"Wall, I'll take care o' them Sundays," said Si Lee.

"Yer all agin me," grumbled William with comical perplexity. "But
bhoys ought to be bhoys. Ye kin go."

"Whoop!" yelled Sam.

"Hooray!" joined in Yan, with even more interest though with less
unrestraint.

"But howld on, I ain't through--"

"I say, Da, we want your gun. We can't go camping without a gun."

"Howld on, now. Give me a chance to finish. Ye can go fur two weeks,
but ye got to _go_; no snakin' home nights to sleep. Ye can't hev
no matches an' no gun. I won't hev a lot o' children foolin' wid a
didn't-know-it-was-loaded, an' shootin' all the birds and squirrels
an' each other, too. Ye kin hev yer bows an' arrows an' ye ain't
likely to do no harrum. Ye kin hev all the mate an' bread an' stuff
ye want, but ye must cook it yerselves, an' if I see any signs of
settin' the Woods afire I'll be down wid the rawhoide an' cut the
very livers out o' ye."

The rest of the morning was devoted to preparation, Mrs. Raften taking
the leading hand.

"Now, who's to be cook?" she asked.

"Sam"--"Yan"--said the boys in the same breath.

"Hm! You seem in one mind about it. Suppose you take it turn and turn
about--Sam first day."

Then followed instructions for making coffee in the morning, boiling
potatoes, frying bacon. Bread and butter enough they were to take with
them--eggs, too.

"You better come home for milk every day or every other day, at
least," remarked the mother.

"We'd ruther steal it from the cows in the pasture," ventured Sam,
"seems naturaler to me Injun blood."

"If I ketch ye foolin' round the cows or sp'ilin' them the fur'll
fly," growled Raften.

"Well, kin we hook apples and cherries?" and Sam added in explanation;
"they're no good to us unless they're hooked."

"Take all the fruit ye want."

"An' potatoes?"

"Yes."

"An' aigs?"

"Well, if ye don't take more'n ye need."

"An' cakes out of the pantry? Indians do that."

"No; howld on now. That is a good place to draw the line. How are ye
goin' to get yer staff down thayer? It's purty heavy. Ye see thayer
are yer beds an' pots an' pans, as well as food."

"We'll have to take a wagon to the swamp and then carry them on our
backs on the blazed trail," said Sam, and explained "our backs" by
pointing to Michel and Si at work in the yard.

"The road goes as far as the creek," suggested Yan; "let's make a raft
there an' take the lot in it down to the swimming-pond; that'd be real
Injun."

"What'll ye make the raft of?" asked Raften.

"Cedar rails nailed together," answered Sam.

"No nails in mine," objected Yan; "that isn't Injun."

"An' none o' my cedar rails fur that. 'Pears to me it'd be less work
an' more Injun to pack the stuff on yer backs an' no risk o' wettin'
the beds."

So the raft was given up, and the stuff was duly carted to the creek's
side. Raften himself went with it. He was a good deal of a boy at
heart and he was much in sympathy with the plan. His remarks showed
a mixture of interest, and doubt as to the wisdom of letting himself
take so much interest.

"Hayre, load me up," he said, much to the surprise of the boys, as
they came to the creek's edge. His broad shoulders carried half of the
load. The blazed trail was only two hundred yards long, and in two
trips the stuff was all dumped down in front of the teepee.

Sam noted with amusement the unexpected enthusiasm of his father.
"Say, Da, you're just as bad as we are. I believe you'd like to join
us."

"'Moinds me o' airly days here," was the reply, with a wistful note in
his voice. "Many a night me an' Caleb Clark slep' out this way on this
very crick when them fields was solid bush. Do ye know how to make a
bed?"

"Don't know a thing," and Sam winked at Yan. "Show us."

"I'll show ye the rale thing. Where's the axe?"

"Haven't any," said Yan. "There's a big tomahawk and a little
tomahawk."

Raften grinned, took the big "tomahawk" and pointed to a small Balsam
Fir. "Now there's a foine bed-tree."

"Why, that's a fire-tree, too," said Yan, as with two mighty strokes
Raften sent it toppling down, then rapidly trimmed it of its flat
green boughs. A few more strokes brought down a smooth young Ash and
cut it into four pieces, two of them seven feet long and two of them
five feet. Next he cut a White Oak sapling and made four sharp pegs
each two feet long.

"Now, boys, whayer do you want yer bed?" then stopping at a thought
he added, "Maybe ye didn't want me to help--want to do everything
yerselves?"

"Ugh, bully good squaw. Keep it up--wagh!" said his son and heir, as
he calmly sat on a log and wore his most "Injun brave" expression of
haughty approval.

The father turned with an inquiring glance to Yan, who replied:

"We're mighty glad of your help. You see, we don't know how. It seems
to me that I read once the best place in the teepee is opposite the
door and a little to one side. Let's make it here." So Raften placed
the four logs for the sides and ends of the bed and drove in the
ground the four stakes to hold them. Yan brought in several armfuls of
branches, and Raften proceeded to lay them like shingles, beginning at
the head-log of the bed and lapping them very much. It took all the
fir boughs, but when all was done there was a solid mass of soft green
tips a foot thick, all the butts being at the ground.

"Thayer," said Raften, "that's an _Injun feather bed_ an' safe
an' warrum. Slapin' on the ground's terrible dangerous, but that's all
right. Now make your bed on that." Sam and Yan did so, and when it was
finished Raften said: "Now, fetch that little canvas I told yer ma to
put in; that's to fasten to the poles for an inner tent over the bed."

Yan stood still and looked uncomfortable.

"Say, Da, look at Yan. He's got that tired look that he wears when the
rules is broke."

"What's wrong," asked Raften.

"Indians don't have them that I ever heard of," said Little Beaver.

"Yan, did ye iver hear of a teepee linin' or a dew-cloth?"

"Yes," was the answer, in surprise at the unexpected knowledge of the
farmer.

"Do ye know what they're like?"

"No--at least--no--"

"Well, _I do_; that's what it's like. That's something I do know,
fur I seen old Caleb use wan."

"Oh, I remember reading about it now, and they are like that, and it's
on them that the Indians paint their records. Isn't that bully," as he
saw Raften add two long inner stakes which held the dew-cloth like a
canopy.

"Say, Da, I never knew you and Caleb were hunting together. Thought ye
were jest natural born enemies."

"Humph!" grunted Raften. "We wuz chums oncet. Never had no fault to
find till we swapped horses."

"Sorry you ain't now, 'cause he's sure sharp in the woods."

"He shouldn't a-tried to make an orphan out o' you."

"Are you sure he done it?"

"If 'twasn't him I dunno who 'twas. Yan, fetch some of them pine knots
thayer."

Yan went after the knots; it was some yards into the woods, and out
there he was surprised to see a tall man behind a tree. A second's
glance showed it to be Caleb. The Trapper laid one finger on his lips
and shook his head. Yan nodded assent, gathered the knots, and went
back to the camp, where Sam continued:

"You skinned him out of his last cent, old Boyle says."

"An' whoi not, when he throid to shkin me? Before that I was helpin'
him, an' fwhat must he do but be ahfter swappin' horses. He might as
well ast me to play poker and then squeal when I scooped the pile.
Naybours is wan thing an' swappin' horses is another. All's fair in
a horse trade, an' friends didn't orter swap horses widout they kin
stand the shkinnin'. That's a game by itself. Oi would 'a' helped him
jest the same afther that swap an' moore, fur he wuz good stuff, but
he must nades shoot at me that noight as I come home wit the wad, so
av coorse--"

"I wish ye had a Dog now," said the farmer in the new tone of a new
subject; "tramps is a nuisance at all toimes, an' a Dog is the best
med'cine for them. I don't believe old Cap'd stay here; but maybe yer
near enough to the house so they won't bother ye. An' now I guess the
Paleface will go back to the settlement. I promised ma that I'd see
that yer bed wuz all right, an' if ye sleep warrum an' dry an' hev
plenty to ate ye'll take no harrum."

So he turned away, but as he was quitting the clearing he
stopped,--the curious boyish interest was gone from his face, the
geniality from his voice--then in his usual stern tones of command:

[Illustration: "If ye kill any Song-birds, I'll use the rawhoide on
ye."]

"Now, bhoys, ye kin shoot all the Woodchucks yer a mind ter, fur they
are a nuisance in the field. Yer kin kill Hawks an' Crows an' Jays,
fur they kill other birds, an' Rabbits an' Coons, fur they are fair
game; but I don't want to hear of yer killin' any Squirrels or
Chipmunks or Song-birds, an' if ye do I'll stop the hull thing an'
bring ye back to wurruk, an' use the rawhoide on tap o' that."




II

The First Night and Morning


It was a strange new feeling that took possession of the boys as they
saw Mr. Raften go, and when his step actually died away on the blazed
trail they felt that they were really and truly alone in the woods and
camping out. To Yan it was the realization of many dreams, and the
weirdness of it was helped by the remembrance of the tall old man he
had seen watching them from behind the trees. He made an excuse to
wander out there, but of course Caleb was gone.

"Fire up," Sam presently called out. Yan was the chief expert with the
rubbing-sticks, and within a minute or two he had the fire going in
the middle of the teepee and Sam set about preparing the evening meal.
This was supposed to be Buffalo meat and Prairie roots (beef and
potatoes). It was eaten rather quietly, and then the boys sat down on
the opposite sides of the fire. The conversation dragged, then died
a natural death; each was busy with his thoughts, and there was,
moreover, an impressive and repressive something or other all around
them. Not a stillness, for there were many sounds, but beyond those
a sort of voiceless background that showed up all the myriad voices.
Some of these were evidently Bird, some Insect, and a few were
recognized as Tree-frog notes. In the near stream were sounds of
splashing or a little plunge.

"Must be Mushrat," whispered Sam to the unspoken query of his friend.

A loud, far "Oho-oho-oho" was familiar to both as the cry of the
Horned Owl, but a strange long wail rang out from the trees overhead.

"What's that?"

"Don't know," was all they whispered, and both felt very
uncomfortable. The solemnity and mystery of the night was on them
and weighing more heavily with the waning light. The feeling was
oppressive. Neither had courage enough to propose going to the house
or their camping would have ended. Sam arose and stirred the fire,
looked around for more wood, and, seeing none, he grumbled (to
himself) and stepped outside in the darkness to find some. It was not
till long afterward that he admitted having had to _dare_ himself
to step out into the darkness. He brought in some sticks and fastened
the door as tightly as possible. The blazing fire in the teepee was
cheering again. The boys perhaps did not realize that there was
actually a tinge of homesickness in their mood, yet both were thinking
of the comfortable circle at the house. The blazing fire smoked a
little, and Sam said:

"Kin you fix that to draw? You know more about it 'an me."

Yan now forced himself to step outside. The wind was rising and had
changed. He swung the smoke poles till the vent was quartering down,
then hoarsely whispered, "How's that?"

"That's better," was the reply in a similar tone, though there was no
obvious difference yet.

He went inside with nervous haste and fastened up the entrance.

"Let's make a good fire and go to bed."

So they turned in after partly undressing, but not to sleep for hours.
Yan in particular was in a state of nervous excitement. His heart had
beaten violently when he went out that time, and even now that mysterious
dread was on him. The fire was the one comfortable thing. He dozed off,
but started up several times at some slight sound. Once it was a peculiar
"_Tick, tick, scr-a-a-a-a-pe, lick-scra-a-a-a-a-a-pe,_" down the teepee
over his head. "_A Bear_" was his first notion, but on second thoughts
he decided it was only a leaf sliding down the canvas. Later he was
roused by a "_Scratch, scratch, scratch_" close to him. He listened
silently for some time. This was no leaf; it was an _animal!_ Yes,
surely--it was a Mouse. He slapped the canvas violently and "hissed"
till it went away, but as he listened he heard again that peculiar
wail in the tree-tops. It almost made his hair sit up. He reached out
and poked the fire together into a blaze. All was still and in time he
dozed off. Once more he was wide awake in a flash and saw Sam sitting
up in bed listening.

[Illustration: "Where's the axe?"]

"What is it, Sam?" he whispered.

"I dunno. Where's the axe?"

"Right here."

"Let me have it on my side. You kin have the hatchet."

But they dropped off at last and slept soundly till the sun was strong
on the canvas and filling the teepee with a blaze of transmitted
light.

"Woodpecker! Woodpecker! Get up! Get up! Hi-e-yo! Hi-e-yo!
Double-u-double-o-d-bang-fizz-whackety-whack-y-r-chuck-
brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-Woodpecker," shouted Yan to his sleepy chum, quoting
a phrase that Sam when a child had been taught as the true spelling of
his nickname.

Sam woke slowly, but knowing perfectly where he was, and drawled:

"Get up yourself. You're cook to-day, an' I'll take my breakfast in
bed. Seems like my knee is broke out again."

"Oh, get up, and let's have a swim before breakfast."

"No, thank you, I'm too busy just now; 'sides, it's both cold and wet
in that pond, this time o' day."

The morning was fresh and bright; many birds were singing, although it
was July, a Red-eyed Vireo and a Robin were in full song; and as Yan
rose to get the breakfast he wondered why he had been haunted by such
strange feelings the night before. It was incomprehensible now. He
wished that appalling wail in the tree-tops would sound again, so he
might trace it home.

There still were some live coals in the ashes, and in a few minutes he
had a blazing fire, with the pot boiling for coffee, and the bacon in
the fryer singing sweetest music for the hungry.

Sam lay on his back watching his companion and making critical
remarks.

"You may be an A1 cook--at least, I hope you are, but you don't know
much about fire-wood," said he. "Now look at that," as one huge spark
after another exploded from the fire and dropped on the bed and the
teepee cover.

"How can I help it?"

"I'll bet Da's best cow against your jack-knife you got some Ellum or
Hemlock in that fire."

"Well, I have," Yan admitted, with an air of surrender.

"My son," said the Great Chief Woodpecker, "no sparking allowed in the
teepee. Beech, Maple, Hickory or Ash never spark. Pine knots an' roots
don't, but they make smoke like--like--oh--you know. Hemlock, Ellum,
Chestnut, Spruce and Cedar is public sparkers, an' not fit for dacint
teepee sassiety. Big Injun heap hate noisy, crackling fire. Enemy hear
that, an'--an'--it burns his bedclothes."

"All right, Grandpa," and the cook made a mental note, then added in
tones of deadly menace, "You get up now, do you understand!" and he
picked up a bucket of water.

"That might scare the Great Chief Woodpecker if the Great Chief Cook
had a separate bed, but now he smiles kind o' scornful," was all the
satisfaction he got. Then seeing that breakfast really was ready,
Sam scrambled out a few minutes later. The coffee acted like an
elixir--their spirits rose, and before the meal was ended it would
have been hard to find two more hilarious and enthusiastic campers.
Even the vague terrors of the night were now sources of amusement.




III

A Crippled Warrior and the Mud Albums


"Say, Sam; what about Guy? Do we want him?"

"Well, it's just like this. If it was at school or any other place I
wouldn't be bothered with the dirty little cuss, but out in the woods
like this one feels kind o' friendly, an' three's better than two.
Besides, he has been admitted to the Tribe already."

"Yes, that's what I say. Let's give him a _yell_."

So the boys uttered a long yell, produced by alternating the voice
between a high falsetto and a natural tone. This was the "yell," and
had never failed to call Guy forth to join them unless he had some
chore on hand and his "Paw" was too near to prevent his renegading to
the Indians. He soon appeared waving a branch, the established signal
that he came as a friend.

He came very slowly, however, and the boys saw that he limped
frightfully, helping himself along with a stick. He was barefoot, as
usual, but his left foot was swaddled in a bundle of rags.

"Hello, Sappy; what happened? Out to Wounded Knee River?"

"Nope. Struck luck. Paw was bound I'd ride the Horse with the scuffler
all day, but he gee'd too short an' I arranged to tumble off'n him,
an' Paw cuffled me foot some. Law! how I did holler! You should 'a'
heard me."

[Illustration: "He soon appeared, waving a branch."]

"Bet we did," said Sam. "When was it?"

"Yesterday about four."

"Exactly. We heard an awful screech and Yan says, says he, 'There's
the afternoon train at Kelly's Crossing, but ain't she late?'

"'Train!' says I. 'Pooh. I'll bet that's Guy Burns getting a new
licking.'"

"Guess I'll well up now," said War Chief Sapwood, so stripped his
foot, revealing a scratch that would not have cost a thought had he
got it playing ball. He laid the rags away carefully and with them
every trace of the limp, then entered heartily into camp life.

The vast advantage of being astir early now was seen. There were
Squirrels in every other tree, there were birds on every side, and
when they ran to the pond a wild Duck spattered over the surface and
whistled out of sight.

"What you got?" called Sam, as he saw Yan bending eagerly over
something down by the pond.

Yan did not answer, and so Sam went over and saw him studying out a
mark in the mud. He was trying to draw it in his note-book.

"What is it?" repeated Sam.

"Don't know. Too stubby for a Muskrat, too much claw for a Cat, too
small for a Coon, too many toes for a Mink."

"I'll bet it's a Whangerdoodle."

Yan merely chuckled in answer to this.

"Don't you laugh," said the Woodpecker, solemnly, "You'd be more apt
to cry if you seen one walk into the teepee blowing the whistle at the
end of his tail. Then it'd be, 'Oh, Sam, where's the axe?'"

"Tell you what I do believe it is," said Yan, not noticing this
terrifying description; "it's a Skunk."

"Little Beaver, my son! I thought I would tell you, then I sez to
meself, 'No; it's better for him to find out by his lone. Nothing like
a struggle in early life to develop the stuff in a man. It don't do to
help him too much,' sez I, an' so I didn't."

Here Sam condescendingly patted the Second War Chief on the head and
nodded approvingly. Of course he did not know as much about the track
as Yan did, but he prattled on:

"Little Beaver! you're a heap struck on tracks--Ugh--good! You kin
tell by them everything that passes in the night. Wagh! Bully! You're
likely to be the naturalist of our Tribe. But you ain't got gumption.
Now, in this yer hunting-ground of our Tribe there is only one place
where you can see a track, an' that is that same mud-bank; all the
rest is hard or grassy. Now, what I'd do if I was a Track-a-mist, I'd
give the critters lots o' chance to leave tracks. I'd fix it all
round with places so nothing could come or go 'thout givin' us his
impressions of the trip. I'd have one on each end of the trail coming
in, an' one on each side of the creek where it comes in an' goes out."

"Well, Sam, you have a pretty level head. I wonder I didn't think of
that myself."

"My son, the Great Chief does the thinking. It's the rabble--that's
you and Sappy--that does the work."

But all the same he set about it at once with Yan, Sappy following
with a _slight limp now_. They removed the sticks and rubbish for
twenty feet of the trail at each end and sprinkled this with three
or four inches of fine black loam. They cleared off the bank of the
stream at four places, one at each side where it entered the woods,
and one at each side where it went into the Burns's Bush.

"Now," said Sam, "there's what I call visitors' albums like the one
that Phil Leary's nine fatties started when they got their brick house
and their swelled heads, so every one that came in could write their
names an' something about 'this happy, happy, ne'er-to-be-forgotten
visit'--them as could write. Reckon that's where our visitors get the
start, for all of ours kin write that has feet."

"Wonder why I didn't think o' that," said Yan, again and again. "But
there's one thing you forget," he said. "We want one around the
teepee."

This was easily made, as the ground was smooth and bare there, and
Sappy forgot his limp and helped to carry ashes and sand from the
fire-hole. Then planting his broad feet down in the dust, with many
snickers, he left some very interesting tracks.

"I call that a bare track" said Sam.

"Go ahead and draw it," giggled Sappy

"Why not?" and Yan got out his book.

"Bet you can't make it life-size," and Sam glanced from the little
note-book to the vast imprint.

After it was drawn, Sam said, "Guess I'll peel off and show you a
human track." He soon gave an impression of his foot for the artist,
and later Yan added his own; the three were wholly different.

"Seems to me it would be about right, if you had the ways the toes
pointed and the distance apart to show how long the legs wuz."

Again Sam had given Yan a good idea. From that time he noted these two
points and made his records much better.

"Air you fellers roostin' here now?" said Sappy in surprise, as he
noted the bed as well as the pots and pans.

"Yep."

"Well, I wanter, too. If I kin git hol' o' Maw 'thout Paw, it'll be
O.K."

"You let on we don't want you and Paw'll let you come. Tell him
Ole Man Raften ordered you off the place an' he'll fetch you here
himself."

"I guess there's room enough in that bed fur three," remarked the
Third War Chief.

"Well, I guess there ain't," said Woodpecker. "Not when the third one
won first prize for being the dirtiest boy in school. You can get
stuff an' make your own bed, across there on the other side the fire."

"Don't know how."

"We'll show you, only you'll have to go home for blankets an' grub."

The boys soon cut a Fir-bough bed, but Guy put off going home for the
blankets as long as he could. He knew and they suspected that there
was no chance of his rejoining them again that day. So after sundown
he replaced his foot-rags and limped down the trail homeward, saying,
"I'll be back in a few minutes," and the boys knew perfectly well that
he would not.

The evening meal was over; they had sat around wondering if the night
would repeat its terrors. An Owl "Hoo-hoo-ed" in the trees. There was
a pleasing romance in the sound. The boys kept up the fire till about
ten, then retired, determined that they would not be scared this time.
They were barely off to sleep when the most awful outcry arose in the
near woods, like "a Wolf with a sore throat," then the yells of a
human being in distress. Again the boys sat up in fright. There was a
scuffling outside--a loud and terrified "Hi--hi--hi--Sam!" Then an
attack was made on the door. It was torn open, and in tumbled Guy. He
was badly frightened; but when the fire was lighted and he calmed down
a little he confessed that Paw had sent him to bed, but when all was
still he had slipped out the window, carrying the bedclothes. He was
nearly back to the camp when he decided to scare the boys by letting
off a few wolfish howls, but he made himself very scary by doing it,
and when a wild answer came from the tree-tops--a hideous, blaring
screech--he lost all courage, dropped the bedding, and ran toward the
teepee yelling for help.

The boys took torches presently and went nervously in search of the
missing blankets. Guy's bed was made and in an hour they were once
more asleep.

In the morning Sam was up and out first. From the home trail he
suddenly called:

"Yan, come here."

"Do you mean me?" said Little Beaver, with haughty dignity.

"Yep, Great Chief; git a move on you. Hustle out here. Made a find. Do
you see who was visiting us last night while we slept?" and he pointed
to the "album" on the inway. "I hain't shined them shoes every week
with soot off the bottom of the pot without knowin' that one pair of
'em was wore by Ma an' one of 'em by Da. But let's see how far they
come. Why, I orter looked round the teepee before tramplin' round."
They went back, and though the trails were much hidden by their own,
they found enough around the doorway to show that during the night, or
more likely late in the evening, the father and mother had paid them a
visit in secret--had inspected the camp as they slept, but finding no
one stirring and the boys breathing the deep breath of healthy sleep,
they had left them undisturbed.

"Say, boys--I mean Great Chiefs--what we want in camp is a Dog, or one
of these nights some one will steal our teeth out o' our heads an' we
won't know a thing till they come back for the gums. All Injun camps
have Dogs, anyway."

The next morning the Third War Chief was ordered out by the Council,
first to wash himself clean, then to act as cook for the day. He
grumbled as he washed, that "'Twan't no good--he'd be all dirty again
in two minutes," which was not far from the truth. But he went at the
cooking with enthusiasm, which lasted nearly an hour. After this he
did not see any fun in it, and for once he, as well as the others,
began to realize how much was done for them at home. At noon Sappy set
out nothing but dirty dishes, and explained that so long as each got
his own it was all right. His foot was very troublesome at meal time
also. He said it was the moving round when he was hurrying that made
it so hard to bear, but in their expedition with bows and arrows later
on he found complete relief.

"Say, look at the Red-bird," he shouted, as a Tanager flitted onto a
low branch and blazed in the sun. "Bet I hit him first shot!" and he
drew an arrow.

"Here you, Saphead," said Sam, "quit that shooting at little birds.
It's bad medicine. It's against the rules; it brings bad luck--it
brings awful bad luck. I tell you there ain't no worse luck than Da's
raw-hide--that I know."

"Why, what's the good o' playin' Injun if we can't shoot a blame
thing?" protested Sappy.

"You kin shoot Crows an' Jays if you like, an' Woodchucks, too."

"I know where there's a Woodchuck as big as a Bear."

"Ah! What size Bear?"

"Well, it is. You kin laugh all you want to. He has a den in our
clover field, an' he made it so big that the mower dropped in an'
throwed Paw as far as from here to the crick."

"An' the horses, how did they get out?"

"Well! It broke the machine, an' you should have heard Paw swear. My!
but he was a socker. Paw offered me a quarter if I'd kill the old
whaler. I borrowed a steel trap an' set it in the hole, but he'd dig
out under it an' round it every time. I'll bet there ain't anything
smarter'n an old Woodchuck."

"Is he there yet?" asked War Chief No. 2.

"You just bet he is. Why, he has half an acre of clover all eat up."

"Let's try to get him," said Yan. "Can we find him?"

"Well, I should say so. I never come by but I see the old feller. He's
so big he looks like a calf, an' so old an' wicked he's gray-headed."

"Let's have a shot at him," suggested the Woodpecker. "He's fair game.
Maybe your Paw'll give us a quarter each if we kill him."

Guy snickered. "Guess you don't know my Paw," then he giggled
bubblously through his nose again.

Arrived at the edge of the clover, Sam asked, "Where's your
Woodchuck?"

"Right in there."

"I don't see him."

"Well, he's always here."

"Not now, you bet."

"Well, this is the very first time I ever came here and didn't see
him. Oh, I tell you, he's a fright. I'll bet he's a blame sight
bigger'n that stump."

"Well, here's his track, anyway," said Woodpecker, pointing to some
tracks he had just made unseen with his own broad palm.

"Now," said Sappy, in triumph. "Ain't he an old socker?"

"Sure enough. You ain't missed any cows lately, have you? Wonder you
ain't scared to live anyways near!"




IV

A "Massacree" of Palefaces


"Say, fellers, I know where there's a stavin' Birch tree--do you want
any bark?"

"Yes, I want some," said Little Beaver.

"But hold on; I guess we better not, coz it's right on the edge o' our
bush, an' Paw's still at the turnips."

"Now if you want a real war party," said the Head Chief, "let's
massacree the Paleface settlement up the crick and get some milk.
We're just out, and I'd like to see if the place has changed any."

So the boys hid their bows and arrows and headdresses, and, forgetting
to take a pail, they followed in Indian file the blazed trail,
carefully turning in their toes as they went and pointing silently to
the track, making signs of great danger. First they crawled up, under
cover of one of the fences, to the barn. The doors were open and men
working at something. A pig wandered in from the barnyard. Then the
boys heard a sudden scuffle, and a squeal from the pig as it scrambled
out again, and Raften's voice: "Consarn them pigs! Them boys ought to
be here to herd them." This was sufficiently alarming to scare the
Warriors off in great haste. They hid in the huge root-cellar and
there held a council of war.

"Here, Great Chiefs of Sanger," said Yan, "behold I take three straws.
That long one is for the Great Woodpecker, the middle size is for
Little Beaver, and the short thick one with the bump on the end and
a crack on top is Sappy. Now I will stack them up in a bunch and let
them fall, then whichever way they point we must go, for this is Big
Medicine."

So the straws fell. Sam's straw pointed nearly to the house, Yan's a
little to the south of the house, and Guy's right back home.

"Aha, Sappy, you got to go home; the straw says so."

"I ain't goin' to believe no such foolishness."

"It's awful unlucky to go against it."

"I don't care, I ain't goin' back," said Guy doggedly.

"Well, my straw says go to the house; that means go scouting for milk,
I reckon."

Yan's straw pointed toward the garden, and Guy's to the residence and
grounds of "J.G. Burns, Esq."

"I don't care," said Sappy, "I ain't goin'. I am goin' after some
of them cherries in your orchard, an' 'twon't be the first time,
neither."

"We kin meet by the Basswood at the foot of the lane with whatever
we get," said the First War Chief, as he sneaked into the bushes and
crawled through the snake fence and among the nettles and manure
heaps on the north side of the barnyard till he reached the woodshed
adjoining the house. He knew where the men were, and he could guess
where his mother was, but he was worried about the Dog. Old Cap might
be on the front doorstep, or he might be prowling at just the wrong
place for the Injun plan. The woodshed butted on the end of the
kitchen. The milk was kept in the cellar, and one window of the cellar
opened into a dark corner of the woodshed. This was easily raised, and
Sam scrambled down into the cool damp cellar. Long rows of milk pans
were in sight on the shelves. He lifted the cover of the one he knew
to be the last put there and drank a deep, long draught with his mouth
down to it, then licked the cream from his lips and remembered that he
had come without a pail. But he knew where to get one. He went
gently up the stairs, avoiding steps Nos. 1 and 7 because they were
"creakers," as he found out long ago, when he used to 'hook' maple
sugar from the other side of the house. The door at the top was closed
and buttoned, but he put his jack-knife blade through the crack and
turned the button. After listening awhile and hearing no sound in the
kitchen, he gently opened the squeaky old door. There was no one to
be seen but the baby, sound asleep in her cradle. The outer door was
open, but no Dog lying on the step as usual. Over the kitchen was a
garret entered by a trap-door and a ladder. The ladder was up and the
trap-door open, but all was still. Sam stood over the baby, grunted,
"Ugh, Paleface papoose," raised his hand as if wielding a war club,
aimed a deadly blow at the sleeping cherub, then stooped and kissed
her rosy mouth so lightly that her pink fists went up to rub it at
once. He now went to the pantry, took a large pie and a tin pail,
then down into the cellar again. He, at first, merely closed the door
behind him and was leaving it so, but remembered that Minnie might
awaken and toddle around till she might toddle into the cellar,
therefore he turned the button so that just a corner showed over the
crack, closed the door and worked with his knife blade on that corner
till the cellar was made as safe as before. He now escaped with his
pie and pail.

Meanwhile his mother's smiling face beamed out of the dark loft. Then
she came down the ladder. She had seen him come and enter the cellar,
by chance she was in the loft when he reached the kitchen, but she had
kept quiet to enjoy the joke.

Next time the Woodpecker went to the cellar he found a paper with this
on it: "_Notice_ to hostile Injuns--Next time you massacree this
settlement, bring back the pail, and don't leave the covers off the
milk pans."

Yan had followed the fence that ran south of the house. There was
plenty of cover, but he crawled on hands and knees, going right down
on his breast when he came to places more open than the rest. In this
way he had nearly reached the garden when he heard a noise behind and,
turning, he saw Sappy.

"Here, what are you following me for? Your straw pointed the other
way. You ain't playing fair."

"Well, I don't care, I ain't going home. _You_ fixed it up so my
straw would point that way. It ain't fair, an' I won't do it."

"You got no right following me."

"I ain't following you, but you keep going just the place I want to
go. It's you following me, on'y keepin' ahead. I told you I was after
cherries."

"Well, the cherries are that way and I'm going this way, and I don't
want you along."

"You couldn't get me if you wanted me."

"Erh----"

"Erh----"

So Sappy went cherryward and Yan waited awhile, then crawled toward
the fruit garden. After twenty or thirty yards more, he saw a gleam of
red, then under it a bright yellow eye glaring at him. He had chanced
on a hen sitting on her nest. He came nearer, she took alarm and ran
away, not clucking, but cackling loudly. There were a dozen eggs of
two different styles, all bright and clean, and the hen's comb was
bright red. Yan knew hens. This was easy to read: Two stray hens
laying in one nest, and neither of them sitting yet.

"So ho! Straws show which way the hens go."

He gathered up the eggs into his hat and crawled back toward the tree
where all had to meet.

But before he had gone far he heard a loud barking, then yells for
help, and turned in time to see Guy scramble up a tree while Cap, the
old Collie, barked savagely at him from below. Now that he was in no
danger Sappy had the sense to keep quiet. Yan came back as quickly
as possible. The Dog at once recognized and obeyed _him_, but
doubtless was much puzzled to make out why he should be pelted back to
the house when he had so nobly done his duty by the orchard.

"Now, you see, maybe next time you'll do what the medicine straw tells
you. Only for me you'd been caught and fed to the pigs, sure."

"Only for you I wouldn't have come. I wasn't scared of your old Dog,
anyway. Just in about two minutes more I was comin' down to kick the
stuffin' out o' him myself."

"Perhaps you'd like to go back and do it now. I'll soon call him."

"Oh, I hain't got time now, but some other time--Let's find Sam."

So they foregathered at the tree, and laden with their spoils, they
returned gloriously to camp.




V

The Deer Hunt


That evening they had a feast and turned in to sleep at the usual
hour. The night passed without special alarm. Once about daylight
Sappy called them, saying he believed there was a Bear outside, but
he had a trick of grinding his teeth in his sleep, and the other boys
told him that was the Bear he heard.

Yan went around to the mud albums and got some things he could
not make out and a new mark that gave him a sensation. He drew it
carefully. It was evidently the print of a small sharp hoof. This was
what he had hungered for so long. He shouted, "Sam--Sam--Sapwood, come
here; here's a _Deer track_."

The boys shouted back, "Ah, what you givin' us now!" "Call off your
Dog!" and so forth.

But Yan persisted. The boys were so sure it was a trick that they
would not go for some time, then the sun had risen high, shining
straight down on the track instead of across, so it became very dim.
Soon the winds, the birds and the boys themselves helped to wipe it
out. But Yan had his drawing, and persisted in spite of the teasing
that it was true.

At length Guy said aside to Sam: "Seems to me a feller that hunts
tracks so terrible serious ought to see the critter _some time_.
'Tain't right to let him go on sufferin'. _I_ think he ought to
see that Deer. We ought to help him." Here he winked a volley or two
and made signs for Sam to take Yan away.

This was easily done.

"Let's see if your Deer went out by the lower mud album." So they
walked down that way, while Guy got an old piece of sacking, stuffed
it with grass, and, hastily tying it in the form of a Deer's head,
stuck it on a stick. He put in two flat pieces of wood for ears, took
charcoal and made two black spots for eyes and one for a nose, then
around each he drew a ring of blue clay from the bed of the brook.
This soon dried and became white. Guy now set up this head in the
bushes, and when all was ready he ran swiftly and silently through the
wood to find Sam and Yan. He beckoned vigorously and called under
his voice: "Sam--Yan--a Deer! Here's that there Deer that made them
tracks, I believe."

Guy would have failed to convince Yan if Sam had not looked so much
interested. They ran back to the teepee, got their bows and arrows,
then, guided by Guy, who, however, kept back, they crawled to where he
had seen the Deer.

"There--there, now, ain't he a Deer? There--see him move!"

Yan's first feeling was a most exquisite thrill of pleasure. It was
like the uplift of joy he had had the time he got his book, but was
stronger. The savage impulse to kill came quickly, and his bow was in
his hand, but he hesitated.

"Shoot! Shoot!" said Sam and Guy.

Yan wondered why _they_ did not shoot. He turned, and in spite of
his agitation he saw that they were making fun of him. He glanced at
the Deer again, moved up a little closer and saw the trick.

Then they hooted aloud. Yan was a little crestfallen. Oh, it had been
such an exquisite feeling! The drop was long and hard, but he rallied
quickly.

"I'll shoot your Deer for you," he said, and sent an arrow close under
it.

"Well, I kin beat that," and Sam and Guy both fired. Sam's arrow stuck
in the Deer's nose. At that he gave a yell; then all shot till the
head was stuck full of arrows, and they returned to the teepee to
get dinner. They were still chaffing Yan about the Deer when he said
slowly to Guy:

"Generally you are not so smart as you think you are, but this time
you're smarter. You've given me a notion."

So after dinner he got a sack about three feet long and stuffed it
full of dry grass; then he made a small sack about two and a half feet
long and six inches thick, but with an elbow in it and pointed at one
end. This he also stuffed with hay and sewed with a bone needle to the
big sack. Next he cut four sticks of soft pine for legs and put them
into the four corners of the big sack, wrapping them with bits of
sacking to be like the rest. Then he cut two ears out of flat sticks;
painted black eyes and nose with a ring of white around each, just as
Sappy had done, but finally added a black spot on each side of the
body, and around that a broad gray hand. Now he had completed what
every one could see was meant for a Deer.

The other boys helped a little, but not did cease to chaff him.

"Who's to be fooled this time?" asked Guy.

"You," was the answer.

"I'll bet you'll get buck fever the first time you come across it,"
chuckled the Head Chief.

"Maybe I will, but you'll all have a chance. Now you fellers stay here
and I'll hide the Deer. Wait till I come back."

So Yan ran off northward with the dummy, then swung around to the east
and hid it at a place quite out of the line that he first took. He
returned nearly to where he came out, shouting "Ready!"

Then the hunters sallied forth fully armed, and Yan explained: "First
to find it counts ten and has first shot. If he misses, next one can
walk up five steps and shoot; if he misses, next walks five steps
more, and so on until the Deer is hit. Then all the shooting must be
done from the place where that arrow was fired. A shot in the heart
counts ten; in the gray counts five; that's a body wound--and a hit
outside of that counts one--that's a scratch. If the Deer gets away
without a shot in the heart, then I count twenty-five, and the first
one to find it is Deer for next hunt--twelve shots each is the limit."

The two hunters searched about for a long time. Sam made disparaging
remarks about the trail this Deer _did not_ leave, and Guy
sneaked and peaked in every thicket.

Sappy was not an athlete nor an intellectual giant, but his little
piggy eyes were wonderfully sharp and clear.

"I see him," he yelled presently, and pointed out the place
seventy-five yards away where he saw one ear and part of the head.

"Tally ten for Sappy," and Yan marked it down.

Guy was filled with pride at his success. He made elaborate
preparation to shoot, remarking, "I could 'a' seen it twicet as
far--if--if--if--it was--if I had a fair chance."

He drew his bow and left fly. The arrow went little more than half
way. So Sam remarked, "Five steps up I kin go. It don't say nothing
about how long the steps?"

"No."

"Well, here goes," and he began the most wonderful Kangaroo hops that
he could do. He covered about thirty feet in those five steps, and by
swerving a little aside he got a good view of the Deer. He was now
less than sixty-five yards away. He fired and missed. Now Guy had the
right to walk up five steps. He also missed. Finally at thirty yards
Sam sent an arrow close past a tree, deep in the Deer's gray flank.

"Bully shot! Body wound! Count five for the Great War Chief. All
shooting from this spot now," said Yan, "and I don't know why I
shouldn't shoot as well as the others."

"Coz you're the Deer and that'd be suicide," was Sam's objection. "But
it's all right. You won't hit."

The objection was not sustained, and Yan tried his luck also. Two or
three shots in the brown of the Deer's haunch, three or four into the
tree that stood half way between, but nearly in line, a shot or two
into the nose, then "Hooray!" a shot from Guy right into the Deer's
heart put an end to the chase. Now they went up to draw and count the
arrows.

Guy was ahead with a heart shot, ten, a body wound, five, and a
scratch, one, that's sixteen, with ten more for finding it--twenty-six
points. Sam followed with two body wounds and two scratches--twelve
points, and Yan one body wound and five scratches--ten points. The
Deer looked like an old Porcupine when they came up to it, and Guy,
bursting with triumph, looked like a young Emperor.

"I tell you it takes me to larn you fellers to Deer hunt. I'll bet
I'll hit him in the heart first thing next time."

"I'll bet you won't, coz you'll be Deer and can't shoot till we both
have."

Guy thought this the finest game he had ever played. He pranced away
with the dummy on his back, scheming as he went to make a puzzle for
the others. He hid the Deer in a dense thicket east of the camp, then
sneaked around to the west of the camp and yelled "Ready!" They had a
long, tedious search and had to give it up.

"Now what to do? Who counts?" asked the Woodpecker.

"When Deer escapes it counts twenty-five," replied the inventer of the
game; and again Guy was ahead.

"This is the bulliest game I ever seen" was his ecstatic remark.

"Seems to me there's something wrong; that Deer ought to have a
trail."

"That's so," assented Yan. "Wonder if he couldn't drag an old root!"

"If there was snow it'd be easy."

"I'll tell you, Sam; we'll tear up paper and leave a paper trail."

"Now you're talking." So all ran to camp. Every available scrap of
wrapping paper was torn up small and put in a "scent bag."

Since no one found the Deer last time, Guy had the right to hide it
again.

He made a very crooked trail and a very careful hide, so that the boys
nearly walked onto the Deer before they saw it about fifteen yards
away. Sam scored ten for the find. He fired and missed. Yan now
stepped up his five paces and fired so hastily that he also missed.
Guy now had a shot at it at five yards, and, of course, hit the Deer
in the heart. This succession of triumphs swelled his head nearly to
the bursting point, and his boasting passed all bounds. But it now
became clear that there must be a limit to the stepping up. So the new
rule was made, "No stepping up nearer than fifteen paces."

The game grew as they followed it. Its resemblance to real hunting was
very marked. The boys found that they could follow the trail, or sweep
the woods with their eyes as they pleased, and find the game, but the
wisest way was a combination. Yan was too much for the trail, Sam
too much for the general lookout, but Guy seemed always in luck. His
little piglike eyes took in everything, and here at length he found a
department in which he could lead. It looked as though little pig-eyed
Guy was really cut out for a hunter. He made a number of very clever
hidings of the Deer. Once he led the trail to the pond, then, across,
and right opposite he put the Deer in full view, so that they saw it
at once in the open; they were obliged either to shoot across the
pond, or step farther away round the edge, or step into the deep
water, and again Guy scored. It was found necessary to bar hiding the
Deer on a ridge and among stones, because in one case arrows which
missed were lost in the bushes and in the other they were broken.

They played this game so much that they soon found a new difficulty.
The woods were full of paper trails, and there was no means of
deciding which was the old and which the new. This threatened to end
the fun altogether. But Yan hit on the device of a different colour
of paper. This gave them a fresh start, but their supply was limited.
There was paper everywhere in the woods now, and it looked as though
the game was going to kill itself, when old Caleb came to pay them a
visit. He always happened round as though it was an accident, but the
boys were glad to see him, as he usually gave some help.

"Ye got some game, I see," and the old man's eye twinkled as he noted
the dummy, now doing target duty on the forty-yard range. "Looks like
the real thing. Purty good--purty good." He chuckled as he learned
about the Deer hunt, and a sharp observer might have discerned a
slight increase of interest when he found that it was not Sam Raften
that was the "crack" hunter.

"Good fur you, Guy Burns. Me an' your Paw hev hunted Deer together on
this very crik many a time."

When he learned the difficulty about the scent, he said "Hm," and
puffed at his pipe for awhile in silence. Then at length:

"Say, Yan, why don't you and Guy get a bag o' wheat or Injun corn for
scent: that's better than paper, an' what ye lay to-day is all clared
up by the birds and Squirrels by to-morrow."

"Bully!" shouted Sam. (He had not been addressed at all, but he was
not thin-skinned.) Within ten minutes he had organized another "White
massacree"--that is, a raid on the home barn, and in half an hour he
returned with a peck of corn.

"Now, lemme be Deer," said Caleb. "Give me five minutes' start, then
follow as fast as ye like. I'll show ye what a real Deer does."

He strode away bearing the dummy, and in five minutes as they set out
on the trail he came striding back again. Oh, but that seemed a long
run. The boys followed the golden corn trail--a grain every ten feet
was about all they needed now, they were so expert. It was a straight
run for a time, then it circled back till it nearly cut itself again
(at X, page 298). The boys thought it did so, and claimed the right to
know, as on a real Deer trail you could tell. So Caleb said, "No, it
don't cut the old trail." Where, then, did it go? After beating about,
Sam said that the trail looked powerful heavy, like it might be
double.

"Bet I know," said Guy. "He's doubled back," which was exactly what he
did do, though Caleb gave no sign. Yan looked back on the trail and
found where the new one had forked. Guy gave no heed to the ground
once he knew the general directions. He ran ahead (toward Y), so did
Sam, but Guy glanced back to Yan on the trail to make sure of the
line.

They had not gone far beyond the nearest bushes before Yan found
another quirk in the trail. It doubled back at Z. He unravelled the
double, glanced around, and at O he plainly saw the Deer lying on
its side in the grass. He let off a triumphant yell, "Yi, yi, yi,
_Deer_!" and the others came running back just in time to see Yan
send an arrow straight into its heart.




VI

WAR BONNET, TEEPEE AND COUPS


Forty yards and first shot. Well, that's what the Injuns would call a
'_grand coup_,' and Caleb's face wore the same pleasant look as
when he made the fire with rubbing-sticks.

"What's a _grand coup?_" asked Little Beaver.

"Oh, I suppose it's a big deed. The Injuns call a great feat a
'_coup_,' an' an extra big one a '_grand coup_.' Sounds like
French, an' maybe 'tis, but the Injuns says it. They had a regular way
of counting their _coup_, and for each they had the right to an
Eagle feather in their bonnet, with a red tuft of hair on the end for
the extra good ones. At least, they used to. I reckon now they're
forgetting it all, and any buck Injun wears just any feather he can
steal and stick in his head."