"What do you think of our head-dresses?" Yan ventured.

'Hm! You ain't never seen a real one or you wouldn't go at them that
way at all. First place, the feathers should all be white with black
tips, an' fastened not solid like that, but loose on a cap of soft
leather. Each feather, you see, has a leather loop lashed on the quill
end for a lace to run through and hold it to the cap, an' then a
string running through the middle of each feather to hold it--just so.
Then there are ways of marking each feather to show how it was got.
I mind once I was out on a war party with a lot of Santees--that's a
brand of Sioux--an' we done a lot o' sneaking an' stealing an' scalped
some of the enemy. Then we set out for home, and when we was still
about thirty miles away we sent on an Injun telegram of good luck. The
leader of our crowd set fire to the grass after he had sent two men
half a mile away on each side to do the same thing, an' up went three
big smokes. There is always some one watching round an Injun village,
an' you bet when they seen them three smokes they knowed that we wuz
a-coming back with scalps.

"The hull Council come out to meet us, but not too reckless, coz this
might have been the trick of enemies to surprise them.

"Well, when we got there, maybe there wasn't a racket. You see, we
didn't lose a man, and we brung in a hundred horses and seven scalps.
Our leader never said a word to the crowd, but went right up to the
Council teepee. He walked in--we followed. There was the Head Chief
an' all the Council settin' smoking. Our leader give the '_How_,
an' then we all '_Howed_.' Then we sat an' smoked, an' the Chief
called on our leader for an account of the little trip. He stood up
an' made a speech.

"'Great Chief and Council of my Tribe,' says he. 'After we left the
village and the men had purified themselves, we travelled seven days
and came to the Little Muddy River. There we found the track of a
travelling band of Arapaho. In two days we found their camp, but
they were too strong for us, so we hid till night; then I went alone
into their camp and found that some of them were going off on a hunt
next day. As I left I met a lone warrior coming in. I killed him
with my knife. For that I claim a _coup_; and I scalped him--for
that I claim another _coup_; an' before I killed him I slapped his
face with my hand--for this I claim a _grand coup_; and I brought
his horse away with me--for that I claim another _coup_. Is it not
so,' sez he, turning to us, and we all yelled '_How! How! How!_'
For this fellow, 'Whooping Crane,' was awful good stuff. Then the
Council agreed that he should wear three Eagle feathers, the first
for killing and scalping the enemy in his own camp--that was a _grand
coup_, and the feather had a tuft of red hair on it an' a red spot on
the web. The next feather was for slapping the feller's face first,
which, of course, made it more risky. This Eagle feather had a red
tuft on top an' a red hand on the web; the one for stealing the horse
had a horseshoe, but no tuft, coz it wasn't counted A1.

"Then the other Injuns made their claims, an' we all got some kind of
honours. I mind one feller was allowed to drag a Fox tail at each
heel when he danced, an' another had ten horseshoe marks on an Eagle
feather for stealing ten horses, an' I tell you them Injuns were
prouder of them feathers than a general would be of his medals."


[Illustration: The War Bonnet (See description below)]

    THE INDIAN WAR BONNET--HOW TO MAKE IT

    1. The plain white Goose or Turkey feather.

    2. The same, with tip dyed black or painted with indelible ink.

    3. The same, showing ruff of white down lashed on with wax end.

    4. The same, showing leather loop lashed on for the holding lace.

    5. The same, viewed edge on.

    6. The same, with a red flannel cover sewn and lashed on the
    quill. This is a '_coup_ feather.'

    7. The same, with a tuft of red horsehair lashed on the top to
    mark a '_grand coup_' and (_a_) a thread through the
    middle of the rib to hold feather in proper place. This feather is
    marked with the symbol of a _grand coup_ in target shooting.
    This symbol may be drawn on an oval piece of paper gummed on the
    top of the feather.

    8. The tip of a feather showing how the red horsehair tuft is
    lashed on with fine waxed thread.

    9. The groundwork of the war bonnet made of any soft leather,
    (_a_) a broad band to go round the head, laced at the joint
    or seam behind; (_b_) a broad tail behind as long as needed
    to hold all the wearer's feathers; (_c_) two leather thongs
    or straps over the top; (_d_) leather string to tie under the
    chin; (_e_) the buttons, conchas or side ornaments of shells,
    silver, horn or wooden discs, even small mirrors and circles
    of beadwork were used, and sometimes the conchas were left out
    altogether; they may have the owner's totem on them, usually a
    bunch of ermine tails hung from each side of the bonnet just below
    the concha. A bunch of horsehair will answer as well; (_hh_)
    the holes in the leather for holding the lace of the feather; 24
    feathers are needed for the full bonnet, without the tail, so they
    are put less than an inch apart; (_iii_) the lacing holes on
    the tail: this is as long as the wearer's feathers call for; some
    never have any tail.

    10. Side view of the leather framework, showing a pattern
    sometimes used to decorate the front.

    11, 12 and 13. Beadwork designs for front band of bonnet; all have
    white grounds. No. 11 (Arapaho) has green band at top and bottom
    with red zigzag. No. 12 (Ogallala) has blue band at top and
    bottom, red triangles; the concha is blue with three white bars
    and is cut off from the band by a red bar. No. 13 (Sioux) has
    narrow band above and broad band below blue, the triangle red, and
    the two little stars blue with yellow centre.

    14. The bases of three feathers, showing how the lace comes out
    of the cap leather, through the eye or loop on the bottom of the
    quill, and in again.

    15. The completed bonnet, showing how the feathers of the crown
    should spread out, also showing the thread that passes through the
    middle of each feather on inner side to hold it in place; another
    thread passes from the point where the two straps (_c_ in 9)
    join, then down through each feather in the tail.

    The Indians now often use the crown of a soft felt hat for the
    basis of a war bonnet.

    N.B. A much easier way to mark the feather is to stick on it near
    the top an oval of white paper and on this draw the symbol with
    waterproof ink.


[Illustration: Grand Coup for taking Scalp in Enemy's Camp G.C. for
slapping his face Coup for stealing his Horse]

"My, I wish I could go out there and be with those fellows," and Yan
sighed as he compared his commonplace lot with all this romantic
splendour.

"Guess you'd soon get sick of it. I know _I_ did," was the
answer; "forever shooting and killing, never at peace, never more than
three meals ahead of starvation and just as often three meals behind.
No, siree, no more for me."

"I'd just like to see you start in horse-stealing for honours round
here," observed Sam, "though I know who'd get the feathers if it was
chicken stealing."

"Say, Caleb," said Guy, who, being friendly and of the country, never
thought of calling the old man "Mr. Clark," "didn't they give feathers
for good Deer-hunting? I'll bet I could lick any of them at it if I
had a gun."

"Didn't you hear me say first thing that that there shot o' Yan's
should score a '_grand coup_'?"

"Oh, shucks! I kin lick Yan any time; that was just a chance shot.
I'll bet if you give feathers for Deer-hunting I'll get them all."

"We'll take you up on that," said the oldest Chief, but the next
interrupted:

"Say, boys, we want to play Injun properly. Let's get Mr. Clark to
show us how to make a real war bonnet. Then we'll wear only what
feathers we win."

"Ye mean by scalping the Whites an' horse-stealing?"

"Oh, no; there's lots of things we can do--best runner, best Deer
hunter, best swimmer, best shot with bow and arrows."

"All right." So they set about questioning Caleb. He soon showed them
how to put a war bonnet together, using, in spite of Yan's misgivings,
the crown of an old felt hat for the ground work and white goose
quills trimmed and dyed black at the tips for Eagle feathers. But when
it came to the deeds that were to be rewarded, each one had his own
ideas.

"If Sappy will go to the orchard and pick a peck of cherries without
old Cap gettin' _him_, I'll give him a feather with all sorts of
fixin's on it," suggested Sam.

"Well, I'll bet you can't get a chicken out of our barn 'thout our Dog
gettin' _you_, Mr. Smarty."

"Pooh! I ain't stealing chickens. Do you take me for a nigger? I'm a
noble Red-man and Head Chief at that, I want you to know, an' I've a
notion to collect that scalp you're wearin' now. You know it belongs
to me and Yan," and he sidled over, rolling his eye and working his
fingers in a way that upset Guy's composure. "And I tell you a feller
with one foot in the grave should have his thoughts on seriouser
things than chicken-stealing. This yere morbid cravin' for excitement
is rooinin' all the young fellers nowadays."

Yan happened to glance at Caleb. He was gazing off at nothing, but
there was a twinkle in his eye that Yan never before saw there.

"Let's go to the teepee. It's too hot out here. Come in, won't you,
Mr. Clark?"

"Hm. 'Tain't much cooler in here, even if it is shady," remarked the
old Trapper. "Ye ought to lift one side of the canvas and get some
air."

"Why, did the real Injuns do that?"

"I should say they did. There ain't any way they didn't turn and twist
the teepee for comfort. That's what makes it so good. Ye kin live in
it forty below zero an' fifty 'bove suffocation an' still be happy.
It's the changeablest kind of a layout for livin' in. Real hot weather
the thing looks like a spider with skirts on and held high, an' I tell
you ye got to know the weather for a teepee. Many a hot night on the
plains I've been woke up by hearing 'Tap-tap-tap' all around me in the
still black night and wondered why all the squaws was working, but
they was up to drop the cover and drive all the pegs deeper, an'
within a half hour there never failed to come up a big storm. How they
knew it was a-comin' I never could tell. One old woman said a Coyote
told her, an' maybe that's true, for they do change their song for
trouble ahead; another said it was the flowers lookin' queer at
sundown, an' another had a bad dream. Maybe they're all true; it comes
o' watchin' little things."

"Do they never get fooled?" asked Little Beaver

'Oncet in awhile, but not near as often as a White-man would.

"I mind once seeing an artist chap, one of them there portygraf
takers. He come out to the village with a machine an' took some of the
little teepees. Then I said, 'Why don't you get Bull-calf's squaw to
put up their big teepee? I tell you that's a howler.' So off he goes,
and after dickering awhile he got the squaw to put it up for three
dollars. You bet it was a stunner, sure--all painted red, with green
an' yaller--animals an' birds an' scalps galore. It made that
feller's eyes bug out to see it. He started in to make some
portygrafs, then was taking another by hand, so as to get the colours,
an' I bet it would have crowded him to do it, but jest when he got
a-going the old squaw yelled to the other--the Chief hed two of
them--an' lighted out to take down that there teepee. That artist he
hollered to stop, said he had hired it to stay up an' a bargain was a
bargain. But the old squaw she jest kept on a-jabberin' an' pintin' at
the west. Pretty soon they had the hull thing down and rolled up an'
that artist a-cussin' like a cow-puncher. Well, I mind it was a fine
day, but awful hot, an' before five minutes there come a little dark
cloud in the west, then in ten minutes come a-whoopin' a regular small
cyclone, an' it went through that village and wrecked all the teepees
of any size. That red one would surely have gone only for that smart
old squaw."

[Illustration: Bull-Calf's Teepee.]

Under Caleb's directions the breezy side of the cover was now raised a
little, and the shady side much more. This changed the teepee from a
stifling hothouse into a cool, breezy shade.

"An' when ye want to know which way is the wind, if it's light, ye wet
your finger so, an' hold it up. The windy side feels cool at once, and
by that ye can set your smoke-flaps."

"I want to know about war bonnets," Yan now put in. "I mean about
things to do to wear feathers--that is, things _we_ can do."

"Ye kin have races, an' swimmin' an bownarrer shootin'. I should say
if you kin send one o' them arrers two hundred yards that would kill a
Buffalo at twenty feet. I'd think that was pretty good. Yes, I'd call
that way up."

"What--a _grand coup?_"

"Yes, I reckon; an' if you fell short on'y fifty yards that'd still
kill a Deer, an' we could call that a _coup_. If," continued
Caleb, "you kin hit that old gunny-sack buck plunk in the heart at
fifty yards first shot I'd call that away up; an' if you hit it at
seventy-five yards in the heart no matter how many tries, I'd call
you a shot. If you kin hit a nine-inch bull's-eye two out of three at
forty yards every time an' no fluke, you'd hold your own among Injuns
though I must say they don't go in much for shooting at a target. They
shoot at 'most anything they see in the woods. I've seen the little
copper-coloured kids shooting away at butterflies. Then they have
matches--they try who can have most arrers in the air at one time. To
have five in the air at once is considered good. It means powerful
fast work and far shooting. You got to hold a bunch handy in the left
hand fur that. The most I ever seen one man have up at once was eight.
That was reckoned 'big medicine,' an' any one that can keep up seven
is considered swell."

"Do you know any other things besides bows and arrows that would do?"

"I think that a rubbing-stick fire ought to count," interrupted Sam.
"I want that in coz Guy can't do it. Any one who kin do it at all gets
a feather, an' any one who kin do it in one minute gets a swagger
feather, or whatever you call it; that takes care of Yan and me an'
leaves Guy out in the cold."

"I'll bet I kin hunt Deer all round you both, I kin."

"Oh, shut up, Sappy; we're tired a-hearing about your Deer hunting.
We're going to abolish that game." Then Sam continued, apparently
addressing Caleb, "Do you know any Injun games?"

But Caleb took no notice.

Presently Yan said, "Don't the Injuns play games, Mr. Clark?

"Well, yes, I kin show you two Injun games that will test your
eyesight."

"I bet I kin beat any one at it," Guy made haste to tell. "Why, I seen
that Deer before Yan could--"

"Oh, shut up, Guy," Yan now exclaimed. A peculiar
sound--"_Wheet--wheet--wheet_"--made Sappy turn. He saw Sam with
an immense knife, whetting it most vigorously and casting a hungry,
fishy glance from time to time to the "yaller moss-tuft" on Guy's neck.

[Illustration: Archery Coup Feathers Their Special Marks Target Coup
Feather Long-distance Five-in-air-at once]

"Time has came," he said to nobody in particular.

"You better let me alone," whined Guy, for that horrible
"_wheet--wheet_" jarred his nerves somehow. He looked toward Yan,
and seeing, as he thought, the suggestion of a smile, he felt
more comfortable, but a glance at Sam dispelled his comfort; the
Woodpecker's face was absolutely inscrutable and perfectly demoniac
with paint.

"Why don't you whet up, Little Beaver? Don't you want your share?"
asked the Head Chief through his teeth.

"I vote we let him wear it till he brags again about his Deer-hunting.
Then off she comes to the bone," was the reply. "Tell us about the
Injun game, Mr. Clark."

"I pretty near forget it now, but le's see. They make two squares on
the ground or on two skins; each one is cut up in twenty-five smaller
squares with lines like that. Then they have, say, ten rings an' ten
nuts or pebbles. One player takes five rings an' five nuts an' sets
them around on the squares of one set, an' don't let the other see
till all is ready; then the other turns an' looks at it while some one
else sings a little song that one of the boys turned into:

  "'Ki yi ya--ki yi yee,
  You think yer smart as ye kin be,
  You think yer awful quick to see
  But yer not too quick for me,
  Ki yi ya--ki yi yee.'

"Then the first square is covered with a basket or anything and the
second player must cover the other skin with counters just the same
from memory. For every counter he gets on the right square he counts
one, and loses one for each on the wrong square."

"I'll bet I kin----" Guy began, but Sam's hand gripped his moss-tuft.

"Here, you let me alone. I ain't bragging. I'm only telling the simple
truth."

"Ugh! Better tell some simple lies, then--much safer," said the Great
Woodpecker, with horrid calm and meaning. "If ever I lift that scalp
you'll catch cold and die, do ye know it?"

Again Yan could see that Caleb had to look far away to avoid taking an
apparent interest.

"There's another game. I don't know as it's Injun, but it's the kind
o' game where an Injun _could_ win. They first made two six-inch
squares of white wood or card, then on each they made rings like a
target or squares like the quicksight game, or else two Rabbits the
same on each. One feller takes six spots of black, half an inch
across, an' sticks them on one, scattering anyhow, an' sets it up a
hundred yards off; another feller takes same number of spots an' the
other Rabbit an' walks up till he can see to fix his Rabbit the same.
If he kin do it at seventy-five yards he's a swell; if he kin do it at
sixty yards he's away up, but less than fifty yards is no good. I seen
the boys have lots o' fun out o' it. They try to fool each other every
way, putting one spot right on another or leaving some off. It's a
sure 'nough test of good eyes."

"I'll bet--" began Sappy again, but a loud savage "Grrrr" from
Sam, who knew perfectly well what was coming, put a stop to the bet,
whatever it was.

"There was two other Injun tests of eyes that I mind now. Some old
Buck would show the youngsters the Pleiades--them's the little stars
that the Injuns call the Bunch--an' ask 'How many kin you see?' Some
could sho'ly see five or six an' some could make out seven. Them as
sees seven is mighty well off for eyes. Ye can't see the Pleiades
now--they belong to the winter nights; but you kin see the Dipper the
hull year round, turning about the North Star. The Injuns call this
the 'Broken Back,' an' I've heard the old fellers ask the boys: 'You
see the Old Squaw--that's the star, second from the end, the one at
the bend of the handle--well, she has a papoose on her back. Kin you
see the papoose?' an' sure enough, when my eyes was real good I could
see the little baby star tucked in by the big un. It's a mighty good
test of eyes if you kin see that."

"Eh--" began Guy.

But "Grrrrrrrrr" from Sam stopped him in time. Again Caleb's eyes
wandered afar. Then he stepped out of the teepee and Yan heard him
mutter, "Consarn that whelp, he makes me laugh spite o' myself."
He went off a little way into the woods and presently called "Yan!
Guy! Come here." All three ran out. "Talking about eyes, what's
that?" An opening in the foliage gave a glimpse of the distant
Burns's clover field. "Looks like a small Bear."

"Woodchuck! That's our Woodchuck! That's the ole sinner that throwed
Paw off'n the mower. Where's my bone-arrer?" and Guy went for his
weapons.

The boys ran for the fence of the clover field, going more cautiously
as they came near. Still the old Woodchuck heard something and sat up
erect on his haunches. He was a monster, and out on the smooth clover
field he did look like a very small Bear. His chestnut breast was
curiously relieved by his unusually gray back and head.

"Paw says it's his sins as turned his head gray. He's a hoary headed
sinner, an' he ain't repented o' none o' them so far, but _I'm_
after him now."

"Hold on! Start even!" said Sam, seeing that Guy was prepared to
shoot.

So all drew together, standing in a row like an old picture of the
battle of Crecy. The arrows scattered about the Woodchuck. Most went
much too far, none went near because he was closer than they had
supposed, but he scuttled away into his hole, there, no doubt, to plan
a new trap for the man with the mower.




VII

Campercraft


"How'd you sleep, Sam?"

"Didn't sleep a durn bit."

"Neither did I. I was shivering all night. I got up an' put the spare
blanket on, but it didn't do any good."

"Wonder if there was a chills-and-fever fog or something?"

"How'd you find it, Sappy?"

"All right."

"Didn't smell any fog?"

"Nope."

The next night it was even worse. Guy slept placidly, if noisily, but
Sam and Yan tumbled about and shivered for hours. In the morning at
dawn Sam sat up.

"Well, I tell you this is no joke. Fun's fun, but if I am going to
have the shivers every night I'm going home while I'm able."

Yan said nothing. He was very glum. He felt much as Sam did, but was
less ready to give up the outing.

Their blues were nearly dispelled when the warm sun came up, but still
they dreaded the coming night.

"Wonder what it is," said Little Beaver.

"'Pears to me powerful like chills and fever and then again it don't.
Maybe we drink too much swamp water. I believe we're p'isoned with
Guy's cooking."

"More like getting scurvy from too much meat. Let's ask Caleb."

Caleb came around that afternoon or they would have gone after him.
He heard Yan's story in silence, then, "Have ye sunned your blankets
sense ye came?"

"No."

Caleb went into the teepee, felt the blankets, then grunted: "H-m!
Jest so. They're nigh soppin'. You turn in night after night an' sweat
an' sweat in them blankets an' wonder why they're damp. Hain't you
seen your ma air the blankets every day at home? Every Injun squaw
knows that much, an' every other day at least she gives the blankets a
sun roast for three hours in the middle of the day, or, failing that,
dries them at the fire. Dry out your blankets and you won't have no
more chills."

The boys set about it at once, and that night they experienced again
the sweet, warm sleep of healthy youth.

There was another lesson they had to learn in campercraft. The
Mosquitoes were always more or less of a plague. At night they forced
the boys into the teepee, but they soon learned to smudge the insects
with a wad of green grass on the hot fire. This they would throw on
at sundown, then go outside, closing the teepee tight and eat supper
around the cooking fire. After that was over they would cautiously
open the teepee to find the grass all gone and the fire low, a dense
cloud of smoke still in the upper part, but below it clear air.
They would then brush off the Mosquitoes that had alighted on their
clothes, crawl into the lodge and close the door tight. Not a Mosquito
was left alive in it, and the smoke hanging about the smoke-vent was
enough to keep them from coming in, and so they slept in peace. Thus
they could baffle the worst pest of the woods. But there was yet
another destroyer of comfort by day, and this was the Blue-bottle
flies. There seemed more of them as time went on, and they laid masses
of yellowish eggs on anything that smelled like meat or corruption.
They buzzed about the table and got into the dishes; their dead,
drowned and mangled bodies were polluting all the food, till Caleb
remarked during one of his ever-increasing visits: "It's your own
fault. Look at all the filth ye leave scattered about."

There was no blinking the fact; for fifty feet around the teepee the
ground was strewn with scraps of paper, tins and food. To one side
was a mass of potato peelings, bones, fish-scales and filth, and
everywhere were the buzzing flies, to be plagues all day, till at
sundown the Mosquitoes relieved them and took the night shift of the
office of torment.

"I want to learn, especially if it's Injun," said Little Beaver. "What
had we best do?"

"Wall, first ye could move camp; second, ye could clean this."

As there was no other available camp ground they had no choice, and
Yan said with energy: "Boys, we got to clean this and keep it clean,
too. We'll dig a hole for everything that won't burn."

So Yan seized the spade and began to dig in the bushes not far from
the teepee. Sam and Guy were gradually drawn in. They began gathering
all the rubbish and threw it into the hole. As they tumbled in bones,
tins and scraps of bread Yan said: "I just hate to see that bread go
in. It doesn't seem right when there's so many living things would be
glad to get it."

At this, Caleb, who was sitting on a log placidly smoking, said:

"Now, if ye want to be real Injun, ye gather all the eatables ye don't
want--meat, bread and anything, an' every day put it on some
high place. Most generally the Injuns has a rock--they call it
_Wakan_; that means sacred medicine--an' there they leave scraps
of food to please the good spirits. Av coorse it's the birds and
Squirrels gets it all; but the Injun is content as long as it's gone,
an' if ye argy with them that 'tain't the spirits gets it, but the
birds, they say: 'That doesn't matter. The birds couldn't get it if
the spirits didn't want them to have it,' or maybe the birds took it
to carry to the spirits!"

Then the Grand Council went out in a body to seek the _Wakan
Rock_. They found a good one in the open part of the woods, and it
became a daily duty of one to carry the remnants of food to the rock.
They were probably less acceptable to the wood creatures than they
would have been half a year later, but they soon found that there were
many birds glad to eat at the _Wakan_; and moreover, that before
long there was a trail from the brook, only twenty-five yards away,
that told of four-foots also enjoying the bounty of the good spirits.

Within three days of this the plague of Bluebottles was over, and the
boys realized that, judging by its effects, the keeping of a dirty
camp is a crime.

One other thing old Caleb insisted on: "Yan," said he, "you didn't
ought to drink that creek water now; it ain't hardly runnin'. The sun
hez it het up, an' it's gettin' too crawly to be healthy."

"Well, what are we going to do?" said Sam, though he might as well
have addressed the brook itself.

"What can we do, Mr. Clark?"

"Dig a well!"

"Phew! We're out here for fun!" was Sam's reply.

"Dig an Injun well," Caleb said. "Half an hour will do it. Here, I'll
show you."

He took the spade and, seeking a dry spot, about twenty feet from the
upper end of the pond he dug a hole some two feet square. By the time
he was down three feet the water was oozing in fast. He got it down
about four feet and then had to stop, on account of inflow. He took a
bucket and bailed the muddy stuff out right to the bottom, and let it
fill up to be again bailed out. After three bailings the water came in
cold, sweet, and pure as crystal.

"There," said he, "that water is from your pond, but it is filtered
through twenty feet of earth and sand. That's the way to get cool,
pure water out of the dirtiest of swamps. That's an Injun well."




VIII

The Indian Drum

  "Oh, that hair of horse and skin of sheep should
  Have such power to move the souls of men."


"If you were real Injun you'd make a drum of that," said Caleb to
Yan, as they came to a Basswood blown over by a recent storm and now
showing its weakness, for it was quite hollow--a mere shell.

"How do they do it? I want to know how."

"Get me the axe."

Yan ran for the axe. Caleb cut out a straight unbroken section about
two feet long. This they carried to camp.

"Coorse ye know," said Caleb, "ye can't have a drum without skins for
heads."

"What kind of skins?"

"Oh, Horse, Dog, Cow, Calf--'most any kind that's strong enough."

"I got a Calfskin in our barn, an' I know where there's another in the
shed, but it's all chawed up with Rats. Them's mine. I killed them
Calves. Paw give me the skins for killin' an' skinnin' them. Oh, you
jest ought to see me kill a Calf--"

Guy was going off into one of his autopanegyrics when Sam who was now
being rubbed on a sore place, gave a "Whoop!" and grabbed the tow-tuft
with a jerk that sent the Third War Chief sprawling and ended the
panegyric in the usual volley of "you-let-me-'lones."

"Oh, quit, Sam," objected Little Beaver. "You can't stop a Dog
barking. It's his nature." Then to Guy: "Never mind, Guy; you are not
hurt. I'll bet you can beat him hunting Deer, and you can see twice as
far as he can."

"Yes, I kin; that's what makes him so mad. I'll bet I kin see three
times as far--maybe five times," was the answer in injured tones.

"Go on now, Guy, and get the skins--that is, if you want a drum for
the war dance. You're the only one in the crowd that's man enough to
make the raise of a hide," and fired by this flattery, Guy sped away.

Meanwhile Caleb worked on the hollow log. He trimmed off the bark,
then with the hatchet he cleared out all the punk and splinters
inside. He made a fire on the ground in the middle of the drum-log as
it stood on end, and watching carefully, he lifted it off from time to
time and chopped away all the charred parts, smoothing and trimming
till he had the log down thin and smooth within and without. They
heard Guy shouting soon after he left. They thought him near at hand,
but he did not come. Trimming the drum-log took a couple of hours, and
still Guy did not return. The remark from Caleb, "'Bout ready for the
skins now!" called from Sam the explanation, "Guess Old Man Burns
snapped him up and put him to weeding the garden. Probably that was
him we heard gettin' licked."

"Old Man Burns" was a poor and shiftless character, a thin,
stoop-shouldered man. He was only thirty-five years of age, but, being
married, that was enough to secure for him the title "Old Man." In
Sanger, if Tom Nolan was a bachelor at eighty years of age he would
still be Tom Nolan, "wan of the bhoys," but if he married at twenty he
at once became "Old Man Nolan."

Mrs. Burns had produced the usual string of tow-tops, but several had
died, the charitable neighbours said of starvation, leaving Guy, the
eldest, his mother's darling, then a gap and four little girls, four,
three, two and one years of age. She was a fat, fair, easy-going
person, with a general sense of antagonism to her husband, who was,
of course, the natural enemy of the children. Jim Burns cherished the
ideal of bringing "that boy" up right--that is, getting all the work
he could out of him--and Guy clung to his own ideal of doing as little
work as possible. In this clash of ideals Guy's mother was his firm,
though more or less secret, ally. He was without fault in her eyes:
all that he did was right. His freckled visage and pudgy face were
types of noble beauty, standards of comeliness and human excellence;
his ways were ways of pleasantness and all his paths were peace;
Margat Burns was sure of it.

Burns had a good deal of natural affection, but he was erratic;
sometimes he would flog Guy mercilessly for nothing, and again laugh
at some serious misdeed, so that the boy never knew just what to
expect, and kept on the safe side by avoiding his "Paw" as much as
possible. His visits to the camp had been thoroughly disapproved,
partly because it was on Old Man Raften's land and partly because it
enabled Guy to dodge the chores. Burns had been quite violent about it
once or twice, but Mrs. Burns had the great advantage of persistence,
and like the steady strain of the skilful angler on the slender line,
it wins in the end against the erratic violence of the strongest
trout. She had managed then that Guy should join the Injun camp, and
gloried in his outrageously exaggerated accounts of how he could lick
them all at anything, "though they wuz so much older'n bigger'n he
wuz."

But on this day he was fallen in hard luck. His father saw him coming,
met him with a "gad" and lashed him furiously. Knowing perfectly well
that the flogging would not stop till the proper effect was produced,
and that was to be gauged by the racket, Guy yelled his loudest. This
was the uproar the boys had heard.

"Now, ye idle young scut! I'll larn ye to go round leaving bars down.
You go an' tend to your work." So instead of hiking back gloriously
laden with Calfskins, Guy was sent to ignominious and un-Injun toil in
the garden.

Soon he heard his mother: "Guysie, Guysie." He dropped his hoe and
walked to the kitchen.

"Where you goin'?" roared his father from afar. "Go back and mind your
work."

"Maw wants me. She called me."

"You mind your work. Don't you dar' on your life to go thayer."

But Guy took no notice and walked on to his mother. He knew that at
this post-thrashing stage of wrath his father was mouthy and harmless,
and soon he was happy eating a huge piece of bread and jam.

"Poor dear, you must be hungry, an' your Paw was so mean to
you. There, now, don't cry," for Guy began to weep again at the
recollection of his wrongs. Then she whispered confidentially: "Paw's
going to Downey's this afternoon, an' you can slip away as soon as
he's gone, an' if you work well before that he won't be so awful mad
after you come back. But be sure you don't let down the bars, coz if
the pig was to get in Raften's woods dear knows what."

This was the reason of Guy's delay. He did not return to camp with the
skins till late that day. As soon as he was gone, his foolish, doting
mother, already crushed with the burden of the house, left everything
and hoed two or three extra rows of cabbages, so "Paw" should find a
great showing of work when he came back.

The Calfskins were hard as tin and, of course, had the hair on.

Caleb remarked, "It'll take two or three days to get them right," and
buried them in a marshy, muddy pool in the full sunlight. "The warmer
the better."

Three days later he took them out. Instead of being thin, hard,
yellow, semi-transparent, they now were much thicker, densely white,
and soft as silk. The hair was easily scraped off and the two pieces
were pronounced all right for drumheads.

Caleb washed them thoroughly in warm water, with soap to clear off
the grease, scraping them on both sides with a blunt knife; then he
straightened the outer edge of the largest, and cut a thin strip
round and round it till he had some sixty feet of rawhide line, about
three-quarters of an inch wide. This he twisted, rolled and stretched
until it was nearly round, then he cut from the remainder a circular
piece thirty inches across, and a second from the "unchawed" part of
the other skin. He laid these one on the other, and with the sharp
point of a knife he made a row of holes in both, one inch from the
edge and two inches apart. Then he set one skin on the ground, the
drum-log on that and the other skin on the top, and bound them
together with the long lace, running it from hole No. 1 on the top
to No. 2 on the bottom, then to No. 3 on the top, and No. 4 on the
bottom, and so on twice around, till every hole had a lace through it
and the crossing laces made a diamond pattern all around. At first
this was done loosely, but tightened up when once around, and
finally both the drum-heads were drawn tense. To the surprise of all,
Guy promptly took possession of the finished drum. "Them's my
Calfskins," which, of course, was true.

And Caleb said, with a twinkle in his eye, "The wood _seems_ to
go with the skins."

A drumstick of wood, with a piece of sacking lashed on to soften it,
was made, and Guy was disgusted to find how little sound the drum gave
out.

"'Bout like pounding a fur cap with a lamb's tail," Sam thought.

"You hang that up in the shade to dry and you'll find a change," said
the Trapper.

It was quite curious to note the effect of the drying as the hours
went by. The drum seemed to be wracking and straining itself in
the agony of effort, and slight noises came from it at times. When
perfectly dry the semi-transparency of the rawhide came back, and the
sound now was one to thrill the Red-man's heart.

Caleb taught them a little Indian war chant, and they danced round
to it as he drummed and sang, till their savage instincts seemed to
revive. But above all it worked on Yan. As he pranced around in step
his whole nature seemed to respond; he felt himself a part of that
dance. It was in himself; it thrilled him through and through and sent
his blood exulting. He would gladly have given up all the White-man's
"glorious gains" to live with the feeling called up by that Indian
drum.




IX

The Cat And The Skunk


Sam was away on a "massacree" to get some bread. Guy had been trapped
by his natural enemy and was serving a term of hard labour in the
garden; so Yan was alone in camp. He went around the various mud
albums, but discovered nothing new, except the fact that tracks were
getting more numerous. There were small Skunk and Mink tracks with the
large ones now. As he came by the brush fence at the end of the blazed
trail he saw a dainty little Yellow Warbler feeding a great lubberly
young Cow-bird that, evidently, it had brought up. He had often heard
that the Cow-bird habitually "plays Cuckoo" and leaves its egg in the
nest of another bird, but this was the first time he had actually
seen anything of it with his own eyes. As he watched the awkward
mud-coloured Cow-bird flutter its ungrown wings and beg help from the
brilliant little Warbler, less than half its size, he wondered whether
the fond mother really was fooled into thinking it her own young, or
whether she did it simply out of compassion for the foundling. He now
turned down creek to the lower mud album, and was puzzled by a new
track like this.

[Illustration: Track of small mud turtle]

He sketched it, but before the drawing was done it dawned on him that
this must be the track of a young Mud-turtle. He also saw a lot of
very familiar tracks, not a few being those of the common Cat, and he
wondered why they should be about so much and yet so rarely seen. Of
course the animals were chiefly nocturnal, but the boys were partly
so, and always on the ground now, so that explanation was not
satisfactory. He lay down on his breast at the edge of the brook,
which had here cut in a channel with steep clay walls six feet high
and twenty feet apart. The stream was very small now--a mere thread
of water zigzagging over the level muddy floor of the "caГ±on," as Yan
loved to call it. A broad, muddy margin at each side of the water made
a fine place of record for the travelling Four-foots, and tracks new
and old were there in abundance.

The herbage on the bank was very rank and full of noisy Grasshoppers
and Crickets. Great masses of orange Jewelweed on one side were
variegated with some wonderful Cardinal flowers. Yan viewed all this
with placid content. He knew their names now, and thus they were
transferred from the list of tantalizing mysteries to that of engaging
and wonderful friends. As he lay there on his breast his thoughts
wandered back to the days when he did not know the names of any
flowers or birds--when all was strange and he alone in his hunger to
know them, and Bonnerton came back to him with new, strange force of
reminder. His father and mother, his brother and schoolmates were
there. It seemed like a bygone existence, though only two months ago.
He had written his mother to tell of his arrival, and once since to
say that he was well. He had received a kind letter from his mother,
with a scripture text or two, and a postscript from his father with
some sound advice and more scripture texts. Since then he had not
written. He could not comprehend how he could so completely drift
away, and yet clearly it was because he had found here in Sanger the
well for which he had thirsted.

As he lay there thinking, a slight movement nearer the creek caught
his eye. A large Basswood had been blown down. Like most of its kind,
it was hollow. Its trunk was buried in the tangle of rank summer
growth, but a branch had been broken off and left a hole in the main
stem. In the black cavern of the hole there appeared a head with
shining green eyes, then out there glided onto the log a common gray
Cat. She sat there in the sunshine, licked her paws, dressed her fur
generally, stretched her claws and legs after the manner of her kind,
walked to the end of the log, then down the easy slope to the bottom
of the caГ±on. Here she took a drink, daintily shook the water from
her paws, and set the hair just right with a stroke. Then to Yan's
amusement she examined all the tracks much as he had done, though it
seemed clear that her nose, not her eyes, was judge. She walked down
stream, leaving some very fine impressions that Yan mentally resolved
to have in his note-book, very soon suddenly stopped, looked upward
and around, a living picture of elegance, sleekness and grace, with
eyes of green fire then deliberately leaped from the creek bed to the
tangle of the bank and disappeared.

This seemed a very commonplace happening, but the fact of a house Cat
taking to the woods lent her unusual interest, and Yan felt much of
the thrill that a truly wild animal would have given him, and had gone
far enough in art to find exquisite pleasure in the series of pictures
the Cat had presented to his eyes.

He lay there for some minutes expecting her to reappear; then far up
the creek he heard slight rattling of the gravel. He turned and saw,
not the Cat, but a very different and somewhat larger animal. Low,
thick-set, jet black, with white marks and an immense bushy tail--Yan
recognized the Skunk at once, although he had never before met a wild
one in daylight. It came at a deliberate waddle, nosing this way and
that. It rounded the bend and was nearly opposite Yan, when three
little Skunks of this year's brood came toddling after the mother.

The old one examined the tracks much as the Cat had done, and Yan got
a singular sense of brotherhood in seeing the wild things at his own
study.

Then the old Skunk came to the fresh tracks of the Cat and paused so
long to smell them that the three young ones came up and joined in.
One of the young ones went to the bank where the Cat came down. As it
blew its little nose over the fresh scent, the old Skunk waddled to
the place, became quite interested, then climbed the bank. The little
ones followed in a disjointed procession, varied by one of them
tumbling backward from the steep trail.

The old Skunk reached the top of the bank, then mounted the log and
followed unerringly the Cat's back trail to the hole in the trunk.
Down this she peered a minute, then, sniffing, walked in, till nothing
could be seen but her tail. Now Yan heard loud, shrill mewing from the
log, "_Mew, mew, m-e-u-w, m-e-e-u-w,"_ and the old Skunk came
backing out, holding a small gray Kitten.

The little thing mewed and spit energetically, holding on to the
inside of the log. But the old Skunk was too strong--she dragged it
out. Then holding it down with both paws, she got a good firm grip
of its neck and turned to carry it down to the bed of the brook.
The Kitten struggled vigorously, and at last got its claws into the
Skunk's eye and gave such a wrench that the ill-smelling villain
loosened its hold a little and so gave the Kitten another chance to
squeal, which it did with a will, putting all its strength into a
succession of heartrending _mee-ow--mee-ows._ Yan's heart
was touched. He was about to dash to the rescue when there was a
scrambling in the far grass, a rush of gray, and the Cat--the old
mother Cat was on the scene, a picture of demon rage, eyes ablaze, fur
erect, ears back. With the spring of a Deer and the courage of a Lion
she made for the black murderer. Eye could not follow the flashings
of her paws. The Skunk recoiled and stared stupidly, but not long;
nothing was "long" about it. Her every superb muscle was tingling with
force and mad with hate as the mother Cat closed like a swooping
Falcon. The Skunk had no time to aim that dreadful gun, and in the
excitement fired a volley of the deadly musky spray backward,
drenching her own young as they huddled in the trail.

[Illustration: "The Cat and the Skunk"]

Tooth and claw and deadly grip--the old Cat raged and tore, the black
fur flew in every direction, and the Skunk for once lost her head and
fired random shots of choking spray that drenched herself as well as
the Cat. The Skunk's head and neck were terribly torn. The air was
suffocating with the poisonous musk. The Skunk was desperately wounded
and threw herself backward into the water. Blinded and choking, though
scarcely bleeding, the old Cat would have followed even there, but the
Kitten, wedged under the log, mewed piteously and stayed the mother's
fury. She dragged it out unharmed but drenched with musk and carried
it quickly to the den in the hollow log, then came out again and stood
erect, blinking her blazing eyes--for they were burning with the
spray--lashing her tail, the image of a Tigress eager to fight either
part or all the world for the little ones she nursed. But the old
Skunk had had more than enough. She scrambled off down the caГ±on. Her
three young ones had tumbled over each other to get out of the way
when they got that first accidental charge of their mother's battery.
She waddled away, leaving a trail of blood and smell, and they waddled
after, leaving an odour just as strong.

[Illustration: "The old Cat raged and tore"]

Yan was thrilled by the desperate fight of the heroic old Cat. Her
whole race went up higher in his esteem that day; and the fact that
the house Cat really could take to the woods and there maintain
herself by hunting was all that was needed to give her a place in his
list of animal heroes.

Pussy walked uneasily up and down the log, from the hole where the
Kittens were to the end overlooking the caГ±on. She blinked very hard
and was evidently suffering severely, but Yan knew quite well that
there was no animal on earth big enough or strong enough to frighten
that Cat from her post at the door of her home. There is no courage
more indomitable than that of a mother Cat who is guarding her young.

At length all danger of attack seemed over, and Pussy, shaking her
paws and wiping her eyes, glided into her hole. Oh, what a shock it
must have been to the poor Kittens, though partly prepared by their
brother's unsavoury coming back. There was the mother, whose return
had always been heralded by a delicious odour of fresh Mouse or bird,
interwoven with a loving and friendly odour of Cat, that was in itself
a promise of happiness. Scent is the main thing in Cat life, and now
the hole was darkened by a creature that was rank with every nasal
guarantee of deadly enmity. Little wonder that they all fled puffing
and spitting to the dark corners. It was a hard case; all the little
stomachs were upset for a long time. They could do nothing but make
the best of it and get used to it. The den never smelt any better
while they were there, and even after they grew up and lived elsewhere
many storms passed overhead before the last of the Skunk smell left
them.




X

THE ADVENTURES OF A SQUIRREL FAMILY


"I'll bet I kin make a Woodpecker come out of that hole," said
Sapwood, one day as the three Red-men proceeded, bow in hand, through
a far corner of Burns's Bush. He pointed to a hole in the top of a
tall dead stub, then going near he struck the stub a couple of heavy
blows with a pole. To the surprise of all there flew out, not a
Woodpecker, but a Flying Squirrel. It scrambled to the top of the
stub, looked this way and that, then spread its legs, wings and tail
and sailed downward, to rise slightly at the end of its flight against
a tree some twenty feet away. Yan bounded to catch it. His fingers
clutched on its furry back, but he got such a cut from its sharp teeth
that he was glad to let it go. It scrambled up the far side of the
trunk and soon was lost in the branches.

Guy was quite satisfied that he had carried out his promise of
bringing a Woodpecker out of the hole, "For ain't a Flying Squirrel a
kind of Woodpecker?" he argued. He was, in consequence, very "cocky"
the rest of the day, proposing to produce a Squirrel whenever they
came to a stub with a hole in it, and at length, after many failures,
had the satisfaction of driving a belated Woodpecker out of its nest.

The plan was evidently a good one for discovering living creatures.
Yan promptly adopted it, and picking up a big stick as they drew near
another stub with holes, he gave three or four heavy thumps. A Red
Squirrel scrambled out of a lower hole and hid in an upper one;
another sharp blow made it pop out and jump to the top of the stub,
but eventually back into the lower hole.

The boys became much excited. They hammered the stub now without
making the Squirrel reappear.

"Let's cut it down," said Little Beaver.

"Show you a better trick than that," replied the Woodpecker. He looked
about and got a pole some twenty feet long. This he placed against a
rough place high up on the stub and gave it a violent push, watching
carefully the head of the stub. Yes! It swayed just a little. Sam
repeated the push, careful to keep time with the stub and push always
just as it began to swing away from him. The other boys took hold of
the pole and all pushed together, as Sam called, "Now--now--now--"

A single push of 300 or 400 pounds would scarcely have moved the stub,
but these little fifty-pound pushes at just the right time made it
give more and more, and after three or four minutes the roots, that
had begun to crack, gave way with a craunching sound, and down crashed
the great stub. Its hollow top struck across a fallen log and burst
open in a shower of dust, splinters and rotten wood. The boys rushed
to the spot to catch the Squirrel, if possible. It did not scramble
out as they expected it would, even when they turned over the
fragments. They found the front of the stub with the old Woodpecker
hole in it, and under that was a mass of finely shredded cedar bark,
evidently a nest. Yan eagerly turned it over, and there lay the Red
Squirrel, quite still and unharmed apparently, but at the end of her
nose was a single drop of blood. Close beside her were five little
Squirrels, evidently a very late brood, for they were naked, blind and
helpless. One of them had at its nose a drop of blood and it lay as
still as the mother. At first the hunters thought the old one was
playing 'Possum, but the stiffness of death soon set in.