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, "TГєm-tum--tГєm-tum--tГєm-tum--tГєm-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)
