"I wish I could be always here," said Yan, but he started a little
when he remembered how unwilling he had been to come.

There was a long silence as they lingered on the darkening road. Each
was thinking hard.

A loud, startling but soft "Ohoo--O-hoo--O-hoooooo," like the coo of a
giant dove, now sounded about their heads in a tree. They stopped and
Sam whispered, "Owl; big Hoot Owl." Yan's heart leaped with pleasure.
He had read all his life of Owls, and even had seen them alive in
cages, but this was the first time he had ever heard the famous
hooting of the real live wild Owl, and it was a delicious experience.

The night was quite dark now, but there were plenty of sounds that
told of life. A Whippoorwill was chanting in the woods, a hundred
Toads and Frogs creaked and trilled, a strange rolling, laughing cry
on a marshy pond puzzled them both, then a Song Sparrow in the black
night of a dense thicket poured forth its sweet little sunshine song
with all the vigour and joy of its best daytime doing.

They listened attentively for a repetition of the serenade, when a
high-pitched but not loud "_Wa--wa--wa--wa--wa--wa--wa--wa_!"
reached their ears from a grove of heavy timbers.

"Hear that?" exclaimed Sam.

Again it came, a quavering squall, apparently much nearer. It was a
rather shrill sound, quite unbirdy, and Sam whispered:

"Coon--that's the whicker of a Coon. We can come down here some time
when corn's 'in roastin'' an' have a Coon hunt."

"Oh, Sam, wouldn't that be glorious!" said Yan. "How I wish it was
now. I never saw a Coon hunt or any kind of a hunt. Do we have to wait
till 'roasting-ear' time?"

"Oh, yes; it's easier to find them then. You say to your Coons, 'Me
an' me dogs will meet you to-night at the nearest roastin'-ear patch,'
an' sure nuff _they'll_ keep the appointment."

"But they're around now, for we just heard one, _and there's
another_."

A long faint "_Lil--lil--lil--lil--lil--li-looo!_" now sounded
from the trees. It was like the other, but much softer and sweeter.

"There's where you fool yerself," replied Sam, "an' there's where many
a hunter is fooled. That last one's the call of a Screech Owl. You see
it's softer and whistlier than the Coon whicker."

They heard it again and again from the trees. It was a sweet musical
sound, and Yan remembered how squally the Coon call was in comparison,
and yet many hunters never learn the difference.

As they came near the tree whence the Owl called at intervals, a gray
blot went over their heads, shutting out a handful of stars for a
moment as it passed over them, but making no noise. "There he goes,"
whispered Sam. "That's the Screech Owl. Not much of a screech, was
it?" Not long afterward Yan came across a line of Lowell's which says,
"The song of the Screech Owl is the sweetest sound in nature," and
appreciated the absurdity of the name.

"I want to go on a Coon hunt," continued Yan, and the sentence was
just tinged with the deep-laid doggedness that was usually lost in his
courteous manner.

"That settles it," answered the other, for he was learning what that
tone meant. "We'll surely go when you talk that way, for, of coorse,
it _kin_ be done. You see, I know more about animals than birds,"
he continued. "I'm just as likely to be a dentist as a hunter so far
as serious business is concerned, but I'd sure love to be a hunter for
awhile, an' I made Da promise to go with me some time. Maybe we kin
get a Deer by going back ten miles to the Long Swamp. I only wish Da
and Old Caleb hadn't fought, 'cause Caleb sure knows the woods, an'
that old Hound of his has treed more Coons than ye could shake a stick
at in a month o' Sundays."

"Well, if that's the only Coon dog around, I'm going to get him.
You'll see," was the reply.

"I believe you will," answered Sam, in a tone of mixed admiration and
amusement.

It was ten o'clock when they got home, and every one was in bed but
Mr. Raften. The boys turned in at once, but next morning, on going
to the barn, they found that Si had not only sewed on and hemmed the
smoke-flaps, but had resewn the worst of the patches and hemmed the
whole bottom of the teepee cover with a small rope in the hem, so that
they were ready now for the pins and poles.

The cover was taken at once to the camp ground. Yan carried the axe.
When they came to the brush fence over the creek at the edge of the
swamp, he said:

"Sam, I want to blaze that trail for old Caleb. How do you do it?"

"Spot the trees with the axe every few yards."

"This way?" and Yan cut a tree in three places, so as to show three
white spots or blazes.

"No; that's a trapper's blaze for a trap or a 'special blaze', but
a 'road blaze' is one on the front of the tree and one on the
back--so--then ye can run the trail both ways, an' you put them
thicker if it's to be followed at night."




VIII

The Sacred Fire


"Ten strong poles and two long thin ones," said Yan, reading off. These
were soon cut and brought to the camp ground.

"Tie them together the same height as the teepee cover----"

"Tie them? With what?"

"'Rawhide rope,' he said, but he also said 'Make the cover of skins.'
I'm afraid we shall have to use common rope for the present," and Yan
looked a little ashamed of the admission.

"I reckoned so," drawled Sam, "and so I put a coil of quarter-inch in
the cover, but I didn't dare to tell you that up at the barn."

The tripod was firmly lashed with the rope and set up. Nine poles were
duly leaned around in a twelve-foot circle, for a teepee twelve feet
high usually has a twelve-foot base. A final lashing of the ropes held
these, and the last pole was then put up opposite to the door, with
the teepee cover tied to it at the point between the flaps. The ends
of the two smoke-poles carried the cover round. Then the lacing-pins
were needed. Yan tried to make them of Hickory shoots, but the large,
soft pith came just where the point was needed. So Sam said, "You
can't beat White Oak for pins." He cut a block of White Oak, split it
down the middle, then split half of it in the middle again, and so on
till it was small enough to trim and finish with his knife. Meanwhile
Yan took the axe to split another, but found that it ran off to one
side instead of going straight down the grain.

"No good," was Sam's comment. "You must keep _halving_ each time
or it will run out toward the thin pieces. You want to split shingles
all winter to larn that."

Ten pins were made eight inches long and a quarter of an inch thick.
They were used just like dressmakers' stickpins, only the holes had to
be made first, and, of course, they looked better for being regular.
Thus the cover was laced on. The lack of ground-pegs was then seen.

"You make ten Oak pins a foot long and an inch square, Sam. I've a
notion how to fix them." Then Yan cut ten pieces of the rope, each two
feet long, and made a hole about every three feet around the base of
the cover above the rope in the outer seam. He passed one end of each
short rope through this and knotted it to the other end. Thus he had
ten peg-loops, and the teepee was fastened down and looked like a
glorious success.

Now came the grand ceremony of all, the lighting of the first fire.
The boys felt it to be a supreme and almost a religious moment. It is
curious to note that they felt very much as savages do under the same
circumstances--that the setting up of the new teepee and lighting its
first fire is an act of deep significance, and to be done only with
proper regard for its future good luck.

"Better go slow and sure about that fire. It'd be awfully unlucky to
have it fizzle for the first time."

"That's so," replied Yan, with the same sort of superstitious dread.
"Say, Sam, if we could really light it with rubbing-sticks, wouldn't
it be great?"

"Hallo!"

The boys turned, and there was Caleb close to them. He came over and
nodded. "Got yer teepee, I see? Not bad, but what did ye face her to
the west fur?"

"Fronting the creek," explained Yan.

"I forgot to tell ye," said Caleb, "an Injun teepee always fronts the
east; first, that gives the morning sun inside; next, the most wind is
from the west, so the smoke is bound to draw."

"And what if the wind is right due east?" asked Sam, "which it surely
will be when it rains?"

"And when the wind's east," continued Caleb, addressing no one in
particular, and not as though in answer to a question, "ye lap the
flaps across each other tight in front, so," and he crossed his hands
over his chest. "That leaves the east side high and shuts out the
rain; if it don't draw then, ye raise the bottom of the cover under
the door just a little--that always fetches her. An' when you change
her round don't put her in under them trees. Trees is dangerous; in a
storm they draw lightning, an' branches fall from them, an' after rain
they keep on dripping for an hour. Ye need all the sun ye kin get on a
teepee.

"Did you ever see Indians bring fire out of two sticks by rubbing, Mr.
Clark?"

"Oh, yes. Most of the Injuns now carry matches, but in the early days
I seen it done often enough."

"Does it take long? Is it hard?"

"Not so long, and it's easy enough, when ye know how."

"My! I'd rather bring fire out of two sticks than have a ten dollar
bill," said Yan, with enthusiasm that meant much, for one dollar was
his high-water mark of affluence, and this he had reached but once in
his life.

"Oh, I dunno'; that depends," was Sam's more guarded response.

"Can _you_ do it?" asked Yan.

"Wall, yes, if I kin get the right stuff. Ye see, it ain't every wood
that will do it. It's got to be jest right. The Plains Injuns use
Cottonwood root, an' the Mountain Injuns use Sage-brush root. I've
seen the Canadian Injuns use Basswood, Cedar and dry White Pine,
but the Chippewas mostly use Balsam Fir. The easiest way is with a
bow-drill. Have ye any buckskin?"

"No."

"Or a strip o' soft leather?"

"I've got a leather shoe-lace," said Yan.

"Rather slim; but we'll double it an' make it do. A cord will answer,
but it frays out so soon." Caleb took the lace and the axe, then said,
"Find me a stone 'bout the size of an egg, with a little hole into
it--like a socket hole--'bout a quarter inch deep."

The boys went to the creek to seek a stone and Caleb went into the
woods.

They heard him chopping, and presently he came back with a flat piece
of very dry Balsam Fir, a fifteen-inch pin of the same, a stick about
three feet long, slightly bent, some dry Pine punk and some dry Cedar.

The pin was three-quarters of an inch thick and was roughly
eight-sided, "so the lace would grip." It was pointed at both ends. He
fastened the lace to the bent stick like a bow-string, but loosely, so
that when it had one turn around the pin it was quite tight. The flat
piece of Balsam he trimmed down to about half an inch thick. In the
edge of this he now cut a notch one-quarter inch wide and half an inch
deep, then on the top of this fire-board or block, just beyond the
notch, he made with the point of his knife a little pit.

He next scraped and shredded a lot of dry Cedar wood like lint. Then
making a hole half an inch deep in the ground, he laid in that a flat
piece of Pine punk, and across this he set the fire-board. The point
of the pin or drill was put in the pit of the fire-board, which he
held down with one foot; the lace was given one turn on the pin, and
its top went into the hole of the stone the boys brought. The stone
was held firmly in Caleb's left hand.

"Sometimes," he remarked, "when ye can't find a stone, a Pine knot
will do--ye kin make the socket-hole with a knife-point."

Now holding the bow in his right hand, he began to draw it back and
forth with long, steady strokes, causing the pin to whirl round in the
socket. Within a few seconds a brown powder began to run out of the
notch of the fire-board onto the punk. The pit increased in size and
blackened, the powder darkened, and a slight smoke arose from the pit.
Caleb increased the pressure of his left hand a little, and sawed
faster with the right. The smoke steadily increased and the black
powder began to fill the notch. The smoke was rolling in little clouds
from under the pin, and it even seemed to come from the heap of
powder. As soon as he saw that, Caleb dropped the bow and gently
fanned the powder heap. It still smoked. He removed the fire-board,
and lifting the punk, showed the interior of the powder to be one
glowing coal. On this he laid the Cedar tinder and over that a second
piece of punk. Then raising it, he waved it in the air and blew gently
for awhile. It smouldered and then burst into a flame. The other
material was handy, and in a very short time they had a blazing fire
in the middle of the new teepee.

[Illustration: THE RUBBING-STICKS FOR FIRE-MAKING]

All three were pictures of childish delight. The old man's face fairly
beamed with triumph. Had he failed in his experiment he would have
gone off hating those boys, but having made a brilliant success he was
ready to love every one concerned, though they had been nothing more
than interested spectators of his exploit.

[Illustration: RUBBING-STICKS--FOR FIRE-MAKING (See Description Below)]

Two tools and two sticks are needed. The tools are bow and
drill-socket; the sticks are drill and fire-board.

1. The simplest kind of bow--a bent stick with a stout leather thong
fastened at each end. The stick must not spring. It is about 27 inches
long and 5/8 inch thick.

2. A more elaborate bow with a hole at each end for the thong. At the
handle end it goes through a disc of wood. This is to tighten the
thong by pressure of the hand against the disc while using.

3. Simplest kind of drill-socket--a pine or hemlock knot with a
shallow hole or pit in it. _3a_ is under view of same. It is
about 4-1/2 inches long.

4. A more elaborate drill-socket--a pebble cemented with gum in a
wooden holder. _4a_ is under view of same.

5. A very elaborate drill-socket; it is made of tulip wood, carved to
represent the Thunderbird. It has eyes of green felspar cemented in
with resin. On the under side (_5a_) is seen, in the middle, a
soapstone socket let into the wood and fastened with pine gum, and
on the head a hole kept filled with grease, to grease the top of the
drill before use.

6. The drill, 12 to 18 inches long and about 3/4 of an inch thick; it
is roughly 8-sided so the thong will not slip, pointed at each end.
The best wood for the drill is old, dry, brash, but not punky balsam
fir or cotton-wood roots; but basswood, white cedar, red cedar,
tamarack, and sometimes even white pine, will do.

7. Fire-board or block, about 3/4 of an inch thick and any length
handy; _a_ is notch with pit just below shows the pit after once
using and in good trim for a second time; _c_ shows the pit bored
through and useless; the notch is 1/2 inch wide and 3/4 inch deep.

8. Shows the way of using the sticks. The block (_a_) is held
down with one foot, the end of the drill in the pit, the drill-socket
(_c_) is held on top in left hand, one end of the bow (_d_)
is held in the right hand the bow is drawn back and forth.

9. Is a little wooden fire-pan, not essential but convenient; its thin
edge is put under the notch to catch the powder that falls.




IX

The Bows and Arrows


"I don't think much of your artillery," said Yan one day as they were
shooting in the orchard with Sam's "Western outfit." "It's about like
the first one I made when I was young."

"Well, grandpa, let's see your up-to-date make?"

"It'd be about five times as strong, for one thing."

"You couldn't pull it."

"Not the way you hold the arrow! But last winter I got a book about
archery from the library and learned something worth while. You pinch
the arrow that way and you can draw six or eight pounds, maybe, but
you hook your fingers in the string--so--and you can draw five times
as much, and that's the right way to shoot."

"Feels mighty clumsy," said Sam, trying it.

"Of course it does at first, and you have to have a deep notch in the
arrow or you can't do it at all."

"You don't seem to manage any better than I do."

"First time I ever had a chance to try since I read about it. But I
want to make a first-class bow and a lot of arrows. It's not much good
going with _one_."

[Illustration: The Archer's Grip]


"Well, go ahead an' make an outfit if you know how. What's the best
wood? Did the book tell you that?"

"The best wood is Spanish Yew."

"Don't know it."

"An' the next is Oregon Yew."

"Nope."

"Then Lancewood and Osage Orange."

'Try again."

"Well, Red Cedar, Apple tree, Hickory and Elm seem to be the only ones
that grow around here."

"Hain't seen any _Red_ Cedar, but the rest is easy."

"It has to be thoroughly seasoned winter-cut wood, and cut so as to
have heart on one side and sap wood on the other."

"How's that?" and Sam pointed to a lot of half-round Hickory sticks
on the rafters of the log house. "Those have been there a couple of
years."

A good one of five feet long was selected and split and hewn with the
axe till the boys had the two bow staves, five and one-half feet long
and two inches square, with the line of the heart and sap wood down
the middle of each.

Guided by his memory of that precious book and some English long bows
that he had seen in a shop in town, Yan superintended the manufacture.
Sam was apt with tools, and in time they finished two bows, five feet
long and drawing possibly twenty-five pounds each. In the middle they
were one and one-half inches wide and an inch thick (see page 183).
This size they kept for nine inches each way, making an eighteen-inch
middle part that did not bend, but their two limbs were shaved down
and scraped with glass till they bent evenly and were well within the
boys' strength.

The string was the next difficulty. All the ordinary string they could
get around the house proved too weak, never lasting more than two
or three shots, till Si Lee, seeing their trouble, sent them to the
cobbler's for a hank of unbleached linen thread and some shoemaker's
wax. Of this thread he reeled enough for a strong cord tight around
two pegs seven feet apart, then cutting it loose at one end he divided
it equally in three parts, and, after slight waxing, he loosely
plaited them together. At Yan's suggestion he then spliced a loop at
one end, and with a fine waxed thread lashed six inches of the middle
where the arrow fitted, as well as the splice of the loop. This last
enabled them to unstring the bow when not in use (see page 183).
"There," said he, "you won't break that." The finishing touch was
thinly coating the bows with some varnish found among the paint
supplies.

"Makes my old bow look purty sick," remarked Sam, as he held up the
really fine new weapon in contrast with the wretched little hoop that
had embodied his early ideas. "Now what do you know about arrers,
mister?" as he tried his old arrow in the new bow.

"I know that that's no good," was the reply; "an' I can tell you that
it's a deal harder to make an arrow than a bow--that is, a good one."

"That's encouraging, considering the trouble we've had already."

"'Tisn't meant to be, but we ought to have a dozen arrows each."

"How do the Injuns make them?"

"Mostly they get straight sticks of the Arrow-wood; but I haven't seen
any Arrow-wood here, and they're not so awfully straight. You see, an
arrow must be straight or it'll fly crooked. 'Straight as an arrow'
means the thing itself. We can do better than the Indians 'cause we
have better tools. We can split them out of the solid wood."

"What wood? Some bloomin' foreign kind that no White-man never saw nor
heard of before?"

"No sir-ree. There ain't anything better 'n White Pine for target and
Ash or Hickory for hunting arrows. Which are we making?"

"I'm a hunter. Give me huntin' arrows every time. What's needed next?"

"Seasoned Ash twenty-five inches long, split to three-eighths of an
inch thick, hot glue, and turkey-wing feathers."

"I'll get the feathers and let you do the rest," said Sam, producing
a bundle of turkey-wings, laid away as stove-dusters, and then belied
his own statement by getting a block of Ash and splitting it up,
halving it each time till he had a pile of two dozen straight sticks
about three-quarters of an inch thick.

Yan took one and began with his knife to whittle it down to proper
size and shape, but Sam said, "I can do better than that," then took
the lot to the workbench and set to work with a smoothing plane. Yan
looked worried and finally said:

"Injuns didn't have planes."

"Nor jack-knives neither," was the retort.

That was true, and yet somehow Yan's ideal that he hankered after
was the pre-Columbian Indian, the one who had no White-man's help or
tools.

"It seems to me it'd be more Injun to make these with just what we get
in the woods. The Injuns didn't have jack-knives, but they had sharp
flints in the old days."

"Yan, you go ahead with a sharp stone. You'll find lots on the road if
you take off your shoes and walk barefoot--awful sharp; an' I'll go
ahead with the smoothing plane an' see who wins."

Yan was not satisfied, but he contented himself with promising that he
would some day make some arrows of Arrow-wood shoots and now he
would finish at least one with his knife. He did so, but Sam, in the
meantime, made six much better ones with the smoothing plane.

"What about heads?" said he.

"I've been thinking," was the reply. "Of course the Indians used stone
heads fastened on with sinew, but we haven't got the stuff to do that.
Bought heads of iron with a ferrule for the end of the arrow are best,
but we can't get them. Bone heads and horn heads will do. I made some
fine ones once filing bones into the shape, but they were awfully
brittle; and I made some more of big nails cut off and set in with a
lashing of fine wire around the end to stop the wood splitting. Some
Indian arrows have no point but the stick sharpened after it's
scorched to harden it."

[Illustration: SIX SAMPLE ARROWS, SHOWING DIFFERENT FEATHERS]

"That sounds easy enough for me," said Sam; "let's make some of them
that way."

So the arrows were made, six each with nail points filed sharp and
lashed with broom wire. These were called "War arrows," and six each
with fire-hardened wood points for hunting arrows.

"Now for the feathering," and Yan showed Sam how to split the midrib
of a turkey feather and separate the vane.

"Le's see, you want twice twenty-four--that's forty-eight feathers."

"No," said Yan, "that's a poor feathering, two on each. We want three
on each arrow--seventy-two strips in all, and mind you, we want all
three that are on one arrow from the same side of the bird."

"I know. I'll bet it's bad luck to mix sides; arrows doesn't know
which way to turn."

At this moment Si Lee came in. "How are ye gettin' on with the bows?"

"Waitin' for arrows now."

"How do ye put on the feathers?"

    DESCRIPTION OF SIX SAMPLE ARROWS SHOWING DIFFERENT FEATHERS

    _A_ is a far-flying steel-pointed bobtail, very good in wind.
    _B_ is another very good arrow, with a horn point. This went
    even better than _A_ if there were no wind. _C_ is an
    Omaha war and deer arrow. Both heads and feathers are lashed on
    with sinew. The long tufts of down left on the feathers are to
    help in finding it again, as they are snow-white and wave in the
    breeze. The grooves on the shaft are to make the victim bleed more
    freely and be more easily tracked. _D_ is another Omaha
    arrow with a peculiar owner's mark of lines carved in the middle,
    _E_ is a bone-headed bird shaft made by the Indians of the
    Mackenzie River. _F_ is a war arrow made by Geronimo, the
    famous Apache chief. Its shaft is three joints of a straight cane.
    The tip is of hard wood, and on that is a fine quartz point; all
    being lashed together with sinew.

"White-men glue them on, and Injuns lash them on," replied Yan,
quoting from memory from "that book."

"Which is best?"

"Glued on flies better, but lashed on stands the weather better."

"Why not both?"

"Have no sinew."

"Let me show ye a trick. Where's yer glue an' linen thread?"

These were brought, whereupon Si added: "'Pears to me ye oughter put
the feathers on last. Better cut the notch first."

"That's so; we nearly forgot."

"_You_ nearly forgot, you mean. Don't drag _me_ in the mud,"
said Sam, with owlish dignity. A small saw cut, cleaned up and widened
with a penknife, proved the best; a notch one-fourth inch deep was
quickly made in each arrow, and Si set about _both_ glueing
_and_ lashing on the feathers, but using wax-end instead of
sinew.

Yan had marked the place for each feather so that none would strike
the bow in passing (see Cut page 183). He first glued them on,
then made a lashing for half an inch on the projecting ends of the
feather-rib, and another behind, carrying this second lashing back to
the beginning of the notch to guard against the wood splitting. When
he had trimmed all loose ends and rolled the waxed thread well on the
bench with a flat stick, the threads seemed to disappear and leave
simply a smooth black ring.


  THE ARCHERY OUTFIT (Not all on scale)

  I. The five-foot bow as finished, with sections at the points shown.

  II. The bow "braced" or strung.

  III. The bow unstrung, showing the loop slipped down.

  IV. The loop that is used on the upper end of the bow.

  V. The timber hitch always used on the lower end or notch of the bow.

  VI. A turkey feather with split midrib, all ready to lash on.

  VII. End view of arrow, showing notch and arrangement of three
  feathers.

  VIII. Part of arrow, showing feathering and lashing.

  IX. Sanger hunting arrow with wooden point; 25 inches long.

  X. Sanger war arrow with nail point and extra long feathers; it also
  is 25 inches long.

  XI. Quiver with Indian design; 20 inches long.

  XII. The "bracer" or arm guard of heavy leather for left arm, with two
  laces to tie it on. It is six inches long.

       *       *       *       *       *

Thus the arrows were made and set away for the glue to dry.

Next day Yan painted Sam's red and blue, his own red and white, to
distinguish them as well as guard them from the damp. There was now
one more thing, and that was a quiver.

"Do the Injuns have them?" asked Sam, with a keen eye to orthodoxy
when it promised to cut short the hard work.

"Well, I should say so; couldn't live without them."

"All right; hurry up. I'm spoiling for a hunt. What are they made of?"

"Oh, 'most anything."

"Haven't got it."

"You're too fast. But some use Birch bark, some use the skin of an
animal, and some use canvas now when other stuff is scarce."

"That's us. You mind the stuff left off the teepee?"

"Do till we get better." So each made a sort of canvas bag shorter
than the arrows. Yan painted an Indian device on each, and they were
ready.

"Now bring on your Bears," said the older boy, and feeling a sense of
complete armament, they went out.

"See who can hit that tree." Both fired together and missed, but Sam's
arrow struck another tree and split open.

"Guess we'd better get a soft target," he remarked. Then after
discussion they got a large old corn sack full of hay, painted on it
some rings around a bull's eye (a Buffalo's eye, Sam called it) and
set it up at twenty yards.

They were woefully disappointed at first in their shooting. It did
seem a very easy mark, and it was disappointing to have the arrows fly
some feet away to the left.

"Le's get in the barn and shoot at that," suggested Sam.

"We might hit it if we shut the door tight," was the optimistic reply.
As well as needing practice, the boys had to learn several little
rules about Archery. But Yan had some pencil notes from "that book"
and some more in his brain that with much practice gradually taught
him: To stand with his heel centres in line with the target; his right
elbow in line with the arrow; his left hand fixed till the arrow
struck; his right thumb always on the same place on his cheek when he
fired, and the bow plumb.

They soon found that they needed guards for the left arm where the bow
strings struck, and these they made out of the leg of an old boot (see
Cut page 183), and an old glove to protect the fingers of the right
hand when they practised very much. After they learned to obey the
rules without thinking about them, the boys improved quickly and soon
they were able to put all the arrows into the hay sack at twenty
yards, increasing the distance later till they could make fair
shooting at forty yards.

They were not a little surprised to find how much individuality the
arrows had, although meant to be exactly alike.

Sam had one that continued to warp until it was much bent, and the
result was some of the most surprising curves in its flight. This he
called the "Boomerang." Another, with a very small feather, travelled
farther than any of the rest. This was the "Far-killer." His best
arrow, one that he called "Sure-death," was a long-feathered Turkey
shaft with a light head. It was very reliable on a calm day, but
apt to swerve in the wind. Yet another, with a small feather, was
correspondingly reliable on a windy day. This was "Wind-splitter."

The one Yan whittled with the knife was called the "Whittler," and
sometimes the "Joker." It was a perpetual mystery, they never knew
just what it would do next. His particular pet was one with a hollow
around the point, which made a whistling sound when it flew, and was
sometimes called the "Whistler" and sometimes the "Jabberwock,"
"which whiffled through the tulgy wood and burbled as it came."

[Illustration: CORRECT FORM IN SHOOTING The diagram at bottom is to
show the centres of heels in line with target.]




X

The Dam


One hot day early in July they were enjoying themselves in the shallow
bathing-hole of the creek, when Sam observed: "It's getting low. It
goes dry every summer."

This was not pleasing to foresee, and Yan said, "Why can't we make a
dam?"

"A little too much like work."

"Oh, pshaw! That'd be fun and we'd have a swimming-place for all
summer, then. Come on; let's start now."

"Never heard of Injuns doing so much work."

"Well, we'll play Beaver while we do it. Come on, now; here's for
a starter," and Yan carried a big stone to what seemed to him the
narrowest place. Then he brought more, and worked with enthusiasm till
he had a line of stones right across the creek bed.

Sam still sat naked on the bank, his knees to his chin and his arms
around them. The war-paint was running down his chest in blue and red
streaks.

"Come on, here, you lazy freak, and work," cried Yan, and flung a
handful of mud to emphasize the invite.

"My festered knee's broke out again," was the reply.

At length Yan said, "I'm not going to do it all alone," and
straightened up his back.

"Look a-here," was the answer. "I've been thinking. The cattle water
here. The creek runs dry in summer, then the cattle has to go to the
barnyard and drink at the trough--has to be pumped for, and hang round
for hours after hoping some one will give them some oats, instead of
hustling back to the woods to get fat. Now, two big logs across there
would be more'n half the work. I guess we'll ask Da to lend us the
team to put them logs across to make a drinking-pond for the cattle.
Them cattle is awful on my mind. Didn't sleep all night thinking o'
them. I just hate like pizen to see them walking all the way to the
barn in hot weather for a drink--'tain't right." So Sam waited for a
proper chance to "tackle" his father. It did not come that day, but at
breakfast next morning Raften looked straight at Yan across the table,
and evidently thinking hard about something, said:

"Yahn, this yer room is twenty foot by fifteen, how much ilecloth
three foot wide will it call fur?"

"Thirty-three and one-third yards," Yan said at once.

Raften was staggered. Yan's manner was convincing, but to do all that
in his head was the miracle. Various rude tests were applied and the
general opinion prevailed that Yan was right.

The farmer's face beamed with admiration for the first time. "Luk at
that," he said to the table, "luk at that fur eddication. When'll you
be able to do the like?" he said to Sam.

"Never," returned his son, with slow promptness. "Dentists don't have
to figger on ilecloth."

"Say, Yan," said Sam aside, "guess _you_ better tackle Da about
the dam. Kind o' sot up about ye this mornin'; your eddication has
softened him some, an' it'll last till about noon, I jedge. Strike
while the iron is hot."

So after breakfast Yan commenced:

"Mr. Raften, the creek's running dry. We want to make a pond for the
cattle to drink, but we can't make a dam without two big logs across.
Will you let us have the team a few minutes to place the logs?"

"It ain't fur a swimmin'-pond, is it, ye mean?" said Raften, with a
twinkle in his eye.

"It would do for that as well," and Yan blushed.

"Sounds to me like Sam talking through Yan's face," added Raften,
shrewdly taking in the situation. "I'll see fur meself."

Arrived at the camp, he asked: "Now, whayer's yer dam to be? Thar?
That's no good. It's narrer but it'd be runnin' round both ends afore
ye had any water to speak of. Thayer's a better place, a bit wider,
but givin' a good pond. Whayer's yer logs? Thayer? What--my seasoning
timber? Ye can't hev that. That's the sill fur the new barrn; nor
that--it's seasonin' fur gate posts. Thayer's two ye kin hev. I'll
send the team, but don't let me ketch ye stealin' any o' my seasonin'
timber or the fur'll fly."

With true Raften promptness the heavy team came, the two great logs
were duly dragged across and left as Yan requested (four feet apart
for the top of the dam).

The boys now drove in a row of stakes against each log on the inner
side, to form a crib, and were beginning to fill in the space with mud
and stones. They were digging and filling it up level as they went.
Clay was scarce and the work went slowly; the water, of course, rising
as the wall arose, added to the difficulty. But presently Yan said:

"Hold on. New scheme. Let's open her and dig a deep trench on one
side so all the water will go by, then leave a clay wall to it" [the
trench] "and dig a deep hole on the other side of it. That will give
us plenty of stuff for the dam and help to deepen the pond."

Thus they worked. In a week the crib was full of packed clay and
stone. Then came the grand finish--the closing of this sluiceway
through the dam. It was not easy with the full head of water running,
but they worked like beavers and finally got it stopped.

That night there was a heavy shower. Next day when they came near they
heard a dull roar in the woods. They stopped and listened in doubt,
then Yan exclaimed gleefully: "The dam! That's the water running over
the dam."

They both set off with a yell and ran their fastest. As soon as they
came near they saw a great sheet of smooth water where the stony creek
bottom had been and a steady current over the low place left as an
overflow in the middle of the dam.

What a thrill of pleasure that was!

"Last in's a dirty sucker."

"Look out for my bad knee," was the response.

The rest of the race was a mixture of stripping and sprinting and the
boys splashed in together.

Five feet deep in the deep hole, a hundred yards long, and all their
own doing.

"Now, wasn't it worth it?" asked Yan, who had had much difficulty in
keeping Sam steadily at play that looked so very much like work.

"Wonder how that got here? I thought I left that in the teepee?" and
Sam pointed to a log that he used for a seat in the teepee, but now it
was lodged in the overflow.

Yan was a good swimmer, and as they played and splashed, Sam said:
"Now I know who you are. You can't hide it from me no longer. I
suspicioned it when you were working on the dam. You're that tarnal
Redskin they call 'Little Beaver.'"

"I've been watching you," retorted Yan, "and it seems to me I've run up
against that copper-coloured scallawag--'Young-Man-Afraid-of-a-Shovel.'"

[Illustration: The dam was a great success]

"No, you don't," said Sam. "Nor I ain't
'_Bald-Eagle-Settin'-on-a-Rock-with-his-Tail-Hangin'-over-the-Edge,'_
nuther. In fact, I don't keer to be recognized just now. Ain't it a
relief to think the cattle don't have to take that walk any more?"

Sam was evidently trying to turn the subject, but Yan would not be
balked. "I heard Si call you 'Woodpecker' the other day."

"Yep. I got that at school. When I was a kid to hum I heerd Ma talk
about me be-a-u-tiful _golden_ hair, but when I got big enough
to go to school I learned that it was only _red_, an' they called
me the 'Red-headed Woodpecker.' I tried to lick them, but lots of them
could lick me an' rubbed it in wuss. When I seen fightin' didn't
work, I let on to like it, but it was too late then. Mostly it's just
'Woodpecker' for short. I don't know as it ever lost me any sleep."

Half an hour later, as they sat by the fire that Yan made with
rubbing-sticks, he said, "Say, Woodpecker, I want to tell you a
story." Sam grimaced, pulled his ears forward, and made ostentatious
preparations to listen.

"There was once an Indian squaw taken prisoner by some other tribe way
up north. They marched her 500 miles away, but one night she escaped
and set out, not on the home trail, for she knew they would follow
that way and kill her, but to one side. She didn't know the country
and got lost. She had no weapons but a knife, and no food but berries.
Well, she travelled fast for several days till a rainstorm came, then
she felt safe, for she knew her enemies could not trail her now. But
winter was near and she could not get home before it came. So she set
to work right where she was.

"She made a wigwam of Birch bark and a fire with rubbing-sticks, using
the lace of her moccasin for a bow-string. She made snares of the
inner bark of the Willow and of Spruce roots, and deadfalls, too, for
Rabbits. She was starving sometimes, at first, but she ate the buds
and inner bark of Birch trees till she found a place where there were
lots of Rabbits. And when she caught some she used every scrap of
them. She made a fishing-line of the sinews, and a hook of the bones
and teeth lashed together with sinew and Spruce gum.

"She made a cloak of Rabbit skins, sewed with needles of Rabbit bone
and thread of Rabbit sinew, and a lot of dishes of Birch bark sewed
with Spruce roots.

"She put in the whole winter there alone, and when the spring came she
was found by Samuel Hearne, the great traveller. Her precious knife
was worn down, but she was fat and happy and ready to set out for her
own people."

"Well, I say that's mighty inter-est-in'," said Sam--he had listened
attentively--"an' I'd like nothin' better than to try it myself if I
had a gun an' there was lots of game."

"Pooh, who wouldn't?"

"Mighty few--an' there's mighty few who _could_."
"I could."

"What, make everything with just a knife? I'd like to see you make
a teepee," then adding earnestly, "Sam, we've been kind o' playing
Injuns; now let's do it properly. Let's make everything out of what we
find in the woods."

"Guess we'll have to visit the Sanger Witch again. She knows all about
plants."

"We'll be the Sanger Indians. We can both be Chiefs," said Yan, not
wishing to propose himself as Chief or caring to accept Sam as his
superior. "I'm Little Beaver. Now what are you?"

"Bloody-Thundercloud-in-the-Afternoon."

"No, try again. Make it something you can draw, so you can make your
totem, and make it short."

"What's the smartest animal there is?"

"I--I--suppose the Wolverine."

"What! Smarter'n a Fox?"

"The books say so."

"Kin he lick a Beaver?"

"Well, I should say so."

"Well, that's me."

"No, you don't. I'm not going around with a fellow that licks me. It
don't fit you as well as 'Woodpecker,' anyhow. I always get _you_
when I want a nice tree spoiled or pecked into holes," retorted Yan,
magnanimously ignoring the personal reason for the name.

"Tain t as bad as _beavering_," answered Sam

"Beavering" was a word with a history. Axes and timber were the
biggest things in the lives of the Sangerites. Skill with the axe was
the highest accomplishment. The old settlers used to make everything
in the house out of wood, and with the axe for the only tool. It was
even said that some of them used to "edge her up a bit" and shave with
her on Sundays. When a father was setting his son up in life he gave
him simply a good axe. The axe was the grand essential of life and
work, and was supposed to be a whole outfit. Skill with the axe was
general. Every man and boy was more or less expert, and did not know
how expert he was till a real "greeny" came among them. There is a
right way to cut for each kind of grain, and a certain proper way of
felling a tree to throw it in any given direction with the minimum of
labour. All these things are second nature to the Sangerite. A Beaver
is credited with a haphazard way of gnawing round and round a tree
till somehow it tumbles, and when a chopper deviates in the least from
the correct form, the exact right cut in the exact right place, he is
said to be "beavering"; therefore, while "working like a Beaver" is
high praise, "beavering" a tree is a term of unmeasured reproach, and
Sam's final gibe had point and force that none but a Sangerite could
possibly have appreciated.




XI

Yan and the Witch


  The Sanger Witch hated the Shanty-man's axe
  And wildfire, too, they tell,
  But the hate that she had for the Sporting man
  Was wuss nor her hate of Hell!

  --Cracked Jimmie's Ballad of Sanger.


Yan took his earliest opportunity to revisit the Sanger Witch.

"Better leave me out," advised Sam, when he heard of it. "She'd never
look at you if I went. You look too blame healthy."

So Yan went alone, and he was glad of it. Fond as he was of Sam, his
voluble tongue and ready wit left Yan more or less in the shade, made
him look sober and dull, and what was worse, continually turned the
conversation just as it was approaching some subject that was of
deepest interest to him.

As he was leaving, Sam called out, "Say, Yan, if you want to stay
there to dinner it'll be all right--we'll know why you hain't turned
up." Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek, closed one eye and went to
the barn with his usual expression of inscrutable melancholy.

Yan carried his note-book--he used it more and more, also his
sketching materials. On the road he gathered a handful of flowers and
herbs. His reception by the old woman was very different this time.

"Come in, come in, God bless ye, an' hoo air ye, an' how is yer father
an' mother--come in an' set down, an' how is that spalpeen, Sam
Raften?"

"Sam's all right now," said Yan with a blush.

"All right! Av coorse he's all right. I knowed I'd fix him all right,
an' he knowed it, an' his Ma knowed it when she let him come. Did she
say onything about it?"

"No, Granny, not a word."

"The dhirty hussy! Saved the boy's life in sphite of their robbin' me
an' she ain't human enough to say 'thank ye'--the dhirty hussy!
May God forgive her as I do," said the old woman with evident and
implacable enmity.

"Fwhat hev ye got thayer? Hivin be praised, they can't kill them all
off. They kin cut down the trees, but the flowers comes ivery year, me
little beauties--me little beauties!" Yan spread them out. She picked
up an Arum and went on. "Now, that's Sorry-plant, only some calls it
Injun Turnip, an' I hear the childer call it Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Don't
ye never put the root o' that near yer tongue. It'll sure burn ye like
fire. First thing whin they gits howld av a greeny the bhise throis to
make him boite that same. Shure he niver does it twicet. The Injuns
b'ile the pizen out o' the root an' ates it; shure it's better'n
starvin'."

Golden Seal (_Hydrastis canadensis_), the plant she had used for
Sam's knee, was duly recognized and praised, its wonderful golden
root, "the best goold iver came out av the ground," was described with
its impression of the seal of the Wise King.

"Thim's Mandrakes, an' they're moighty late, an' ye shure got
_thim_ in the woods. Some calls it May Apples, an' more calls it
Kingroot. The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an' it has cured many a
horse of pole evil that I seen meself.

"An' Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root. Thayer ain't nothin'
like it fur spazzums--took like tay; only fur that the Injun women
wouldn't live in all their thrubles, but that's something that don't
consarn ye. Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan wid
spazzums. Glory be to the Saints and the Blessed Virgin, everything is
done fur us on airth an' plain marked, if we'd only take the thruble
to luk.

"Now luk at thot," said she, clawing over the bundle and picking out a
yellow Cypripedium, "that's Moccasin-plant wid the Injuns, but mercy
on 'em fur bloind, miserable haythens. They don't know nothin' an'
don't want to larn it. That's Umbil, or Sterrick-root. It's powerful
good fur sterricks. Luk at it! See the face av a woman in sterricks
wid her hayer flyin' an' her jaw a-droppin'. I moind the toime Larry's
little gurrl didn't want to go to her 'place' an' hed sterricks. They
jest sent fur me an' I brung along a Sterrick-root. First, I sez, sez
I, 'Get me some b'ilin' wather,' an' I made tay an' give it to her
b'ilin' hot. As share as Oi'm a livin' corpse, the very first spoonful
fetched her all right. Oh, but it's God's own gift, an' it's be His
blessin' we know how to use it. An' it don't do to just go an' dig it
when ye want it. It has to be grubbed when the flower ain't thayer. Ye
see, the strength ain't in both places to oncet. It's ayther in the
flower or in the root, so when the flower is thayer the root's no more
good than an ould straw. Ye hes to Hunt fur it in spring or in fall,
just when the divil himself wouldn't know whayer to find it.

"An' fwhat hev ye thayer? Good land! if it ain't Skunk's Cabbage! Ye
sure come up by the Bend. That's the on'y place whayer that grows."

"Yes," replied Yan; "that's just where I got it. But hold on, Granny,
I want to sketch all those and note down their names and what you say
about them."

"Shure, you'd hev a big book when I wuz through," said the old woman
with pride, as she lit her pipe, striking the match on what would have
been the leg of her pants had she been a man.

"An' shure ye don't need to write down what they're good fur, fur the
good Lord done that Himself long ago. Luk here, now. That's Cohosh,
fur spazzums, an' luks like it; that's Moccasin, fur Highsterricks,
an' luks like it; wall, thar's Skunk-root fur both, an' don't it luk
like the two o' thim thigither?"

Yan feebly agreed, but had much difficulty in seeing what the plant
had in common with the others.

"An' luk here! Thayer ye got Lowbelier, that some calls Injun
tobaccer. Ye found this by the crick, an' it's a little airly--ahead
o' toime. That's the shtuff to make ye throw up when ye want to. Luk,
ain't that lafe the livin' shape of a shtummick?

"Thayer's the Highbelier; it's a high hairb, an' it's moighty foine
fur the bowels when ye drink the dry root.

"Spicewood" [Spicebush, _Lindera benzoin_], "or Fayverbush, them
twigs is great fur tay--that cures shakes and fayver. Shure an' it
shakes ivery toime the wind blows.

"That's Clayvers," she said, picking up a Galium. "Now fwhat wud ye
think that wuz fur to cure?"

"I don't know. What is it?"

"Luk now, an' see how it's wrote in it plain as prent--yes, an' a
sight plainer, fur I can read them an' I can't read a wurrud in a
book. Now fwhat is that loike?" said she, holding up the double
seed-pod.

"A brain and spinal column," said Yan.

"Och, choild, I hev better eyes than ye. Shure them's two kidneys, an'
that's fwhat Clayver tay will cure better'n all the docthers in the
wurruld, an' ye hev to know just how. Ye see, kidney thruble is
a koind o' fayver; it's hatin', so ye make yer Clayver tay in
_cold_ wather; if ye make it o' warrum wather it just makes ye
wuss an' acts loike didly pizen. Thayer's Sweatplant, or Boneset"
[_Eupatorium perfoliatum_], "that's the thing to sweat ye. Wanst
Oi sane a feller jest dyin' o' dry hoide, wuz all hoidebound, an' the
docthers throid an' throid an' couldn't help wan bit, till I guv his
mother some Boneset leaves to make tay, an' he sweat buckets before
he'd more'n smelt av it, an' the docthers thought they done it
theirsilves!" and she cackled gleefully.

"Thayer's Goldthread fur cankermouth, an' Pipsissewa that cures fayver
an' rheumatiz, too. It always grows where folks gits them disayses.
Luk at the flower just blotched red an' white loike fayver
blotches--an' Spearmint, that saves ye if ya pizen yerself with
Spaszum-root, an' shure it grows right next it in the woods!

"Thayer's Wormseed fur wurrums--see the 'ittle wurrum on the leaves"
_[Chenopodium]_ "an' that thayer is Pleurisy root, an' thayer!
well, thayer's the foinest hairb that iver God made to grow--that's
Cure all. Some things cures wan thing and some cures another, but when
ye don't know just what to take, ye make tay o' that root an' ye can't
go wrong. It was an Injun larned me that. The poor miserable baste of
a haythen hed some larnin', an' the minit he showed me I knowed it was
so, fur ivery lafe wuz three in wan an' wan in three, an' had the sign
o' the blessed crass in the middle as plain as that biler settin' on
the stove."

Thus she chattered away, smoking her short pipe, expectorating on the
top of the hot stove, but with true feminine delicacy she was careful
each time to wipe her mouth on the back of her skinny arm.

"An' that's what's called Catnip; sure Oi moind well the day Oi furst
larned about that. It warn't a Injun nor a docther nor a man at all,
at all, that larned me that. It was that ould black Cat, an' may the
saints stand bechuxt me an' his grane eyes! Bejabers, sometimes he
scares me wid his knowin' ways, but I hev nothin' agin him except that
he kills the wee burruds. He koind o' measled all wan winter an' lay
around the stove. Whiniver the dooer was open he'd go an' luk out an'
then come back an' meow an' wheen an' lay down--an' so he kep' on,
gittin' waker an' worser, till the snow wuz gone an' grass come up,
an' still he'd go a-lukin' toward the ayst, especially nights. Then
thayer come up a plant I had never sane, right thayer, an' he'd luk at
it an' luk at it loike he wanted it but didn't dar to. Thar was some
foine trays out thayer in thim days afore the ould baste cut thim
down, an' wan av thim hed a big limb, so--an' another so--an' when the
moon come up full at jest the right time the shaddy made the sign av
the crass an' loighted on me dooer, an' after it was past it didn't
make no crass. Well, bejabers, the full moon come up at last an' she
made the sign of the shaddy crass, an' the ould Cat goes out an'
watches an' watches loike he wanted to an' didn't dar to, till that
crass drapped fayer onto the hairbs, an' Tom he jumped then an' ate
an' ate, an' from that day he was a well Cat; an' that's how Oi larned
Catnip, an' it set me moind aisy, too, fur no Cat that's possesst 'll
iver ate inunder the shaddy av the crass."