BLUE WOLF DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
“There it is! I see it!” rang out Sarah Manning’s triumphant cry, as she
pointed excitedly to a glimmer of white among the thick growth of spruce
trees. “I saw it first! Hurrah for me!”
Sarah’s modest proposal fell on deaf ears. For the past five minutes,
the load of cheery adventurers who packed the big buckboard wagon had
been keeping a vigilant watch on the narrow road ahead. Perched in state
beside the driver, Sarah had forestalled them by the merest second. Her
last words mingled unheard with the gleeful shout that rent the still
woodland air. The driver of the buckboard, a long, lean native of Tower,
grinned indulgently as the shout assailed his ears. “Ye’ll hev to git
out here, lady,” he informed Miss Drexal over one shoulder as he brought
his horses to a gradual standstill. “I can’t drive no nearer your camp
than this. It ain’t but a step to it.”
“Very well.” Before he had accomplished a leisurely descent from the
wagon, his lively freight was already piling out over its sides. After
ten miles of travel over a rough corduroy road in a swaying buckboard,
the end of the journey was most welcome. Despite the wild beauty of the
country through which they had been riding, the thought of reaching camp
had overtopped all else. The very fact that they were presently to come
upon the forest home already prepared for them by their Indian guide,
had kept the whole party in a flutter of eager anticipation from their
very start from Tower.
“Oh, there’s Blue Wolf! Hoo-oo!” Ruth’s clear halloo, accompanied by a
wild flourish of her arm, created a ripple of laughter. Drawn up in a
group beside the road, the girls stood impatiently waiting for Miss
Drexal, who was still busy talking to the driver.
“Oh, see!” gasped Jane. “He actually waved his hand to you, Ruth! He’s
not so wooden as he seems. Here he comes. He looks too fierce for
comfort, though. You’d think him a regular savage scalp hunter on the
war path.”
“Shh!” warned Frances. “Don’t laugh, girls, or he will think you are
making fun of him. Indians are awfully touchy.”
This bit of caution chased away the smiles evoked by Jane’s criticism.
By the time Blue Wolf reached them, they were ready to greet him with
due solemnity.
“Camp him ready,” he remarked after he had gravely shaken hands all
around. “Heap nice place.” His bright eyes fixed themselves on Ruth, as
though he were seeking her especial approval.
“I am sure it is,” Ruth smiled winningly. “You must have worked very
hard to get the tents up and everything in shape for us.”
“I work,” admitted Blue Wolf.
Having finished her business with the driver, who had already begun
backing his horses, preparatory to turning back to Tower, Miss Drexal
now joined the group, greeting the Indian in kindly fashion.
“You come now, see camp,” he invited after she had asked him a question
or two. Striding ahead, he led the campers across a few yards of ground,
well covered with trees and bushes, to a little natural clearing where
two good-sized tents stood out whitely against the tall spruces and
tamaracks that surrounded them on all sides.
“But where’s Vermilion Lake?” cried out Emmy wonderingly, as they came
to a halt in front of the tents.
“Over there. No very far. No can see him. Too much tree.” Blue Wolf
indicated the location of the lake with a sweep of his hand. “To-morrow,
I take you see him.”
“To-morrow will be time enough,” declared Miss Drexal. “It is after four
o’clock now. Remember, we are going to gather the boughs for our beds.
After that is done and we have made them, it will be supper time. First
of all, we must arrange about our tent quarters. How shall we divide the
party? There will be five of us to each tent. We will put the trunk of
clothing in one tent and the box of kitchen utensils in the other. When
the weather is good, we will eat our meals in the open. When it rains,
we shall have to use one of the tents.”
“As long as we are a just and equitable band, I don’t see that it makes
much difference how we are divided,” laughed Marian.
The others instantly agreeing with her, Miss Drexal proposed that Jane,
Frances, Sarah, Betty and Anne take one tent, leaving Ruth, Emmy,
Marian, Blanche and herself to occupy the other. “Blue Wolf tells me
that he has built himself a little shack of bark halfway between here
and the lake. At night, he will be within easy reach of us if we should
call out, and also be near the canoes,” she explained. “Now, girls,
suppose we take possession at once. Leave your packs in your tents, and
let us get to work on our beds. The sooner they are made, the earlier we
can have supper.”
“I could eat it right now,” sighed Sarah. “I’m almost starved.”
The long ride in the bracing air having had a similar effect on her
companions, the girls hastened to obey Miss Drexal’s directions. Fifteen
minutes later, they were following the Indian’s tireless feet through
the woods on a hunt for the necessary materials for their makeshift
couches. They had not traveled far when they stumbled upon a pleasant
surprise. With the nearest approach to a grin that his somber features
would permit, Blue Wolf stopped beside two huge heaps of fragrant green
pine and balsam boughs, which it had taken him the greater part of the
morning to secure.
“Plenty bed here,” he announced, a note of grim pride in his voice at
his own achievement.
“I should say so,” chuckled Frances. “There’s enough stuff on these two
piles for twenty beds. Talk about your busy little workers,” she added
under her breath to Ruth, “Blue Wolf is the star of them all.”
Amid exclamations of gratified delight, the foresters pounced avidly
upon the fruits of the Indian’s labor. Under his direction, they first
piled their arms with the spicy boughs and set off for the tents in high
spirits. Prior to their arrival, Blue Wolf had already laid the
foundations in the tents for the bough beds. These consisted of five
inch tree trunks about six feet in length. Each set of two had been laid
parallel about four feet apart. They ranged two on a side with only a
foot’s space between them, with one pair of logs at the back.
The art of building a bough bed was not an unfamiliar one to the
Equitable Eight. They had mastered it the previous summer when they had
camped for a week in the Catskills. They, therefore, set to work with a
will, breaking off the boughs to a suitable length and sticking them
into the soft earth, tops uppermost and as close together as possible.
The result of this process was a series of fragrant green mounds. On top
of these more boughs were placed, so carefully as to allow no sharp ends
to stand up. Covered by heavy blankets, folded double, they became
couches that were not only comfortable, but also sturdy enough to
warrant no breakdown.
Of the ten toilers, Blanche Shirly was the only one who failed to do
herself credit. She made a half-hearted attempt to follow Miss Drexal’s
instructions, then slumped in the middle of her task and looked
helplessly on while Marian and Anne, their own work completed,
good-naturedly rallied to her assistance and completed her bed for her.
Aside from the beds, the tents held nothing in the way of furniture
except the trunk, a huge box for food supplies, and the box of kitchen
things. Blue Wolf had thoughtfully pounded nails into the lower ridge
plate of the tents. On some of these the girls hung their packs,
reserving others on which to hang their clothing at night. They were
wholly content with their quarters, however. It quite accorded with
their ideas of living the primitive life. All except Blanche, of course.
She was inwardly wondering how she could manage to endure such
discomfort. She was also a wee bit abashed at her own helplessness. It
galled her to have to appear so entirely out of her element. Yet her
grudge against Ruth still forbade her to show the least inclination
toward a usefulness which Ruth might note and approve.
Their beds made, Emmy, Ruth and Marian devoted themselves to building a
low fire in which to roast potatoes. Miss Drexal and Anne commenced a
businesslike unpacking of cooking utensils. Sarah, Jane and Frances
delved among the supplies with much playful squabbling. To Betty fell
the work of selecting a level spot on which to lay the tablecloth, and
decking it with the necessary, but limited amount of dishes and cutlery.
To her had also been entrusted the coffee-making. Blue Wolf had already
set off for a nearby spring with the two water pails. Blanche alone
found nothing to do. After wandering aimlessly about without offering to
help anyone, she retired disgustedly to the tent and lay down on her
bed, anxiously waiting to be called to supper. Whatever might be her
failings, lack of appetite was not one of them.
Due to the length of time it had taken to get supper nicely started, it
was after six o’clock when the hungry band seated themselves Turk
fashion on the ground about the sylvan board, and hungrily devoured a
supper of white bread, roasted potatoes, crisp bacon, steaming coffee,
canned beans, warmed over, with canned peaches and fancy crackers by way
of dessert.
“What are we going to do when our bread gives out?” asked Sarah,
reflectively crumbling a cracker. “We had only six loaves to start with.
I know because I unpacked them.”
“Make corn cakes, of course,” was Jane’s prompt information. “Didn’t you
see that nice fat bag of corn meal? I’m going to bake some myself for
supper to-morrow night. I wasn’t brought up in the South for nothing.
Mayn’t I, Miss Drexal?”
“Yes, if you like. You and I will initiate the rest of the girls into
the corn cake mystery. We shall have to depend on our corn meal a good
deal. Blue Wolf will, of course, go to Tower twice a week, by canoe, for
supplies. Even so, we shan’t be able to keep much bread on hand. It
dries too quickly.”
“By the way, where is his majesty?” asked Emmy. “He certainly must be
good and hungry after all he’s done to-day.”
“He will eat his supper when we have finished. Nothing would induce him
to lend his august presence to this chattering crowd,” smiled Miss
Drexal. “I suppose he is down by the lake hovering about his beloved
canoes. He made both of them, and insisted that we should make use of
them.”
“Then we ought to do something nice for him,” declared Ruth. “Let’s
clean off the table and set a place for him. One of us can put his
supper on the table for him, while two of us go after him and escort him
to the feast. That is, unless you think he mightn’t like it.” She
glanced inquiringly at the Guardian.
“It would probably please him, though I doubt if he would show any
outward signs of it.” Miss Drexal looked mildly amused.
“I’ll go with you, Ruth,” volunteered Frances. “On the way I’ll think up
a polite little verse of invitation to hurl at him. Let me see. How
would this sound:
“Blue Wolf, kind Blue Wolf,
Your supper is spread
With nice beans and bacon
And peaches and bread.
So run to the table as fast as you can,
And gobble your eats like a good little man!”
“He’ll probably jump straight into the lake,” giggled Sarah. “If we hear
a grand splash, we’ll know what happened.”
“Wait till you hear it.” Frances scrambled to her feet. “Come on, Ruth.”
Amid a volley of teasing remarks, the two girls swung off in the
direction of Blue Wolf’s little shack. The last rays of the setting sun
made it still light enough in the woods for them to pick an easy course
in and out among the trees. Spying the Indian seated beside one of the
two graceful canoes, drawn up on the bank at the water’s edge, Ruth
steered a course directly toward him.
“Your supper is ready, Blue Wolf. We came on purpose to tell you,” she
announced cheerily.
The Indian straightened up with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box,
then rose to his feet. Ruth thought she caught a fleeting gleam of
gratification in his black eyes. “Thank,” he muttered with a jerky
little nod. “You very good come tell me.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Ruth briskly assured. “May we look at the
canoes? Aren’t they beautiful, graceful things, though?” Stepping over
to one of them, she passed an admiring hand along its rough bark side.
“You made them both, didn’t you? It’s perfectly wonderful, I think.”
“I teach you an’ you.” The final “you” was for Frances. “You make canoe,
too. I show,” offered the guide gravely.
This brought a little squeal of pure delight from the lips of both
girls.
“Could we really make one ourselves?” Ruth clasped her hands with joy of
the possibility.
“I help you make him,” repeated Blue Wolf positively. “To-morrow find
tree. Cut him down. You see.”
“It will be splendid,” beamed Ruth. “Now we must go back to the others.
You’d better come, too, while your supper’s still hot.”
Without a word the Indian followed sedately in their wake, as the two
turned back to camp. Recalling Sarah’s prediction of a “grand splash,”
Ruth smiled to herself. Far from launching her verse at Blue Wolf,
Frances had been mute, save for the single exclamation arising from the
guide’s offer.
Though she did not know it, Ruth had already risen to a high place in
the Indian’s esteem. From the first, her frank, sunshiny smile and
cheery voice had not been lost on the shrewd old man. Next to Miss
Drexal, he had singled her out as being particularly worthy of his
faithful service. Emmy and Anne he respectfully admired from afar, by
reason of their undeniable good looks. Next to Ruth, he approved of
Marian’s quiet, dependable ways. Betty’s eyeglasses and dignity awed
him. Jane, Frances and Sarah he did not understand in the least, while
for Blanche he had conceived instant dislike. He had been quick to pick
her out as a shirker, and the one discordant element in the otherwise
happy flock.
Crouched over his supper, his keen eyes frequently traveled from his
food to where the Equitable Eight were busily engaged in piling up the
fuel for a mammoth camp fire. By the time he had finished eating, they
had fanned it to a ruddy blaze and seated themselves in a circle about
it. Carefully piling up the empty dishes, he set off for the lake to
wash them. Returning, he placed them in a neat pile before one of the
tents, and seating himself in its shadow, curiously watched the animated
group about the fire. The steady murmur of young voices, broken by
continuous peals of laughter, brought a flicker of grim enjoyment to his
stolid features, though he had not the faintest idea of what it was all
about.
As it happened, Frances had decreed that each in turn should relate the
most ridiculous thing she had ever done. With every recital their mirth
grew wilder. Even Blanche Shirly so far forgot her grievances as to
contribute a really funny little account of having once misdirected her
Christmas gifts to the extent of mailing a lace breakfast cap to a
finicky uncle and a briarwood pipe to a dear old lady who was naturally
deeply offended. Happening to catch Ruth’s merry eye, Blanche at once
retired into her shell. For once she had been caught off her guard. She
had not intended to relax the bored pose she was so fond of assuming,
yet she was finding it harder to maintain with each hour spent in camp.
Spying Blue Wolf huddled in the shadows, Ruth whispered to Miss Drexal
to ask him to join the circle. Rather to the Guardian’s surprise, he
accepted the invitation and stalked silently into their midst, seating
himself beside Ruth. In the flickering glow of the firelight, he
presented the last picturesque touch needed. He seemed the very spirit
of the Camp Fire come to life for the occasion.
With a view toward entertaining him, the girls sang several of their
most tuneful Camp Fire songs. Later, Emmy thrilled them with the wonder
of her golden voice. She had just ended an exquisite little French song,
which was a particular favorite with her friends, when an astonishing
thing happened. Rising, the Indian announced with proud solemnity: “I
sing for you one song my people. We call him Aotzi No-otz. Long ago
Cheyenne fight. Slay many enemies. Their warriors come back, faces all
black ashes. Take heap scalps. Sing loud this to Indian he no fight.
Paint the face red. Stay behind.”
With this somewhat sketchy explanation, Blue Wolf raised a sudden weird
wailing cry of, “Ya he ya ye he—hai yai!” that echoed on the still night
air, and sent delicious creepy thrills up and down the spines of the
listeners. As he sang on, they could almost visualize the war party of
savages, their faces hideously blackened with ashes, the dripping scalps
of their enemies dangling at their belts, as they flung their bitter
taunt of victory in the faces of the cowards of their tribe. The chant
ended with a wild: “I hai yu hai yu!” that caused the spell-bound
audience to cast furtive glances toward the blackness of the brooding
forest, as though they half expected to see a band of blood-thirsty
Cheyennes come whooping from its depths and pounce upon them.
A deep silence reigned for a moment afterward. Then Blue Wolf was
assailed by eager pleas for another song. He could not be prevailed upon
to sing again, however, though he grunted the grudging promise, “Sing
him some day, mebbe.” Nor did he reseat himself before the fire, but
bidding them a brief good night, strode away through the darkness.
It was not long afterward until the circle broke up. After a vigorous
beating out of the fire there followed a willing march to bed. It had
been a strenuous day, and the tired foresters were quite ready to try
the virtue of their bough beds. Ruth had confessed to being dreadfully
sleepy, but once settled for the night, slumber refused to chain down
her eyelids. From where she lay, she could look out through the narrow
gap in the tent flaps and glimpse the outdoors as a dark shadowy mass.
Her mind reviewing the day’s events, Blanche Shirly’s one effort toward
amiability stood out so clearly as to cause her to breathe a soft sigh
of satisfaction. She wondered if it really heralded the dawn of
Blanche’s better self. It had been but a mere flash. Immediately
afterward she had dropped back into her old aggravating attitude, yet,
somehow, Ruth could not help feeling that Blanche _had_ taken a step
forward.