly made a wooden digger, then went to the edge of the swamp, and

on the land twenty feet from the bog he began to dig a hole in the

sandy loam. He made it two feet across and sunk it down three feet.

The roily water kept oozing in all around, and Bluejay was scornful.

"Well, I'd rather have what we got." Beaver dug on till there was a

foot of dirty water in the hole. Then he took a pail and bailed it all

out as fast as possible, left it to fill, bailed it out a second time,

and ten minutes later cautiously dipped out with a cup a full pail of

crystal-clear cold water, and thus the Boilers learned how to make an

Indian well and get clear water out of a dirty puddle.

After their simple meal of tea, bread and meat Caleb told his plan.

"You never get the same good of a trip if you jest wander off; better

have a plan--something to do; and do it without a guide if ye want

adventures. Now eight is too many to travel together; you'd scare

everything with racket and never see a livin' thing. Better divide in

parties. I'll stay in camp and get things ready for the night."

Thus the leaders, Sam and Yan, soon found themselves paired with

Guy and Peetweet. Wes felt bound to take care of his little cousin

Char-less.

Bluejay, finding himself the odd man, decided to stay with Caleb,

especially as the swamp evidently was without proper footpaths.

"Now," said Caleb, "northwest of here there is a river called the

Beaver, that runs into Black River. I want one of you to locate that.

It's thirty or forty feet wide and easy to know, for it's the only big

stream in the swamp. Right north there is an open stretch of plain,

with a little spring creek, where there's a band of Injuns camped.

Somewhere northeast they say there's a tract of Pine bush not burned

off, and there is some Deer there. None of the places is ten miles

away except, maybe, the Injuns' camp. I want ye to go scoutin' and

report. You kin draw straws to say who goes where."

So the straws were marked and drawn. Yan drew the timber hunt. He

would rather have had the one after the Indians. Sam had to seek the

river, and Wesley the Indian camp. Caleb gave each of them a few

matches and this parting word:

"I'll stay here till you come back. I'll keep up a fire, and toward

sundown I'll make a smoke with rotten wood and grass so you kin find

your way back. Remember, steer by the sun; keep your main lines of

travel; don't try to remember trees and mudholes; and if you get lost,

you make _two smokes_ well apart and stay right there and holler

every once in awhile; some one will be sure to come."

So about eleven o'clock the boys set out eagerly. As they were going

Blackhawk called to the others, "First to carry out his job wins a

_grand coup_!"

"Let the three leaders stake their scalps," said the Woodpecker.

"All right. First winner home gets a scalp from each of the others and

saves his own."

"Say, boys, you better take along; your hull outfit, some grub an'

your blankets," was the Medicine Man's last suggestion. "You may have

to stay out all night."

Yan would rather have had Sam along, but that couldn't be, and

Peetweet proved a good fellow, though rather slow. They soon left the

high ground and came to the bog--flat and seemingly endless and with a

few tall Tamaracks. There were some Cedar-birds catching Flies on

the tall tree-tops, and a single Flycatcher was calling out:

"_Whoit--whoit--whoit!_" Yan did not know until long after that

it was the Olive-side. A Sparrow-hawk sailed over, and later a Bald

Eagle with a Sparrow-hawk in hot and noisy pursuit. But the most

curious thing was the surface of the bog. The spongy stretch of moss

among the scattering Tamaracks was dotted with great masses of Pitcher

Plant, and half concealed by the curious leaves were thousands of

Droseræ, or fly-eating plants, with their traps set to secure their

prey.

The bog was wonderful, but very bad walking. The boys sank knee-deep

in the soft moss, and as they went farther, steering only by the sun,

they found the moss sank till their feet reached the water below and

they were speedily wet to the knees. Yan cut for each a long pole to

carry in the hand; in case the bog gave way this would save them from

sinking. After two miles of this Peetweet wanted to go back, but was

scornfully suppressed by Little Beaver.

Shortly afterward they came to a sluggish little stream in the bog

with a peculiar red-and-yellow scum along its banks. It was deep and

soft-bottomed. Yan tried it with the pole--did not dare to wade, so

they walked along its course till they found a small tree lying from

bank to bank, then crossed on this. Half a mile farther on the bog got

dryer, and a mass of green ahead marked one of the islands of high

land. Over this they passed quickly, keeping the northwest course.

They now had a succession of small bogs and large islands. The sun was

hot here and Peetweet was getting tired. He was thirsty, too, and

persisted in drinking the swamp water whenever he found a hole.

"Say, Peetweet, you'll suffer for that if you don't quit; that water

isn't fit to drink unless you boil it."

But Peetweet complained of burning thirst and drank recklessly. After

two hours' tramp he was very tired and wanted to turn back. Yan sought

a dry island and then gathered sticks for a fire, but found all

the matches they had were soaking wet with wading through the bog.

Peetweet was much upset by this, not on account of fire now, but in

case they should be out all night.

"You wait and see what an Indian does," said Little Beaver. He sought

for a dried Balsam Fir, cut the rubbing-sticks, made a bow of a

slightly bent branch, and soon had a blazing fire, to Peter's utter

amazement, for he had never seen the trick of making a fire by

rubbing-sticks.

After drinking some tea and eating a little, Pete felt more

encouraged.

"We have travelled more than six miles now, I reckon," said the Chief;

"an hour longer and we shall be in sight of the forest if there is

one," and Yan led off across swamps more or less open and islands of

burned timber.

Pete began to be appalled by the distance they were putting between

them and their friends. "What if we should get lost? They never could

find us."

"We won't get lost," said Yan in some impatience; "and if we did, what

of it? We have only to keep on straight north or south for four or

five hours and we reach some kind of a settlement."

After an hour's tramp northeast they came to an island with a tall

tree that had branches right to the ground. Yan climbed up. A vast

extent of country lay all about him--open flat bogs and timber

islands, and on far ahead was a long, dark mass of solid

ever-green--surely the forest he sought. Between him and it he saw

water sparkling.

"Oh, Pete, you ought to be up here," he shouted joyfully; "it's worth

the climb to see this view."

"I'd rather see our own back-yard," grumbled Pete.

Yan came down, his face aglow with pleasure, and exclaimed: "It's

close to, now! I saw the Pine woods. Just off there."

"How far?"

"Oh, a couple of miles, at most."

"That's what you have been saying all along."

"Well, I saw it this time; and there is water out there. I saw that,

too."

He tramped on, and in half an hour they came to the water, a deep,

clear, slow stream, fringed with scrub willows, covered with

lily-pads, and following the middle of a broad, boggy flat. Yan had

looked for a pond, and was puzzled by the stream. Then it struck him.

"Caleb said there was only one big stream through this swamp. This

must be it. This is Beaver River."

The stream was barely forty feet across, but it was clearly out of the

question to find a pole for a bridge, so Yan stripped off, put all his

things in a bundle, and throwing them over, swam after them. Pete had

to come now or be left.

As they were dressing on the northern side there was a sudden loud

"_Bang--swish_!" A torrent of water was thrown in the air, with

lily-pads broken from their mooring, the water pattered down, the

wavelets settled, and the boys stood in astonishment to see what

strange animal had made this disturbance; but nothing more of it was

seen, and the mystery remained unsolved.

Then Yan heard a familiar "_Quack!_" down the stream. He took his

bow and arrow, while Pete sat gloomily on a hummock. As soon as he

peered through the rushes in a little bay he saw three Mallard close

at hand. He waited till two were in line, then fired, killing one

instantly, and the others flew away. The breeze wafted it within reach

of a stick, and he seized it and returned in triumph to Pete, but

found him ready to cry. "I want to go home!" he said miserably. The

sight of the Mallard cheered him a little, and Yan said: "Come now,

Pete, don't spoil everything, there's a good fellow. Brace up, and if

I don't show you the Pine woods in twenty minutes I'll turn and take

you home."

As soon as they got to the next island they saw the Pine wood--a solid

green bank not half a mile away, and the boys gave a little cheer, and

felt, no doubt, as Mungo Park did when first he sighted the Niger. In

fifteen minutes they were walking in its dry and delightful aisles.

"Now we've won," said Yan, "whatever the others do, and all that

remains is to get back."

"I'm awfully tired," said Pete; "let's rest awhile."

Yan looked at his watch. "It's four o'clock. I think we'd better camp

for the night."

"Oh, no; I want to go home. It looks like rain."

It certainly did, but Yan replied, "Well, let's eat first." He delayed

as much as possible so as to compel the making of a camp, and the rain

came unexpectedly, before he even had a fire. Yet to his own delight

and Peter's astonishment he quickly made a rubbing-stick fire, and

they hung up their wet clothes about it. Then he dug an Indian well

and took lots of time in the preparation, so it was six o'clock before

they began to eat, and seven when finished--evidently too late to move

out even though the rain seemed to be over. So Yan collected firewood,

made a bed of Fir boughs and a windbreak of bushes and bark. The

weather was warm, and with the fire and two blankets they passed a

comfortable night. They heard their old friend the Horned Owl, a Fox

barked his querulous "_Yap-yurr!_" close at hand, and once or

twice they were awakened by rustling footsteps in the leaves, but

slept fairly well.

At dawn Yan was up. He made a fire and heated some water for tea. They

had very little bread left, but the Mallard was untouched.

Yan cleaned it, rolled it in wet clay, hid it in the ashes and covered

it with glowing coals. This is an Indian method of cooking, but Yan

had not fully mastered it. In half an hour he opened his clay pie and

found the Duck burned on one side and very raw on the other. Part of

it was good, however, so he called his companion to breakfast. Pete

sat up white-faced and miserable, evidently a sick boy. Not only had

he caught cold, but he was upset by the swamp water he had taken. He

was paying the penalty of his indiscretion. He ate a little and drank

some tea, then felt better, but clearly was unable to travel that day.

Now for the first time Yan felt a qualm of fear. Separated by a dozen

miles of swamp from all help, what could he do with a sick boy? He

barked a small dead tree with a knife, then on the smooth surface

wrote with a pencil, "Yan Yeoman and Pete Boyle camped here August 10,

18--"

He made Pete comfortable by the fire, and, looking for tracks, he

found that during the night two Deer had come nearly into the camp;

then he climbed a high tree and scanned the southern horizon for a

smoke sign. He saw none there, but to the northwest, beyond some

shining yellow hills, he discovered a level plain dotted over with

black Fir clumps; from one of these smoke went up, and near it were

two or three white things like teepees.

Yan hurried down to tell Pete the good news, but when he confessed

that it was two miles farther from home Pete had no notion of going

to the Indian camp; so Yan made a smoke fire, and knife-blazing the

saplings on two sides as he went, he set out alone for the Indian

camp. Getting there in half an hour, he found two log shanties and

three teepees. As he came near he had to use a stick to keep off the

numerous Dogs. The Indians proved shy, as usual, to White visitors.

Yan made some signs that he had learned from Caleb. Pointing to

himself, he held up two fingers--meaning that he was two. Then he

pointed to the Pine woods and made sign of the other lying down, and

added the hungry sign by pressing in his stomach with the edges of the

hands, meaning "I am cut in two here." The Chief Indian offered him

a Deer-tongue, but did not take further interest. Yan received it

thankfully, made a hasty sketch of the camp, and returned to find Pete

much better, but thoroughly alarmed at being so long alone. He was

able and anxious now to go back. Yan led off, carrying all the things

of the outfit, and his comrade followed slowly and peevishly. When

they came to the river, Pete held back in fear, believing that the

loud noise they had heard was made by some monster of the deep, who

would seize them.

Yan was certain it could be only an explosion of swamp gas, and forced

Pete to swim across by setting the example. What the cause really was

they never learned.

They travelled very fast now for a time. Pete was helped by the

knowledge that he was really going home. A hasty lunch of Deer-tongue

delayed them but little. At three they sighted Caleb's smoke signal,

and at four they burst into camp with yells of triumph.

Caleb fired off his revolver, and Turk bayed his basso profundo

full-cry Fox salute. All the others had come back the night before.

Sam said he had "gone ten mile and never got a sight of that blamed

river." Guy swore they had gone forty miles, and didn't believe there

was any such river.

"What kind o' country did you see?"

"Nothin' but burned land and rocks."

"H-m, you went too far west--was runnin' parallel with Beaver River."

"Now, Blackhawk, give an account of yourself to Little Beaver," said

Woodpecker. "Did you two win out?"

"Well," replied the Boiler Chief, "if Hawkeye travelled forty miles,

we must have gone sixty. We pointed straight north for three hours and

never saw a thing but bogs and islands of burned timber--never a sign

of a plain or of Indians. I don't believe there are any."

"Did you see any sandhills?" asked Little Beaver.

"No."

"Then you didn't get within miles of it."

Now he told his own story, backed by Pete, and he was kind enough to

leave out all about Peetweet's whimpering. His comrade responded

to this by giving a glowing account of Yan's Woodcraft, especially

dwelling on the feat of the rubbing-stick fire in the rain, and when

they finished Caleb said:

"Yan, you won, and you more than won, for you found the green timber

you went after, you found the river Sam went after, an' the Injuns

Wesley went after. Sam and Wesley, hand over your scalps."

XXX

A New Kind of Coon

A merry meal now followed, chaffing and jokes passed several hours

away, but the boys were rested and restless by nine o'clock and eager

for more adventures.

"Aren't there any Coons 'round here, Mr. Clark?"

"Oh, I reckon so. Y-e-s! Down a piece in the hardwood bush near Widdy

Biddy Baggs's place there's lots o' likely Cooning ground."

That was enough to stir them all, for the place was near at hand.

Peetweet alone was for staying in camp, but when told that he might

stay and keep house by himself he made up his mind to get all the fun

he could. The night was hot and moonless, Mosquitoes abundant, and

in trampling and scrambling through the gloomy woods the hunters had

plenty of small troubles, but they did not mind that so long as Turk

was willing to do his part. Once or twice he showed signs of interest

in the trail, but soon decided against it.

Thus they worked toward the Widdy Baggs's till they came to a dry

brook bed. Turk began at once to travel up this, while Caleb tried

to make him go down. But the Dog recognized no superior officer when

hunting. After leading his impatient army a quarter of a mile away

from the really promising heavy timber, Turk discovered what _he_

was after, and that was a little muddy puddle. In this he calmly lay

down, puffing, panting and lapping with energy, and his humble human

followers had nothing to do but sit on a log and impatiently await

his lordship's pleasure. Fifteen minutes went by, and Turk was still

enjoying himself, when Sam ventured at last:

"'Pears to me if I owned a Dog I'd own him."

"There's no use crowdin' him," was the answer. "He's runnin' this

hunt, an' he knows it. A Dog without a mind of his own is no 'count."

So when Turk had puffed like a Porpoise, grunted and wallowed like

a Hog, to his heart's content and to the envy of the eight who sat

sweltering and impatient, he arose, all dribbling ooze, probably to

seek a new wallowing place, when his nose discovered something on the

bank that had far more effect than all the coaxings and threats of the

"waiting line," and he gave a short bark that was a note of joy for

the boys. They were all attention now, as the old Hound sniffed it

out, and in a few moments stirred the echoes with an opening blast of

his deepest strain.

"Turk's struck it rich!" opined Caleb.

The old Dog's bawling was strong now, but not very regular, showing

that the hunted animal's course was crooked. Then there was a long

break in it, showing possibly that the creature had run a fence or

swung from one tree to another.

"That's a Coon," said Yan eagerly, for he had not forgotten any detail

of the other lesson.

Caleb made no reply.

The Hound tongued a long way off, but came back to the pond and had

one or two checks.

"It's a great running for a Coon," Yan remarked, at length in doubt.

Then to Caleb, "What do you think?"

Caleb answered slowly: "I dunno what to think. It runs too far for a

Coon, an' 'tain't treed yet; an' I kin tell by the Dog's voice he's

mad. If you was near him now you'd see all his back hair stannin' up."

Another circle was announced by the Dog's baying, and then the long,

continuous, high-pitched yelping told that the game was treed at last.

"Well, that puts Fox and Skunk out of it," said the Trapper, "but it

certainly don't act like a Coon on the ground."

"First there gets the Coon!" shouted Blackhawk, and the boys skurried

through the dark woods, getting many a scratch and fall. As it was,

Yan and Wesley arrived together and touched the tree at the same

moment. The rest came straggling up, with Char-less last and Guy a

little ahead of him. Guy wanted to relate the full particulars of his

latest glorious victory over Char-less, but all attention was now on

old Turk, who was barking savagely up the tree.

"Don't unnerstan' it at all, at all," said Caleb. "Coony kind o' tree,

but Dog don't act Coony."

"Let's have a fire," said the Woodpecker, and the two crowds of boys

began each a fire and strove hard to get theirs first ablaze.

The firelight reached far up into the night, and once or twice the

hunters thought they saw the shining eyes of the Coon.

"Now who's to climb?" asked the Medicine Man.

"I will, I will," etc., seven times repeated; even Guy and Char-less

chimed in.

"You're mighty keen hunters, but I want you to know I can't tell what

it is that's up that tree. It may be a powerful big Coon, but seems to

me the Dog acts a little like it was a Cat, and 'tain't so long since

there was Painter in this county. The fact of him treeing for Turk

don't prove that he's afraid of a Dog; lots of animals does that

'cause they don't want to be bothered with his noise. If it's a Cat,

him as climbs is liable to get his face scratched. Judging by the

actions of the Dog, _I think it's something dangerous_. Now who

wants the job?"

For awhile no one spoke. Then Yan, "I'll go if you'll lend me the

revolver."

"So would I," said Wesley quickly.

"Well, now, we'll draw straws"--and Yan won. Caleb felled a thin tree

against the big one and Yan climbed as he had done once before.

There was an absence of the joking and chaffing that all had kept

up when on the other occasion Yan went after the Coon. There was a

tension that held them still and reached the climber to thrill him

with a weird sense of venturing into black darkness to face a fearful

and mysterious danger. The feeling increased as he climbed from the

leaning tree to the great trunk of the Basswood, to lose sight of his

comrades in the wilderness of broad leaves and twisted tree-arms.

The dancing firelight sent shadow-blots and light-spots in a dozen

directions with fantastic effect. Some of the feelings of the night at

Garney's grave came back to him, but this time with the knowledge of

real danger. A little higher and he was out of sight of his friends

below. The danger began to appal him; he wanted to go back, and to

justify the retreat he tried to call out, "No Coon here!" but his

voice failed him, and, as he clung to the branch, he remembered

Caleb's words, "There's nothing ahead of grit, an' grit ain't so much

not bein' scairt as it is goin' straight ahead when you _are_

scairt." No; he would go on, come what would.

"Find anything?" drawled a cheery voice below, just at the right time.

Yan did not pause to answer, but continued to climb into the gloom.

Then he thought he heard a Coon snarl above him. He swung to a higher

branch and shouted, "Coon here, all right!" but the moment he did so

a rattling growl sounded close to him, and looking down he saw a huge

grey beast spring to a large branch between him and the ground, then

come climbing savagely toward him. As it leaped to a still nearer

place Yan got a dim view of a curious four-cornered face, shaggy

and striped, like the one he saw so long ago in Glenyan--it was an

enormous _Lynx_.

Yan got such a shock that he nearly lost his hold, but quickly

recovering, he braced himself in a crotch, and got out the revolver

just as the Lynx with a fierce snarl leaped to a side branch that

brought it nearly on a level with him. He nervously cocked the pistol,

and scarcely attempting to sight in the darkness, he fired and missed.

The Lynx recoiled a little and crouched at the report. The boys below

raised a shout and Turk outdid them all in racket.

"A Lynx!" shouted Yan, and his voice betrayed his struggle with fear.

"Look out!" Caleb called. "You better not let him get too close."

The Lynx was growling ferociously. Yan put forth all his will-power to

control his trembling hand, took more deliberate aim, and fired. The

fierce beast was struck, but leaped wildly at the boy. He threw up his

arm and it buried its teeth in his flesh, while Yan clung desperately

to the tree with the other arm. In a moment he knew he would be

dragged off and thrown to the ground, yet felt less fear now than he

had before. He clutched for the revolver with the left hand, but it

found only the fur of the Lynx, and the revolver dropped from his

grasp. Now he was indeed without hope, and dark fear fell on him. But

the beast was severely wounded. Its hind quarters were growing heavy.

It loosed its hold of Yan and struggled to get on the limb. A kick from

his right foot upset its balance; it slipped from the tree and flopped

to the ground below, wounded, but full of fight. Turk rushed at it, but

got a blow from its armed paw that sent him off howling.

[Illustration: "He nervously fired and missed."]

A surge of reaction came over Yan. He might have fainted, but again he

remembered the Trapper's words, "Bravery is keeping on even when you

_are_ skairt." He pulled himself together and very cautiously

worked his way back to the leaning tree. Hearing strange sounds,

yells, growls, sounds of conflict down below, expecting every moment

to hear the Lynx scramble up the trunk again, to finish him, dimly

hearing but not comprehending the shouts, he rested once at the

leaning tree and breathed freely.

"Hurry up, Yan, with that revolver," shouted Blackhawk.

"I dropped it long ago."

"Where is it?"

Yan slid down the sapling without making reply. The Lynx had gone,

but not far. It would have got away, but Turk kept running around and

bothering it so it could not even climb a tree, and the noise they

made in the thicket was easy to follow.

"Where's the revolver?" shouted Caleb, with unusual excitement.

"I dropped it in the fight."

"I know. I heard it fall in the bushes," and Sam soon found it.

Caleb seized it, but Yan said feebly, "Let me! Let me! It's my fight!"

Caleb surrendered the pistol, said "Look out for the Dog!" and Yan

crawled through the bushes till that dark moving form was seen again.

Another shot and another. The sound of combat died away, and the

Indians raised a yell of triumph--all but Little Beaver. A giddiness

came over him; he trembled and reeled, and sank down on a root. Caleb

and Sam came up quickly.

"What's the matter, Yan?"

"I'm sick--I----"

Caleb took his arm. It was wet. A match was struck.

"Hallo, you're bleeding."

"Yes, he had me--he caught me up the tree. I--I--thought I was a

goner."

All interest was now turned from the dead Lynx to the wounded boy.

"Let's get him to the water."

"Guess the camp well is the nearest."

Caleb and Sam took care of Yan, while the others brought the Lynx.

Yan grew better as they moved slowly homeward. He told all about the

attack of the Lynx.

"Gosh! I'd 'a' been scared out o' my wits," said Sam.

"Guess I would, too," added Caleb, to the surprise of the Tribe; "up

there, helpless, with a wounded Lynx--I tell you!"

"Well, I _was_ scared--just as scared as I could be," admitted

Yan.

At camp a blazing fire gave its lurid light. Cold water was handy and

Yan's bleeding arm was laid bare. He was shocked and yet secretly

delighted to see what a mauling he had got, for his shirt sleeve was

soaked with blood, and the wondering words of his friends was sweetest

music to his ears.

Caleb and the city boy dressed his wounds, and when washed they did

not look so very dreadful.

They were too much excited to sleep for an hour at least, and as they

sat about the fire--that they did not need but would not dream of

doing without--Yan found no lack of enthusiasm in the circle, and

blushed with pleasure to be the hero of the camp. Guy didn't see

anything to make so much fuss about, but Caleb said, "I knowed it; I

always knowed you was the stuff, after the night you went to Garney's

grave."

XXXI

On the Old Camp Ground

It was threatening to rain again in the morning and the Indians

expected to tramp home heavy laden in the wet. But their Medicine Man

had a surprise in store. "I found an old friend not far from here and

fixed it up with him to take us all home in his wagon." They walked

out to the edge of the rough land and found a farm wagon with two

horses and a driver. They got in, and in little less than a hour were

safely back to the dear old camp by the pond.

The rain was over now, and as Caleb left for his own home he said:

"Say, boys, how about that election for Head Chief? I reckon it's due

now. Suppose you wait till to-morrow afternoon at four o'clock an'

I'll show you how to do it."

That night Yan and his friend were alone in their teepee. His arm was

bound up, and proud he was of those bandages and delighted with the

trifling red spots that appeared yet on the last layer; but he was not

in pain, nor, indeed, the worse for the adventure, for, thanks to his

thick shirt, there was no poisoning. He slept as usual till long after

midnight, then awoke in bed with a peculiar feeling of well-being and

clearness of mind. He had no bodily sense; he seemed floating alone,

not in the teepee nor in the woods, but in the world--not dreaming,

but wide awake--more awake than ever in his life before, for all his

life came clearly into view as never before: his stern, religious

training; his father, refined and well-meaning, but blind, compelling

him to embark in a profession to which he was little inclined, and to

give up the one thing next his heart--his Woodcraft lore.

Then Raften stepped into view, loud-voiced, externally coarse, but

blessed with a good heart and a sound head. The farmer suffered sadly

in contrast with the father, and yet Yan had to suppress the wish that

Raften were his father. What had they in common? Nothing; and yet

Raften had given him two of the dearest things in life. He, the

head of the house, a man of force and success, had treated Yan with

respect. Yan was enough like his own father to glory in the unwonted

taste; and like that other rugged stranger long ago in Glenyan, Raften

had also given him sympathy. Instead of considering his Woodcraft

pursuits mere trifling, the farmer had furthered them, and even joined

to follow for a time. The thought of Bonnerton came back. Yan knew he

must return in a year at most; he knew that his dearest ambition of a

college course in zoology was never to be realized, for his father

had told him he must go as errand boy at the first opening. Again his

rebellious spirit was stirred, to what purpose he did not know. He

would rather stay here on the farm with the Raftens. But his early

Scriptural training was not without effect. "Honour thy father and

thy mother" was of lasting force. He felt it to be a binding duty. He

could not rebel if he would. No, he would obey; and in that resolution

new light came. In taking him from college and sending him to the farm

his father had apparently cut off his hope of studies next his heart.

Instead of suffering loss by this obedience, he had come to the

largest opportunity of his life.

Yes! He would go back--be errand boy or anything to make a living, but

in his hours of freedom he would keep a little kingdom of his own. The

road to it might lie through the cellar of a grocer's shop, but he

would not flinch. He would strive and struggle as a naturalist. When

he had won the insight he was seeking, the position he sought would

follow, for every event in the woodland life had shown him--had shown

them all, that his was the kingdom of the Birds and Beasts and the

power to comprehend them.

And he seemed to float, happy in the fading of all doubt, glad in

the sense of victory. There was a noise outside. The teepee door was

forced gently; a large animal entered. At another time Yan might

have been alarmed, but the uplift of his vision was on him still. He

watched it with curious unalarm. It gently came to his bed, licked his

hand and laid down beside him. It was old Turk, and this was the first

time he had heeded any of them but Caleb.

[Illustration: Old Turk]

XXXII

The New War Chief

Caleb had been very busy all the day before doing no one knew what,

and Saryann was busy, too. She had been very busy for long, but now

she was bustling. Then, it seems, Caleb had gone to Mrs. Raften, and

she was very busy, and Guy made a flying visit to Mrs. Burns, and

she had become busy. Thus they turned the whole neighbourhood into a

"bee."

For this was Sanger, where small gatherings held the same place as the

club, theatre and newspaper do in the lives of city folk. No matter

what the occasion, a christening, wedding or funeral, a logging, a

threshing, a home-coming or a parting, the finishing of a new house

or the buying of a new harness or fanning-mill, any one of these was

ample grounds for one of their "talking bees"; so it was easy to set

the wheels a-running.

At three o'clock three processions might have been seen wending

through the woods. One was from Burns's, including the whole family;

one from Raften's, comprising the family and the hired men; one from

Caleb's, made up of Saryann and many of the Boyles. All brought

baskets.

They were seated in a circle on the pleasant grassy bank of the

pond. Caleb and Sam took charge of the ceremonies. First, there were

foot-races, in which Yan won in spite of his wounded arm, the city boy

making a good second; then target-shooting and "Deer-hunting," that

Yan could not take part in. It was not in the programme, but Raften

insisted on seeing Yan measure the height of a knot in a tree without

going to it, and grinned with delight when he found it was accurate.

"Luk at that for eddication, Sam!" he roared. "When will ye be able to

do the like? Arrah, but ye're good stuff, Yan, an' I've got something

here'll plase ye."

Raften now pulled out his purse and as magistrate paid over with

evident joy the $5 bounty due for killing the Lynx. Then he added:

"An' if it turns out as ye all claim" [and it did] "that this yer

beast is the Sheep-killer instid av old Turk, I'll add that other

tin."

Thus Yan came into the largest sum be had ever owned in his life.

Then the Indians went into their teepees. Caleb set up a stake in the

ground and on that a new shield of wood covered with rawhide; over the

rawhide was lightly fastened a piece of sacking.

The guests were in a circle around this; at one side were some

skins--Yan's Lynx and Coon--and the two stuffed Owls.

Then the drum was heard, "Túm-tum--túm-tum--túm-tum--túm-tum----"

There was a volley of war-whoops, and out of the teepees dashed the

Sanger Indians in full war paint.

"Ki ki--ki yi--ki yi yi yi

Ki yi--ki yi--ki yi yi yi!"

They danced in exact time to the two-measure of the drum that was

pounded by Blackhawk. Three times round the central post with the

shield they danced, then the drum stopped, and they joined in a grand

final war-whoop and squatted in a circle within that of the guests.

The Great Woodpecker now arose--his mother had to be told who it

was--and made a characteristic speech:

"Big Chiefs, Little Chiefs, and Squapooses of the Sanger Indians: A

number of things has happened to rob this yer nation of its noble Head

Chief; they kin never again expect to have his equal, but this yer

assembly is for to pick out a new one. We had a kind of whack at it

the other day, but couldn't agree. Since then we had a hard trip, and

things has cleared up some, same as puttin' Kittens in a pond will

tell which one is the swimmer, an' we're here to-day to settle it."

Loud cries of "How--how--how--how--" while Blackhawk pounded the drum

vigorously.

"O' course different ones has different gifts. Now who in all this

Tribe is the best runner? That's Little Beaver."

("How--how--how--how--how--" and drum.)

"That's my drum, Ma!" said Guy aside, forgetting to applaud.

"Who is the best trailer and climber? Little Beaver, again, I reckon."

("How--how--how--how--" and drum.)

("He can't see worth a cent!" whispered Guy to his mother.)

"Who was it won the trial of grit at Garney's grave? Why, it was

Little Beaver."

("An' got pretty badly scared doin' it!" was Guy's aside.)

"But who was it shot the Cat-Owl plumb in the heart, an' fit the Lynx

hand to hand, not to speak of the Coon? Little Beaver every time."

("He never killed a Woodchuck in his life, Ma!")

"Then, again, which of us can lay all the others on his back? Little

Beaver, I s'pose."

("Well, I can lick Char-less, any time," was Guy's aside.)

"Which of us has most _grand coups_ and scalps?"

"Ye're forgittin' his eddication," put in Raften to be scornfully

ignored; even Little Beaver resented this as un-Indian.

"Which has most scalps?" Sam repeated with sternness. "Here's a scalp

won in battle with the inimy," Woodpecker held it up, and the Medicine

Man fastened it on the edge of the shield that hung from the post.

"Here is one tuk from the Head Chief of the hostiles," and Caleb

fastened that to the shield. "Here is another tuk from the Second

Chief of the hostiles," and Caleb placed it. "Here is one tuk from the

Great Head War Chief of the Sangers, and here is one from the Head

Chief of the Boilers, and another tuk in battle. Six scalps from six

famous warriors. This yere is the record for the whole Tribe, an'

Little Beaver done it; besides which, he draws pictures, writes

poethry and cooks purty good, an' I say Little Beaver is the one for

Chief! What says the rest?" and with one voice they shouted, "Hoorah

for Little Beaver!"

"How--how--how--how--how--_thump, thump, thump, thump_."

"Any feller anything to say agin it?"

"I eh--" Guy began.

--"has got to lick the Chief," Sam continued, and Guy did not complete

his objection, though he whispered to his mother, "If it was Char-less

I bet I'd show him."

[Illustration: The shield]

Caleb now pulled the cover off the shield that he fastened the scalps

to, and it showed the white Buffalo of the Sangers with a Little

Beaver above it. Then he opened a bundle lying near and produced a

gorgeous war-shirt of buff leather, a pair of leggins and moccasins,

all fringed, beaded and painted, made by Saryann under Caleb's

guidance. They were quickly put on the new Chief; his war bonnet,

splendid with the plumes of his recent exploits, was all ready; and

proud and happy in his new-found honours, not least of which were his

wounds, he stepped forward.

[Illustration: Little Beaver, the New War Chief]

Caleb viewed him with paternal pride and said: "I knowed ye was the

stuff the night ye went to Garney's grave, an' I knowed it again when

ye crossed the Big Swamp. Yan, ye could travel anywhere that man could

go," and in that sentence the boy's happiness was complete. He surely

was a Woodcrafter now. He stammered in a vain attempt to say something

appropriate, till Sam relieved him by: "Three cheers for the Head War

Chief!" and when the racket was over the women opened their baskets

and spread the picnic feast. Raften, who had been much gratified by

his son's flow of speech, recorded a new vow to make him study law,

but took advantage of the first gap in the chatter to say:

"Bhise, ye'r two weeks' holiday with wan week extension was up at noon

to-day. In wan hour an' a half the Pigs is fed."

* * * * *

INDEX

Arapahoes

Arrows--

How to make

Individuality of

Arrow-wood

Illustration of

Ash--

White

Illustration of

Black

Bagg's, Widdy, place

Bald Eagle

Bald-Eagle-Settin'-on-a-Rock-with-his-Tail-Hangin'-over-the-Edge

Balsam

Balsam-fir

Balsam bark, used for tanning

Boughs for bed

Wood for rubbing-sticks

Illustration of

Banshee

Basswood

Usually hollow

Leaf illustration

Beavering

Bear hunt

Beaver River

Beech

Illustration of

Blue, illustration of

Biddy

Birch--

White

Black

Canoe

Dishes

Mahogany

Sweet

Black

Illustration of

Blackbirds, Red-winged

Blackbird, purple (Jack)

Black Cherry

Lung balm

As a remedy

Blaze--

Special

Road

Blood Robin

Blood Root

Bloody-Thundercloud-in-the-Afternoon

Bluebird

Blue-bottle Flies

Plague

Blue Cohosh

Blue Crane (Heron)

Blue-jay

Bobolink

Boilers

Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum)

Bow--

How to make

Bowstring

Bow-drill Yan makes

How to light a fire with

Boyle Char-less

Burns, Guy

Is captured by Yan and Sam

Becomes a member of the tribe

His stuffed Deer

His test of courage

Kills the Woodchuck

Name changed to Hawkeye

Butterfly, black

Butternuts--

Used for dyeing

Caleb Clark

His description of a teepee

His Indian adventures

Makes Indian war bonnet

His standard of a good shot

He tells Yan how to find his way in the woods

Shows the boys how to skin a horse

and how to tan skin

How to make moccasins

His opinion of hunters and hunting

His marksmanship

Encounter with Mr. Raften on the coon hunt

Story of his quarrel with Mr. Raften

Encounter with Bill Hennard

Gets possession of his farm

Calfskins, sold by boys

Used as drum-heads

Tanning of

Cardinal flowers

Cat

Fight with Skunk

Adopts young Squirrels

Is caught in the ketch-alive

Catnip--

Tea

How it cured the Cat

Cedar,

Cedar-birds

Char-less (Red-squirrel)

Chenopodium

Chipmunk

Sam's Chipmunk capture

Chickadee, cock

Choke-cherry

Clam shells

Cohosh

Connor, Kitty

Coon--

Hairs

Hunt

Tracks

Cottonwood root

Indians use to light fires

Council, the Grand

Coup, Grand

Cow-bird

Crawfish

Creeper

Crow--

Split tongue

Common, tracks of

Cuckoo, black-billed

Cypripedium

Dachshund

Daddy Longlegs and the cows

Dam--

The boys build

Dandelion roots

Coffee

Deer--

Guy's stuffed

Shooting game

De Neuville, Granny

Mr. Raften buys her Pigs

Her love of flowers and birds

She prescribes for Sam's leg

Her herb lore

Her visit from the robbers

Dew-cloth

Digby, Cyrus, (Blue-jay)

Dipper

Dog--

How to tell height by track

Dogans

Downey's Dump

Droseræ (Fly-eating plants)

Ducks, flock of

Dyeing--

With Butternuts

With Hemlock

With Goldthread

With Goldenrod

With Berries

With Pokeweed

With Elder shoots

With Oak chips

With Hickory bark

With Birch

With Dogwood

With Indigo herb

Eagle Feathers

As worn by Indian Warriors

Elderberry-shoot, used for pipestem

Ellis, Bud, is cured by Lung Balm

Elm--

Slippery

Swamp

Bark for teepees

Emmy Grants

Eupatorium perfoliatum (Boneset)

Fire--

How to light without matches

Right woods to use

Signal

Flicker

Illustration of nest

Flying-squirrel

Fox--

His Rabbit hunt

Callaghan

Frogs

Galium

Garney, Bill, grave of

Ginseng

Goldenrod--

Used for dyeing

Usually points north

Golden Seal (Hydrastis Canadensis)

Goldthread

Graybird

Grip, the Dog

Gyascutus

Hawk--

Sharpshin

Fight with King-bird

Chicken

Red-shouldered

Sparrow

Hearne, Samuel

Hemlock, bark

Tree

Used for tanning

Henbane

Hennard, Bill

Herb-lore, Biddy's

Granny's

Heron (Blue Crane)

"Highbelier"

Hornet, blue

Horse, how to skin

Horse-hair--

Turns to a snake

Humming-bird

Hydrastis Canadensis (Golden Seal)

Hyla pickeringii (Frog)

Indian--

Sense of smell

Teepees

Head-dresses

Telegram of good luck

Meaning of Eagle feathers

War bonnet

Ability to foretell storms

Games

Tests of eyes

Well

Drum

Smoke signs

Trail signs

Method of tanning skins

Paints

Indian cucumber

Indian cup

Indian squaw--

Yan's story of

Indian turnips

Indigo herb

Injun tobacco

Ironwood

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Jewel-flower

Jewelweed

Ketchalive, how to make a

Kingbird

Fight with Hawk

Kingfishers

Kingroot

Lancewood

Larry, how he made brooms

Lavender tea

Leatherwood

Lindera Benzoin (Spicebush)

Little Beaver

Lizard, Whistling

Lobelia

Long Swamp, trip to

Loon

Lung Balm

Lynx--

Yan meets

Is killed in Long Swamp

Mallard Duck

Mandrakes

Maple

Martins, Sand

"Massacrees"

May Apple

Mink--

Kills Muskrat

How to catch

Minnie, makes peace between Yan and Sam

Minnow

Moccasin--

How to make

Mosquitoes, how to keep out of teepee

Mouse, Field

Mud albums

Muskrat--

Killed by Mink

Burrows hole in dam

Mussel shells

Needles, made of Catfish bones

Niagara, Yan visits

North Star

Oak, pick to make holes for sewing bark

Ojibwa

O'Leary, Phil

Osage orange

Oven bird

Owl, Stuffed

Hoot

Screech

Horned

Cat

Horned Owls, killed by Yan and Sam

How to stuff

Parlour, the Raftens'

Partridge head for Mink bait

Peeper

Pelopæus, Mud-wasp

Peter (Peetweet)

Pine

Pine Grosbeak

Pipsissewa

Pleiades

Pleurisy root

Pogue, Dick

Pokeweed

Prattisons

Prayer-sticks

Rabbit, how he escaped the Fox

Rad--

Unkindness to Yan

Goes Lynx-hunting with Yan

Raften, Bud

Raften, Mrs.,

kindness to Yan

Raften, Wm.,

His characteristics

Helps the boys make their bed in teepee

Makes friends with Caleb and helps him out of his trouble

Rail

Sora rails

Red Squirrels

Nest robbed by boys

Robin--

Guy kills

Sam--

His collection of birds' eggs

He visits Granny de Neuville

His skill with the axe

Sander--

Taxidermist's shop

Exhibit of birds

Sage-brush root, Indians use to light fires

Sandals, worn when Dear-hunting

Sanger--

Account of settlers

Custom of framing coffin-plates

Santees (Sioux)

Sassafras

Scarlet Tanager

Sees Yan again at Granny de Neuville's

Sharp-shin

Shells--

Mussel

Clam

Shore-lark

Meadow-lark, pursued by Hawk

Shrew, Yan finds body of

Si Lee

Teaches the boys how to stuff Horned Owls

Skunk, fight with Cat

Skunk Cabbage

Skunk-root

Smoke, signs used by Indians

Snake, dies at sundown

Snipe, Teetering (Tipup)

"Sorry-plant"

Sparrow--

Vesper

Song

Sparrow-hawk

Spear-mint

Spicewood (Lindera Benzoin)

Spider, kill a spider to make it rain

Squaw berries

Stramonium

Superstitious sayings, Biddy's

Swallows, shooting

Keep off lightning

Taxidermy, Si Lee gives a lesson in

Teepee--

Is begun

Does not prove satisfactory, smokes

Is blown down

Caleb Clark's description

Second teepee is begun

Storm-cap

How to place poles and ropes

Should face east

How to secure in a storm

Toads, give warts

Trails--

Paper

Corn

Signs of

Trees, points of compass indicated by

How to tell height by shadow

How to measure distance between trees

Tree-frog

Turkey feathers for arrows

Turtle, mud

Tutnee

Umbil, or "Sterrick-root"

Veery

Vireo, Red-eyed

Wakan Rock

War bonnets

Wasp, mud

Wesley (Blackhawk)

Whangerdoodle

Whippoorwill

White-man's Foot

White Oak pins for teepee

Whooping Crane

Willow, withes for tying teepee poles

Wind, how to tell direction of

Wintergreen

Witch-hazel--

Will find water

Granny de Neuville's medicine

Woodchuck--

Sam's story

Guy kills the old Woodchuck

Wood-duck

Wood-mouse

Wood-peewee

Woodpecker, Red-headed

Worm, measuring

Wormweed

Yan--

Homelife

His attempts to buy Owl

Love for spring

How he made the last dime for his first nature book

His meeting with the unknown naturalist

Discovery of Glenyan

Building of the shanty

Imitation of Indians

Makes a drawing of a Hawk

Identifies Coon-hairs

Is made ill by chewing leaves of strange plant

His list of trees

Tries to kill Wood-mouse

Makes a pipe and learns to smoke

Is punished for caricaturing his teacher

Finds his shanty destroyed by tramps

His illness

Begins to recover and visits Glenyan

His adventure with a Lynx

Takes Rad hunting

Is reproved by his mother for killing the Shore-lark

He goes to Sanger

His duties

He sees Sam's treasures

He and Sam begin the teepee

They light a fire in the teepee

Which smokes them out

They find the teepee blown down

Their visit to Granny de Neuville

Yan sees Biddy again

They visit Caleb Clark

They begin their second teepee

The canvas is sewn by Si Lee

Caleb teaches them to light a fire without matches

First fire in new teepee

They make bows and arrows; practice with them

They build a dam

Yan's story of the Indian squaw

He visits the Sanger Witch again

Takes dinner with her

They capture Guy Burns; admit him into the Tribe

Yan fights Sam and Guy

Comes to the assistance of the school trustees

Goes with Sam to live in the teepee for two weeks

Their first night in the woods

They are joined by Guy

Their foraging trip

Their Deer-shooting game

Their visit from Caleb

They sun their blankets

How they kept off Mosquitoes

They clean their camp

Carry their remnants of food to Wakan Rock

Dig an Indian well

Make an Indian drum

Yan sees fight between Cat and Skunk

They destroy a Red-squirrel's nest

He learns to build signal fire

Caleb tells him how to find his way in the woods

The boys learn how to tan skins

And how to make moccasins

Makes a ketchalive

Their visit from Mr. Raften

Yan's story of the Boy-that-wanted-to-know

The trip to Downey's Dump

They kill two Horned Owls

Si Lee gives them a lesson in taxidermy

Yan's test of grit

He draws the tracks near Bill Garney's grave

The Grand Council

The Coon-hunt

The Bear-hunt

Yan finds a Shrew

Is ill-treated by Bill Hennard

Trouble with the Boilers

He wins the fight with Blackhawk

The Boilers join the Sangers

Yan beats the city boy in wrestling-match

They start on hard trip

Yan and Pete make an exploring trip

Yan finds the Indian village

His fight with the Lynx

Receives bounty for killing lynx

Is made War Chief

Yan's Mother--

Her morbidly religious nature

She reproves Yan for killing Shore-lark

Yellow Warbler

Yew--

Spanish

Oregon