"Granny, did you hear of a robbery last week down this side of
Downey's Dump?"

"Shure an' I did not," she exclaimed, her eyes ablaze with
interest--neither had Caleb, for that matter; but he wanted to start
the subject--"An" who was it was robbed?"

"Don't know, unless it was John Evans's place."

"Shure an' I don't know him, but I warrant he could sthand to lose.
Shure an' it's when the raskils come after me an' Cal Conner the
moment it was talked around that we had sold our Cow; then sez I, it's
gittin' onraisonable, an' them divils shorely seems to know whin a wad
o' money passes."

"That's the gospel truth. But when wuz you robbed, Granny?"

"Robbed? I didn't say I wuz robbed," and she cackled. "But the robbers
had the best av intintions when they came to me," and she related
at length her experience with the two who broke in when her Cow was
reported sold. She laughed over their enjoyment of the Lung Balm, and
briefly told how the big man was sulky and the short, broad one was
funny. Their black beards, the "big wan" with his wounded head, his
left-handedness and his accidental exposure of the three fingers of
the right hand, all were fully talked over.

"When was it, Granny?"

"Och, shure an' it wuz about three years apast."

Then after having had his lungs treated, old Caleb left Granny and set
out to do some very hard thinking.

There had been robberies all around for the last four years; There was
no clue but this: They were all of the same character; nothing but
cash was taken, and the burglars seemed to have inside knowledge of
the neighbourhood, and timed all their visits to happen just after the
householder had come into possession of a roll of bills.

As soon as Caleb turned in at the de Neuville gate, Yan, acting on a
belated thought, said:

"Boys, you go on to camp; I'll be after you in five minutes." He wanted
to draw those tracks in the mud and try to trail that man, so went
back to the grave.

He studied the marks most carefully and by opening out the book he was
able to draw the boot tracks life-size, noting that each had three
rows of small hobnails on the heel, apparently put in at home because
so irregular, while the sole of the left was worn into a hole. Then he
studied the hand tracks, selected the clearest, and was drawing the
right hand when something odd caught his attention.

Yes! It appeared in all the impressions of that hand--the middle
finger was gone.

[Illustration: The three-fingered hand-print]

Yan followed the track on the road a little way, but at the corner it
turned southward and was lost in the grass.

As he was going back to camp he overtook Caleb also returning.

"Mr. Clark," he said. "I went back to sketch those tracks, and do you
know--that man had only three fingers on his right hand?"

"Consarn me!" said Caleb. "Are you sure?"

"Come and see for yourself."

Yes! It surely was true, and Caleb on the road back said, "Yan, don't
say a word of this to the others just now."

The old Trapper went to the Pogue house at once. He found the tracks
repeated in the dust near the door, but they certainly were not made
by Dick. On a line was a pair of muddy trousers drying.

From this night Yan went up and Guy went down in the old man's
opinion, for he spoke his own mind that day when he gave first place
to grit. He invited Yan to come to his shanty to see a pair of
snow-shoes he was making. The invitation was vague and general, so the
whole Tribe accepted. Yan had not been there since his first visit.
The first part of their call was as before. In answer to their knock
there was a loud baying from the Hound, then a voice ordering him
back. Caleb opened the door, but now said "Step in." If he was
displeased with the others coming he kept it to himself. While Yan
was looking at the snow-shoes Guy discovered something much more
interesting on the old man's bunk; that was the white revolver, now
cleaned up and in perfect order. Caleb's delight at its recovery,
though not very apparent, was boundless. He had not been able to buy
himself another, and this was as warmly welcomed back as though a
long-lost only child.

"Say, Caleb, let's try a shot. I bet I kin beat the hull gang,"
exclaimed Sapwood.

Caleb got some cartridges and pointed to a white blaze on a stump
forty yards away. Guy had three or four shots and Yan had the same
without hitting the stump. Then Caleb said, "Lemme show you."

His big rugged hand seemed to swallow up the little gun-stock. His
long knobbed finger fitted around the lock in a strange but familiar
way. Caleb was a bent-arm shot, and the short barrel looked like his
own forefinger pointing at the target as he pumped away six times in
quick succession. All went into the blaze and two into the charcoal
spot that marked the centre.

"By George! Look at that for shooting!" and the boys were loud in
their praise.

"Well, twenty year ago I used to be a pretty good shot," Caleb
proceeded to explain with an air of unnecessary humility and a very
genial expression on his face. "But that's dead easy. I'll show you
some real tricks."

Twenty-five feet away he set up three cartridges in a row, their caps
toward him, and exploded them in succession with three rapid shots.
Then he put the revolver in the side pocket of his coat, and
recklessly firing it without drawing, much less sighting or even
showing it, he peppered a white blaze at twenty yards. Finally he
looked around for an old fruit tin. Then he cocked the revolver,
laid it across his right hand next the thumb and the tin across the
fingers. He then threw them both in the air with a jerk that sent the
revolver up ten feet and the tin twenty. As the revolver came down he
seized it and shot a hole through the tin before it could reach the
ground.

The boys were simply dumbfounded. They had used up all their
exclamations on the first simple target trial.

Caleb stepped into the shanty to get a cleaning-rag for his darling,
and Sam burst out:

"Well, now I know he never shot at Da, for if he did he'd 'a' got him
sure."

It was not meant for Caleb's ears, but it reached him, and the old
Trapper came to the door at once with a long, expressive "H-m-m-mrr."

Thus was broken the dam of silent scorn, for it was the first time
Caleb had addressed himself to Sam. The flood had forced the barrier,
but it still left plenty of stuff in the channel to be washed away by
time and wear, and it was long before he talked to Sam as freely as to
the others, but still in time he learned.

There was an air of geniality on all now, and Yan took advantage of
this to ask for something he had long kept in mind.

"Mr. Clark, will you take us out for a Coon hunt? We know where there
are lots of Coons that feed in a corn patch up the creek."

If Yan had asked this a month ago he would have got a contemptuous
refusal. Before the visit to Carney's grave it might have been, "Oh, I
dunno--I ain't got time," but he was on the right side of Caleb now,
and the answer was:

"Well, yes! Don't mind if I do, first night it's coolish, so the Dog
kin run."

[Illustration: Raccoon in tree]




XXI

The Triumph Of Guy


The boys had hunted the Woodchuck quite regularly since first meeting
it. Their programme was much the same--each morning about nine or ten
they would sneak out to the clover field. It was usually Guy who first
discovered the old Grizzly, then all would fire a harmless shot, the
Woodchuck would scramble into his den and the incident be closed for
the day. This became as much a part of the day's routine as getting
breakfast, and much more so than the washing of the dishes. Once or
twice the old Grizzly had narrow escapes, but so far he was none the
worse, rather the better, being wiser. The boys, on the other
hand, gained nothing, with the possible exception of Guy. Always
quick-sighted, his little washed-out optics developed a marvellous
keenness. At first it was as often Yan or Sam who saw the old Grizzly,
but later it was always Guy.

One morning Sam approached the game from one point, Guy and Yan from
another some yards away. "No Woodchuck!" was the first opinion, but
suddenly Guy called "I see him." There in a little hollow fully sixty
yards from his den, and nearly a hundred from the boys, concealed in a
bunch of clover, Guy saw a patch of gray fur hardly two inches square.
"That's him, sure."

Yan could not see it at all. Sam saw but doubted. An instant later
the Woodchuck (for it was he) stood up on his hind legs, raised his
chestnut breast above the clover, and settled all doubt.

"By George!" exclaimed Yan in admiration. "_That is great_. You
have the most wonderful eyes I ever did see. Your name ought to be
'Hawkeye'--that should be your name."

"All right," shrilled out Guy enthusiastically. "Will you--will
you, Sam, will you call me Hawkeye? I think you ought to," he added
pleadingly.

"I think so, Sam," said the Second Chief. "He's turned out great
stuff, an' it's regular Injun."

"We'll have to call a Council and settle that. Now let's to business."

"Say, Sapwood, you're so smart, couldn't you go round through the
woods to your side and crawl through the clover so as get between the
old Grizzly and his den?" suggested the Head Chief.

"I bet I can, an' I'll bet a dollar--"

"Here, now," said Yan, "Injuns don't have dollars."

"Well, I'll bet my scalp--my black scalp, I mean--against Sam's that I
kill the old Grizzly first."

"Oh, let me do it first--you do it second," said Sam imploringly.

"Errr--yer scared of yer scalp."

"I'll go you," said Sam.

Each of the boys had a piece of black horsehair that he called his
scalp. It was tied with a string to the top of his head--and this was
what Guy wished to wager.

Yan now interfered: "Quit your squabbling, you Great War Chiefs, an'
'tend to business. If Woodpecker kills old Grizzly he takes Sapwood's
scalp; if Sappy kills him he takes the Woodpecker's scalp, an' the
winner gets a grand feather, too."

Sam and Yan waited impatiently in the woods while Guy sneaked around.
The Woodchuck seemed unusually bold this day. He wandered far from his
den and got out of sight in hollows at times. The boys saw Guy crawl
through the fence, though the Woodchuck did not. The fact was, that he
had always had the enemy approach him from the other side, and was not
watching eastward.

Guy, flat on his breast, worked his way through the clover. He crawled
about thirty yards and now was between the Woodchuck and his den.
Still old Grizzly kept on stuffing himself with clover and watching
toward the Raften woods. The boys became intensely excited. Guy could
see them, but not the Woodchuck. They pointed and gesticulated. Guy
thought that meant "Now shoot." He got up cautiously. The Woodchuck
saw him and bounded straight for its den--that is, toward Guy. Guy
fired wildly. The arrow went ten feet over the Grizzly's head, and,
that "huge, shaking mass of fur" bounding straight at him, struck
terror to his soul. He backed up hastily, not knowing where to run. He
was close to the den.

The Woodchuck chattered his teeth and plunged to get by the boy, each
as scared as could be. Guy gave a leap of terror and fell heavily just
as the Woodchuck would have passed under him and home. But the boy
weighed nearly 100 pounds, and all that weight came with crushing
force on old Grizzly, knocking the breath out of his body. Guy
scrambled to his feet to run for his life, but he saw the Woodchuck
lying squirming, and plucked up courage enough to give him a couple
of kicks on the nose that settled him. A loud yell from the other two
boys was the first thing that assured Guy of his victory. They came
running over and found him standing like the hunter in an amateur
photograph, holding his bow in one hand and the big Woodchuck by the
tail in the other.

[Illustration: The hunter]

"Now, I guess you fellers will come to me to larn you how to kill
Woodchucks. Ain't he an old socker? I bet he weighs fifty pounds--yes,
near sixty." (It weighed about ten pounds.)

"Good boy! Bully boy! Hooray for the Third War Chief! Hooray for Chief
Sapwood!" and Guy had no cause to complain of lack of appreciation on
the part of the others.

He swelled out his chest and looked proud and haughty. "Wished I knew
where there was some more Woodchucks," he said. "_I_ know how to
get them, if the rest don't."

"Well, that should count for a _grand coup_, Sappy."

[Illustration: "Guy gave a leap of terror and fell."]

"You tole me you wuz goin' to call me 'Hawkeye' after this morning."

"We'll have to have a Grand Council to fix that up," replied the Head
Chief.

"All right; let's have it this afternoon, will you?"

"All right."

"'Bout four o'clock?"

"Why, yes; any time."

"And you'll fix me up as 'Hawkeye,' and give me a dandy Eagle feather
for killing the Woodchuck, at four o'clock?"

"Yes, sure, only, why do you want it at four o'clock?"

But Guy seemed not to hear, and right away after dinner he
disappeared.

"He's dodging the dishwashing again," suggested the Woodpecker.

"No, he isn't," said the Second Chief. "I believe he's going to bring
his folks to see him in his triumph."

"That's so. Let's chip right in and make it an everlasting old
blowout--kind of a new date in history. You'll hear me lie like sixty
to help him out."

"Good enough. I'm with you. You go and get your folks. I'll go after
old Caleb, and we'll fix it up to call him 'Hawkeye' and give him his
_grand coup_ feather all at once."

"'Feard my folks and Caleb wouldn't mix," replied Sam, "but I believe
for a splurge like this Guy'd ruther have my folks. You see, Da has
the mortgage on their place."

So it was agreed Sam was to go for his mother, while Yan was to
prepare the Eagle feather and skin the Woodchuck.

It was not "as big as a bear," but it was a very large Woodchuck, and
Yan was as much elated over the victory as any of them. He still had
an hour or more before four o'clock, and eager to make Guy's triumph
as Indian as possible, he cut off all the Woodchuck's claws, then
strung them on a string, with a peeled and pithed Elder twig an inch
long between each two. Some of the claws were very, very small, but
the intention was there to make a Grizzly-claw necklace.

Guy made for home as fast as he could go. His father hailed him as he
neared the garden and evidently had plans of servitude, but Guy
darted into the dining-room-living-room-bedroom-kitchen-room, which
constituted nine-tenths of the house.

"Oh, Maw, you just ought to seen me; you just want to come this
afternoon--I'm the Jim Dandy of the hull Tribe, an they're going to
make me Head Chief. I killed that whaling old Woodchuck that pooty
nigh killed Paw. They couldn't do a thing without me--them fellers in
camp. They tried an' tried more'n a thousand times to get that old
Woodchuck--yes, I bet they tried a million times, an' I just waited
till they was tired and give up, then I says, 'Now, I'll show you
how.' First I had to point him out. Them fellers is no good to see
things. Then I says, 'Now, Sam and Yan, you fellers stay here, an'
just to show how easy it is when you know how, I'll leave all my
bosenarrers behind an' go with nothing.' Wall, there they stood an'
watched me, an' I s-n-e-a-k-e-d round the fence an' c-r-a-w-l-e-d in
the clover just like an Injun till I got between him an' his hole, and
then I hollers and he come a-snortin' an' a-chatterin' his teeth at
me to chaw me up, for he seen I had no stick nor nothin', an' I never
turned a hair; I kep' cool an' waited till jest as he was going to
jump for my throat, then I turned and gave him one kick on the snoot
that sent him fifty feet in the air, an' when he come down he was
deader'n Kilsey's hen when she was stuffed with onions. Oh, Maw, I'm
just the bully boy; they can't do nothin' in camp 'thout me. I had to
larn 'em to hunt Deer an' see things--an'--an'--an'--lots o' things,
so they are goin' to make me Head Chief of the hull Tribe, an' call
me 'Hawkeye,' too; that's the way the Injuns does. It's to be at four
o'clock this afternoon, an' you got to come."

Burns scoffed at the whole thing and told Guy to get to work at the
potatoes, and if he left down the bars so that the Pig got out he'd
skin him alive; he would have no such fooling round his place. But Mrs
Burns calmly informed him that _she_ was going. It was to her
much like going to see a university degree conferred on her boy.

Since Burns would not assist, the difficulty of the children now
arose. This, however, was soon settled. They should go along. It was
two hours' toil for the mother to turn the four brown-limbed, nearly
naked, dirty, happy towsle-tops into four little martyrs, befrocked,
beribboned, becombed and be-booted. Then they all straggled across the
field, Mrs. Burns carrying the baby in one arm and a pot of jam in
the other. Guy ran ahead to show the way, and four-year-old,
three-year-old and two-year-old, hand in hand, formed a diagonal line
in the wake of the mother.

They were just a little surprised on getting to camp to find Mrs.
Raften and Minnie there in holiday clothes. Marget's first feeling was
resentment, but her second thought was a pleasant one. That "stuck-up"
woman, the enemy's wife, should see her boy's triumph, and Mrs. Burns
at once seized on the chance to play society cat.

"How do ye do, Mrs. Raften; hope you're well," she said with a tinge
of malicious pleasure and a grand attempt at assuming the leadership.

"Quite well, thank you. We came down to see how the boys were getting
on in camp."

"They've got on very nicely _sense my boy j'ined them_," retorted
Mrs. Burns, still fencing.

"So I understand; the other two have become very fond of him,"
returned Mrs. Raften, seeking to disarm her enemy.

This speech had its effect. Mrs. Burns aimed only to forestall the
foe, but finding to her surprise that the enemy's wife was quite
gentle, a truce was made, and by the time Mrs. Raften had petted and
praised the four tow-tops and lauded Guy to the utmost the air of
latent battle was replaced by one of cordiality.

The boys now had everything ready for the grand ceremony. On the
Calfskin rug at one end was the Council; Guy, seated on the skin of
the Woodchuck and nearly hiding it from view, Sam on his left hand
and Yan with the drum, on his right. In the middle the Council fire
blazed. To give air, the teepee cover was raised on the shady side and
the circle of visitors was partly in the teepee and partly out.

The Great War Chief first lighted the peace pipe, puffed for a minute,
then blew off the four smokes to the four winds and handed it to the
Second and Third War Chiefs, who did the same.

Little Beaver gave three thumps on the drum for silence, and the Great
Woodpecker rose up:

"Big Chiefs, Little Chiefs, Braves, Warriors, Councillors, Squaws,
and Papooses of the Sanger Indians: When our Tribe was at war with
them--them--them--other Injuns--them Birchbarks, we took prisoner one
of their warriors and tortured him to death two or three times, and he
showed such unusual stuff that we took him into our Tribe--"

Loud cries of "How--How--How," led by Yan.

"We gave a sun-dance for his benefit, but he didn't brown--seemed too
green--so we called him Sapwood. From that time he has fought his way
up from the ranks and got to be Third War Chief--"

"How--How--How."

"The other day the hull Tribe j'ined to attack an' capture a big
Grizzly and was licked bad, when the War Chief Sapwood came to the
rescue an' settled the owld baste with one kick on the snoot. Deeds
like this is touching. A feller that kin kick like that didn't orter
be called Sapwood nor Saphead nor Sapanything. No, sirree! It ain't
right. He's the littlest Warrior among the War Chiefs, but he kin see
farder an' do it oftener an' better than his betters. He kin see round
a corner or through a tree. 'Cept maybe at night, he's the swell seer
of the outfit, an' the Council has voted to call him 'Hawkeye.'"

"How--How--How--How--How--"

Here Little Beaver handed the Head War Chief a flat white stick on
which was written in large letters "Sapwood."

"Here's the name he went by before he was great an' famous, an' this
is the last of it." The Chief put the stick in the fire, saying, "Now
let us see if you're too green to burn." Little Beaver then handed
Woodpecker a fine Eagle feather, red-tufted, and bearing in outline
a man with a Hawk's head and an arrow from his eye. "This here's a
swagger Eagle feather for the brave deed he done, and tells about him
being Hawkeye, too" (the feather was stuck in Guy's hair and the claw
necklace put about his neck amid loud cries of "How--How--" and thumps
of the drum), "and after this, any feller that calls him Sapwood has to
double up and give Hawkeye a free kick."

There was a great chorus of "How--How." Guy tried hard to look
dignified and not grin, but it got beyond him. He was smiling right
across and half way round. His mother beamed with pride till her eyes
got moist and overflowed.

Every one thought the ceremony was over, but Yan stood up and began:
"There is something that has been forgotten, Chiefs, Squaws and
Pappooses of the Sanger Nation: When we went out after this Grizzly I
was witness to a bargain between two of the War Chiefs. According to a
custom of our Tribe, they bet their scalps, each that he would be the
one to kill the Grizzly. The Head Chief Woodpecker was one and Hawkeye
was the other. Hawkeye, you can help yourself to Woodpecker's scalp."

Sam had forgotten about this, but he bowed his head. Guy cut the
string, and holding up the scalp, he uttered a loud, horrible
war-whoop which every one helped with some sort of noise. It was the
crowning event. Mrs. Burns actually wept for joy to see her heroic boy
properly recognized at last.

Then she went over to Sam and said, "Did you bring your folks here to
see my boy get praised?"

Sam nodded and twinkled an eye.

"Well, I don't care who ye are, Raften or no Raften, you got a good
heart, an' it's in the right place. I never did hold with them as says
'There ain't no good in a Raften.' I always hold there's some good in
every human. I know your Paw _did_ buy the mortgage on our place,
but I never did believe your Maw stole our Geese, _an' I never
will_, an' next time I hear them runnin' on the Raftens I'll jest
open out an' tell what I know."

[Illustration: The picture on the Teepee Lining, to record Guy's
Exploit.]




XXII

The Coon Hunt


Yan did not forget the proposed Coon hunt--in fact, he was most
impatient for it, and within two days the boys came to Caleb about
sundown and reminded him of his promise. It was a sultry night, but
Yan was sure it was just right for a Coon hunt, and his enthusiasm
carried all before it. Caleb was quietly amused at the "_cool
night_" selected, but reckoned it would be "better later."

"Set down--set down, boys," he said, seeing them standing ready for an
immediate start. "There's no hurry. Coons won't be running for three
or four hours after sundown."

So he sat and smoked, while Sam vainly tried to get acquainted with
old Turk; Yan made notes on some bird wings nailed to the wall,
and Guy got out the latest improved edition of his exploits in
Deer-hunting and Woodchuck killing, as well as enlarged on his plans
for gloriously routing any Coon they might encounter.

By insisting that it would take an hour to get to the place, Yan
got them started at nine o'clock, Caleb, on a suggestion from Guy,
carrying a small axe. Keeping old Turk well in hand, they took the
highway, and for half an hour tramped on toward the "Corners." Led by
Sam, they climbed a fence crossed a potato field, and reached the corn
patch by the stream.

"Go ahead, Turk. Sic him! Sic him! Sic him!" and the company sat in a
row on the fence to await developments.

Turk was somewhat of a character. He hunted what he pleased and when
he pleased. His master could bring him on the Coon grounds, but he
couldn't make him hunt Coon nor anything else unless it suited his own
fancy. Caleb had warned the boys to be still, and they sat along the
fence in dead silence, awaiting the summons from the old Hound. He had
gone off beating and sniffing among the cornstalks. His steps sounded
very loud and his sniffs like puffs of steam. It was a time of tense
attention; but the Hound wandered, farther away, and even his noisy
steps were lost.

They had sat for two long minutes, when a low yelp from a distant part
of the field, then a loud "_bow-wow"_ from the Hound, set Yan's
heart jumping.

"Game afoot," said Sam in a low voice.

"Bet I heered him first," piped Guy.

Yan's first thought was to rush pell-mell after the Dog. He had often
read of the hunt following furiously the baying of the Hounds, but
Caleb restrained him.

"Hold on, boy; plenty of time. Don't know yet what it is."

For Turk, like most frontier Hounds, would run almost any trail--had
even been accused of running on his own--and it rested with those who
knew him best to discover from his peculiar style of tonguing just
what the game might be. But they waited long and patiently without
getting another bay from the Hound. Presently a rustling was heard and
Turk came up to his master and lay down at his feet.

"Go ahead, Turk, put him up," but the Dog stirred not. "Go ahead," and
Caleb gave him a rap with a small stick. The Dog dodged away, but lay
down again, panting.

"What was it, Mr. Clark?" demanded Yan.

"Don't hardly know. Maybe he only spiked himself on a snag. But this
is sure; there's no Coons here to-night. There won't be after this. We
come too early, and it's too hot for the Dog, anyway."

"We could cross the creek and go into Boyle's bush," suggested the
Woodpecker. "We're like to strike anything there. Larry de Neuville
swears he saw a Unicorn there the night he came back from Garney's
wake."

"How can you tell the kind of game by the Dog's barking?" asked Yan.

"H-m!" answered Caleb, as he put a fresh quid in his lantern jaw. "You
surely can if you know the country an' the game an' the Dog. Course,
no two Dogs is alike; you got to study your Dog, an' if he's good
he'll larn you lots about trailing."

The brook was nearly dry now, so they crossed where they would. Then
feeling their way through the dark woods with eyes for the most part
closed, they groped toward Boyle's open field, then across it to the
heavy timber. Turk had left them at the brook, and, following its
course till he came to a pool, had had a bath. As they entered the
timber tract he joined them, dripping wet and ready for business.

"Go ahead, Turk," and again all sat down to await the opinion of the
expert.

It came quickly. The old Hound, after circling about in a way that
seemed to prove him independent of daylight, began to sniff loudly,
and gave a low whine. He followed a little farther, and now his tail
was heard to '_tap, tap, tap_' the brush as he went through a dry
thicket.

"Hear that? He's got something this time," said Caleb in a low voice.
"Wait a little."

The Hound was already working out a puzzle, and when at last he got
far enough to be sure, he gave a short bark. There was another
spell of sniffing, then another bark, then several little barks at
intervals, and at last a short bay; then the baying recommenced, but
was irregular and not full-chested. The sounds told that the Hound was
running in a circle about the forest, but at length ceased moving,
for all the barking was at one place. When the hunters got there
they found the Dog half-way in a hole under a stump, barking and
scratching.

"Humph," said Caleb; "nothing but a Cottontail. Might 'a' knowed that
by the light scent an' the circling without treeing."

So Turk was called off and the company groped through the inky woods
in quest of more adventures.

"There's a kind of swampy pond down the lower end of the bush--a
likely place for Coons on a Frog-hunt," suggested the Woodpecker.

So the Hound was again "turned on" near the pond. The dry woods were
poor for scent, but the damp margin of the marsh proved good, and Turk
became keenly interested and very sniffy. A preliminary "_Woof!_"
was followed by one or two yelps and then a full-chested
"_Boooow!"_ that left no doubt he had struck a hot trail at last.
Oh, what wonderfully thrilling horn-blasts those were! Yan for the
first time realized the power of the "full cry," whose praises are so
often sung.

The hunters sat down to await the result, for, as Caleb pointed out,
there was "no saying where the critter might run."

The Hound bayed his fullest, roundest notes at quick intervals, but
did not circle. The sound of his voice told them that the chase was
straight away, out of the woods, easterly across an open field, and at
a hot pace, with regular, full bellowing, unbroken by turn or doubt.

"I believe he's after the old Callaghan Fox," said the Trapper.
"They've tried it together before now, an' there ain't anything but a
Fox will run so straight and fetch such a tune out of Turk."

The baying finally was lost in the distance, probably a mile away, but
there was nothing for it but to wait. If Turk had been a full-bred and
trained Foxhound he would have stuck to that trail all night, but in
half an hour he returned, puffing and hot, to throw himself into the
shallow pond.

"Everything scared away now," remarked Caleb. "We might try the other
side of the pond." Once or twice the dog became interested, but
decided that there was nothing in it, and returned to pant by his
master's feet.

They had now travelled so far toward home that a very short cut across
fields would bring them into their own woods.

The moon arose as they got there, and after their long groping in the
murky darkness this made the night seem very bright and clear.

They had crossed the brook below Granny de Neuville's, and were
following the old timber trail that went near the stream, when Turk
stopped to sniff, ran back and forth two or three times, then stirred
the echoes with a full-toned bugle blast and led toward the water.

"_Bow--bow--bow--bow_," he bawled for forty yards and came to a
stop. The baying was exactly the same that he gave on the Fox trail,
but the course of the animal was crooked, and now there was a break.

They could hear the dog beating about close at hand and far away, but
silent so far as tongue was concerned.

"What is it, Caleb?" said Sam with calm assurance, forgetting how
recent was their acquaintance.

"Dunno," was the short reply.

"'Tisn't a Fox, is it?" asked Yan.

But a sudden renewal of "_Bow--bow--bow--_" from the Hound one
hundred yards away, at the fence, ended all discussion. The dog had
the hot trail again. The break had been along the line of a fence that
showed, as Caleb said, "It was a Coon, 'cept it might be some old
house Cat maybe; them was the only things that would run along top of
a fence in the night time."

It was easy to follow now; the moonlight was good, and the baying of
the Hound was loud and regular. It led right down the creek, crossing
several pools and swamps.

"That settles it," remarked the Trapper decisively. "Cats don't take
to the water. That's a Coon," and as they hurried they heard a sudden
change in the dog's note, no longer a deep rich '_B-o-o-w-w_.' It
became an outrageous clamour of mingled yelps, growls and barks.

"Ha--heh. That means he's right on it. That is what he does when he
_sees_ the critter."

But the "view halloo" was quickly dropped and the tonguing of the dog
was now in short, high-pitched yelps _at one place_.

"Jest so! He's treed! That's a Coon, all right!" and Caleb led
straight for the place.

The Hound was barking and leaping against a big Basswood, and Caleb's
comment was: "Hm, never knowed a Coon to do any other way--always gets
up the highest and tarnalest tree to climb in the hull bush. Now who's
the best climber here?"

"Yan is," volunteered Sam.

"Kin ye do it, Yan?"

"I'll try."

"Guess we'll make a fire first and see if we can't see him," said the
Woodpecker.

"If it was a Woodchuck I'd soon get him for you," chimed in Hawkeye,
but no one heeded.

Sam and Yan gathered stuff and soon had a flood of flickering red
light on all the surrounding trees. They scanned the big Basswood
without getting sight of their quarry. Caleb took a torch and found on
the bark some fresh mud. By going back on the trail to where it had
crossed the brook they found the footprint--undoubtedly that of a
large Coon.

"Reckon he's in some hollow; he's surely up that tree, and Basswood's
are always hollow."

Yan now looked at the large trunk in doubt as to whether he could
manage it.

Caleb remarked his perplexity and said: "Yes; that's so. You ain't
fifteen foot spread across the wings, are you? But hold on--"

He walked to a tall thin tree near at hand, cut it through with the
axe in a few minutes, and threw it so as to rest against the lowest
branch of the big Basswood. Up this Yan easily swarmed, carrying a
stout Elm stick tied behind. When he got to the great Basswood he felt
lost in the green mass, but the boys below carried torches so as to
shed light on each part in turn. At first Yan found neither hole in
the trunk nor Coon, but after long search in the upper branches he saw
a great ball of fur on a high crotch and in it two glowing eyes that
gave him a thrill. He yelled: "Here he is! Look out below." He climbed
up nearer and tried to push the Coon off, but it braced itself firmly
and defied him until he climbed above it, when it leaped and scrambled
to a lower branch.

Yan followed it, while his companions below got greatly excited, as
they could see nothing, and only judged by the growling and snarling
that Yan and the Coon were fighting. After another passage at arms
the Coon left the second crotch and scrambled down the trunk till it
reached the leaning sapling, and there perched, glaring at the hunters
below. The old Hound raised a howl when he saw the quarry, and Caleb,
stepping to one side, drew his revolver and fired. The Coon fell dead
into their midst. Turk sprang to do battle, but he was not needed, and
Caleb fondly and proudly wiped the old white pistol as though it alone
were to be thanked for the clever shot.

Yan came down quickly, though he found it harder to get down than up.
He hurried excitedly into the ring and stroked the Coon with a mixture
of feelings--admiring its fur--sorry, after all, that it was killed,
and triumphant that he had led the way. _It was his Coon_, and
all admitted that. Sam "hefted" it by one leg and said, "Weighs thirty
pounds, I bet."

Guy said: "Pooh! Tain't half as big as that there big Woodchuck I
killed, an' you never would have got him if I hadn't thought of the
axe."

Yan thought it would weigh thirty-five pounds. Caleb guessed it at
twenty-five (and afterward they found out that it barely weighed
eighteen). While they were thus talking the Dog broke into an angry
barking such as he gave for strangers--his "human voice," Caleb called
it--and at once there stepped into the circle William Raften. He had
seen the lights in the woods, and, dreading a fire at this dry season,
had dressed and come out.

"Hello, Da; why ain't you in bed, where you ought to be?"

Raften took no notice of his son, but said sneeringly to Caleb: "Ye
ain't out trying to get another shot at me, air ye?" 'Tain't worth
your while; I hain't got no cash on me to-night."

"Now see here, Da," said Sam, interrupting before Caleb could answer,
"you don't play fair. I know, an' you ought to know, that's all rot
about Caleb shooting at you. If he had, he'd 'a' got you sure. I've
seen him shoot."

"Not when he was drunk."

"Last time I was drunk we was in it together," said Caleb fiercely,
finding his voice.

"Purty good for a man as swore he had no revolver," and Raften pointed
to Caleb's weapon. "I seen you with that ten years ago. An' sure
I'm not scairt of you an' yer revolver," said Raften, seeing Caleb
fingering his white pet; "an' I tell ye this. I won't have ye and yer
Sheep-killing cur ramatacking through my woods an' making fires this
dry saison."

"D---- you, Raften, I've stood all I'm goin' to stand from you." The
revolver was out in a flash, and doubtless Caleb would have lived up
to his reputation, but Sam, springing to push his father back, came
between, and Yan clung to Caleb's revolver arm, while Guy got safely
behind a tree.

"Get out o' the way, you kids!" snarled Caleb.

"By all manes," said Raften scoffingly; "now that he's got me
unarrumed again. You dhirty coward! Get out av the way, bhoys, an
Oi'll settle him," for Raften was incapable of fear, and the boys
would have been thrust aside and trouble follow, but that Raften as he
left the house had called his two hired men to follow and help fight
the fire, and now they came on the scene. One of them was quite
friendly with Caleb, the other neutral, and they succeeded in stopping
hostilities for a time, while Sam exploded:

"Now see here, Da, 'twould just 'a' served you right if you'd got a
hole through you. You make me sick, running on Caleb. He didn't make
that fire; 'twas me an' Yan, an' we'll put it out safe enough. You
skinned Caleb an' he never done you no harm. You run on him just as
Granny de Neuville done on you after she grabbed your groceries. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tain't square, an' 'tain't being a
man. When you can't prove nothin' you ought to shut up."

Raften was somewhat taken aback by this outburst, especially as he
found all the company against him. He had often laughed at Granny de
Neuville's active hatred against him when he had done her nothing but
good. It never occurred to him that he was acting a similar part. Most
men would have been furious at the disrespectful manner of their son,
but Raften was as insensitive as he was uncowardly. His first shock
of astonishment over, his only thought of Sam was, "Hain't he got a
cheek! My! but he talks like a lawyer, an' he sasses right back like a
fightin' man; belave I'll make him study law instid of tooth-pullin'."

The storm was over, for Caleb's wrath was of the short and fierce
kind, and Raften, turning away in moral defeat, growled: "See that ye
put that fire out safe. Ye ought all to be in yer beds an' aslape,
like dacint folks."

"Well, ain't you dacint?" retorted Sam.

Raften turned away, heeding neither that nor Guy's shrill attempt
to interpolate some details of his own importance in this present
hunt--"Ef it hadn't been for me they wouldn't had no axe along, Mr.
Raften"--but William had disappeared.

The boys put out the fire carefully and made somewhat silently for
camp. Sam and Yan carried the Coon between them on a stick, and before
they reached the teepee they agreed that the carcass weighed at least
eighty pounds.

Caleb left them, and they all turned in at once and slept the sleep of
the tired camper.




XXIII

The Banshee's Wail and the Huge Night Prowler


Next day while working on the Coon-skin Sam and Yan discussed
thoroughly the unpleasant incident of the night before, but they
decided that it would be unwise to speak of it to Caleb unless he
should bring up the subject, and Guy was duly cautioned.

That morning Yan went to the mud albums on one of his regular rounds
and again found, first that curious hoof-mark that had puzzled
him before, and down by the pond album the track of a very large
bird--much like a Turkey track, indeed. He brought Caleb to see them.
The Trapper said that one was probably the track of a Blue Crane
(Heron), and the other, "Well, I don't hardly know; but it looks to me
mighty like the track of a big Buck--only there ain't any short of the
Long Swamp, and that's ten miles at least. Of course, _when there's
only out it ain't a track_; it's an accident."

"Yes; but I've found lots of them--a trail every time, but not quite
enough to follow."

That night after dark, when he was coming to camp with the product of
a "massacree," Yan heard a peculiar squawking, guttural sound that
rose from the edge of the pond and increased in strength, drawing
nearer, till it was a hideous and terrifying uproar. It was exactly
the sound that Guy had provoked on that first night when he came and
tried to frighten the camp. It passed overhead, and Yan saw for a
moment the form of a large slow-flying bird.

Next day it was Yan's turn to cook. At sunrise, as he went for water,
he saw a large Blue Heron rise from the edge of the pond and fly on
heavy pinions away over the tree-tops. It was a thrilling sight. The
boy stood gazing after it, absolutely rapt with delight, and when it
was gone he went to the place where it rose and found plenty of large
tracks just like the one he had sketched. Unquestionably it was the
same bird as on the night before, and the mystery of the Wolf with the
sore throat was solved. This explanation seemed quite satisfactory to
everybody but Guy. He had always maintained stoutly that the woods
were full of Bears right after sundown. Where they went at other times
was a mystery, but he "reckoned he hadn't yet run across the bird that
could scare him--no, nor the beast, nuther."

Caleb agreed that the grating cry must be that of the Blue Crane, but
the screech and wail in the tree-tops at night he could shed no light
on.

There were many other voices of the night that became more or less
familiar. Some of them were evidently birds; one was the familiar
Song-Sparrow, and high over the tree-tops from the gloaming sky they
often heard a prolonged sweet song. It was not till years afterward
that Yan found out this to be the night-song of the Oven-bird, but he
was able to tell them at once the cause of the startling outcry that
happened one evening an hour after sundown.

The Woodpecker was outside, the other two inside the teepee. A
peculiar sound fell on his ear. It kept on--a succession of long
whines, and getting stronger. As it gave no sign of ending, Sam called
the other boys. They stood in a row there and heard this peculiar
"_whine, whine, whine_" develop into a loud, harsh "_whow,
whow, whow_."

"It must be some new Heron cry," Yan whispered.

But the sound kept on increasing till it most resembled the yowling
of a very strong-voiced Cat, and still grew till each separate
"_meow_" might have been the yell of a Panther. Then at its
highest and loudest there was a prolonged "_meow"_ and silence,
followed finally by the sweet chant of the Song-sparrow.

A great light dawned on Little Beaver. Now he remembered that voice in
Glenyan so long ago, and told the others with an air of certainty:

"Boys, that's the yelling of a Lynx," and the next day Caleb said that
Yan was right.

Some days later they learned that another lamb had been taken from the
Raften flock that night.

In the morning Yan took down the tom-tom for a little music and found
it flat and soft.

"Hallo," said he; "going to rain."

Caleb looked up at him with an amused expression. "You're a reg'lar
Injun. It's surely an Injun trick that. When the tom-tom won't sing
without being warmed at the fire they allus says 'rain before night.'"

The Trapper stayed late that evening. It had been cloudy all the
afternoon, and at sundown it began to rain, so he was invited to
supper. The shower grew heavier instead of ending. Caleb went out and
dug a trench all round the teepee to catch the rain, then a leader to
take it away. After supper they sat around the campfire in the teepee;
the wind arose and the rain beat down. Yan had to go out and swing the
smoke poles, and again his ear was greeted with _the screech_. He
brought in an armful of wood and made the inside of the teepee a blaze
of cheerful light. A high wind now came in gusts, so that the canvas
flopped unpleasantly on the poles.

"Where's your anchor rope?" asked the Trapper.

Sam produced the loose end; the other was fastened properly to the
poles above. It had never been used, for so far the weather had been
fine; but now Caleb sunk a heavy stake, lashed the anchor rope to that,
then went out and drove all the pegs a little deeper, and the Tribe
felt safe from any ordinary storm.

There was nothing to attract the old Trapper to his own shanty. His
heirs had begun to forget that he needed food, and what little they
did send was of vilest quality. The old man was as fond of human
society as any one, and was easily persuaded now to stay all night,
"if you can stand Guy for a bedfeller." So Caleb and Turk settled down
for a comfortable evening within, while the storm raged without.

"Say, don't you touch that canvas, Guy; you'll make it leak."

"What, me? Oh, pshaw! How can it leak for a little thing like that?"
and Guy slapped it again in bravado.

"All right, it's on your side of the bed," and sure enough, within two
minutes a little stream of water was trickling from the place he had
rubbed, while elsewhere the canvas turned every drop.

This is well known to all who have camped under canvas during a storm,
and is more easily remembered than explained.

The smoke hung heavy in the top of the teepee and kept crowding down
until it became unpleasant.

"Lift the teepee cover on the windward side, Yan. There, that's
it--but hold on," as a great gust came in, driving the smoke and ashes
around in whirlwinds. "You had ought to have a lining. Give me that
canvas: that'll do." Taking great care not to touch the teepee cover,
Caleb fastened the lining across three pole spaces so that the opening
under the canvas was behind it. This turned the draught from their
backs and, sending it over their heads, quickly cleared the teepee of
smoke as well as kept off what little rain entered by the smoke hole.

"It's on them linings the Injuns paint their records and adventures.
They mostly puts their totems on the outside an' their records on the
lining."

"Bully," said Sam; "now there's a job for you. Little Beaver; by the
time you get our adventures on the inside and our totems on the out I
tell you we'll be living in splendour."

"I think," answered Yan indirectly, "we ought to take Mr. Clark into
the Tribe. Will you be our Medicine Man?" Caleb chuckled in a quiet
way, apparently consenting. "Now I have four totems to paint on the
outside," and this was the beginning of the teepee painting that Yan
carried out with yellow clay, blue clay dried to a white, yellow clay
burned to red, and charcoal, all ground in Coon grease and Pine gum,
to be properly Indian. He could easily have gotten bright colours
in oil paint, but scorned such White-man's truck, and doubtless the
general effect was all the better for it.

"Say, Caleb," piped Guy, "tell us about the Injuns--about their
bravery. Bravery is what _I_ like," he added with emphasis,
conscious of being now on his own special ground. "Why, I mind the
time that old Woodchuck was coming roaring at me--I bet some fellers
would just 'a' been so scared--"

"_Hssh!_" said Sam.

Caleb smoked in silence. The rain pattered on the teepee without; the
wind heaved the cover. They all sat silently. Then sounded loud
and clear a terrifying "_scrrrrrr--oouwurr_." The boys were
startled--would have been terrified had they been outside or alone.

"That's it--that's the Banshee," whispered Sam.

Caleb looked up sharply.

"What is it?" queried Yan. "We've heard it a dozen times, at least."

Caleb shook his head, made no reply, but turned to his Dog. Turk was
lying on his side by the fire, and at this piercing screech he had
merely lifted his head, looked backward over his shoulder, turned his
big sad eyes on his master, then laid down again.

"Turk don't take no stock in it."

"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."