Now the boys felt very guilty and sorry. By thoughtlessly giving way
to their hunting instincts they had killed a harmless mother Squirrel
in the act of protecting her young, and the surviving little ones had
no prospect but starvation.

Yan had been the most active in the chase, and now was far more
conscience-stricken than either of the others.

"What are we going to do with them?" asked the Woodpecker. "They are
too young to be raised for pets."

"Better drown them and be done with them," suggested Sappy, recalling
the last honours of several broods of Kittens at home.

"I wish we could find another Squirrel's nest to put them into,"
said Little Beaver remorsefully, and then as he looked at the four
squirming, helpless things in his hand the tears of repentance filled
his eyes. "We might as well kill them and end their misery. We can't
find another Squirrel's nest so late as this." But after a little
silence he added, "I know some one who will put them out of pain. She
may as well have them. She'd get them anyway, and that's the old gray
wild Cat. Let's put them in her nest when she's away."

This seemed a reasonable, simple and merciful way of getting rid of
the orphans. So the boys made for the "caГ±on" part of the brook. At
one time of the afternoon the sun shone so as to show plainly all that
was in the hole. The boys went very quietly to Yan's lookout bank, and
seeing that only the Kittens were there, Yan crept across and dropped
the young Squirrels into the nest, then went back to his friends to
watch, like Miriam, the fate of the foundlings.

They had a full hour to wait for the old Cat, and as they were very
still all that time they were rewarded with a sight of many pretty
wild things.

A Humming-bird "boomed" into view and hung in a misty globe of wings
before one Jewel-flower after another.

"Say, Beaver, you said Humming-birds was something or other awful
beautiful," said Woodpecker, pointing to the dull grayish-green bird
before them.

"And I say so yet. Look at that," as, with a turn in the air, the
hanging Hummer changed its jet-black throat to flame and scarlet that
silenced the critic.

After the Humming-bird went away a Field-mouse was seen for a moment
dodging about in the grass, and shortly afterward a Shrew-mole, not so
big as the Mouse, was seen in hot pursuit on its trail.

Later a short-legged brown animal, as big as a Rabbit, came nosing up
the dry but shady bed of the brook, and as it went beneath them Yan
recognized by its little Beaver-like head and scaly oar-shaped tail
that it was a Muskrat, apparently seeking for water.

There was plenty in the swimming-pond yet, and the boys realized that
this had become a gathering place for those wild things that were
"drowned out by the drought," as Sam put it.

The Muskrat had not gone more than twenty minutes before another
deep-brown animal appeared. "Another Muskrat; must be a meeting,"
whispered the Woodpecker. But this one, coming close, proved a very
different creature. As long as a Cat, but lower, with broad, flat head
and white chin and throat, short legs, in shape a huge Weasel, there
was no mistaking it; this was a Mink, the deadly enemy of the Muskrat,
and now on the track of its prey. It rapidly turned the corner, nosing
the trail like a Hound. If it overtook the Muskrat before it got to
the pond there would be a tragedy. If the Muskrat reached the deep
water it might possibly escape. But just as sure as the pond became a
gathering place for Muskrats it would also become a gathering place
for Mink.

Not five minutes had gone since the Mink went by before a silent gray
form flashed upon the log opposite. Oh, how sleek and elegant it
looked! What perfection of grace she seemed after the waddling, hunchy
Muskrat and the quick but lumbering Mink. There is nothing more supple
and elegant than a fine Cat, and men of science the world over have
taken the Cat as the standard of perfection in animal make-up. Pussy
glanced about for danger. She had brought no bird or Mouse, for the
Kittens were yet too young for such training. The boys watched her
with intensest interest. She glided along the log to the hole--the
Skunk-smelling hole--uttered her low "_purrow, purrow_," that
always sets the hungry Kittens agog, and was curling in around them,
when she discovered the pink Squirrel-babies among her own. She
stopped licking the nearest Kitten, stared at a young Squirrel, and
smelled it. Yan wondered what help that could be when everything
smelled of Skunk. But it did seem to decide her, for she licked it
a moment, then lying down she gathered them all in her four-legged
embrace, turned her chin up in the air and Sappy announced gleefully
that "The little Squirrels were feeding with the little Cats."

The boys waited a while longer, then having made sure that the little
Squirrels had been lovingly adopted by their natural enemy, they went
quietly back to camp. Now they found a daily pleasure in watching the
mixed family.

And here it may be as well to give the rest of the story. The old gray
Cat faithfully and lovingly nursed those foundlings. They seemed
to prosper, and Yan, recalling that he had heard of a Cat actually
raising a brood of Rabbits, looked forward to the day when Kittens
and Squirrelets should romp together in the sun. After a week Sappy
maintained that only one Squirrel appeared at the breakfast table, and
in ten days none. Yan stole over to the log and learned the truth. All
four were dead in the bottom of the nest. There was nothing to tell
why. The old Cat had done her best--had been all love and tenderness,
but evidently had not been able to carry out her motherly intentions.

[Illustration: Four tiny headstones]




XI

HOW TO SEE THE WOODFOLK


The days went merrily now, beginning each morning with a hunting of
the Woodchuck. The boys were on terms of friendship with the woods
that contrasted strongly with the feelings of that first night.

This was the thought in Sam's mind when he one day remarked, "Say,
Yan, do you remember the night I slep' with the axe an' you with the
hatchet?"

The Indians had learned to meet and conquer all the petty annoyances
of camp life, and so forgot them. Their daily routine was simplified.
Their acquaintance with woodfolk and wood-ways had grown so fast
that now they were truly at home. The ringing "_Kow_--_Kow_--_Kow_"
in the tree-tops was no longer a mere wandering voice, but the
summer song of the Black-billed Cuckoo. The loud, rattling, birdy
whistle in the low trees during dull weather Yan had traced to the
Tree-frog.

The long-drawn "_Pee--re-e-e-e"_ of hot afternoons was the call
of the Wood-peewee, and a vast number of mysterious squeaks and
warbles had been traced home to the ever-bright and mischievous Blue
Jay.

The nesting season was now over, as well as the song season; the birds,
therefore, were less to be seen, but the drying of the streams had
concentrated much life in the swimming-pond. The fence had been
arranged so that the cattle could reach one end of it to drink, but
the lower parts were safe from their clumsy feet, and wild life of
many kinds were there in abundance.

The Muskrats were to be seen every evening in the calm pool, and fish
in great numbers were in the deeper parts. Though they were small,
the boys found them so numerous and so ready to bite that fishing was
great sport, and more than one good meal they had from that pond.
There were things of interest discovered daily. In a neighbour's field
Sam had found another Woodchuck with a "price on his head." Rabbits
began to come about the camp at night, especially when the moon was
bright, and frequently of late they had heard a querulous, yelping
bark that Caleb said was made by a Fox "probably that old rascal that
lives in Callahan's woods."

The gray Cat in the log was always interesting. The boys went very
regularly to watch from a distance, but for good reasons did not go
near. First, they did not wish to scare her; second, they knew that if
they went too close she would not hesitate to attack them.

One of the important lessons that Yan learned was this. In the woods
_the silent watcher sees the most_. The great difficulty in
watching was how to pass the time, and the solution was to sit and
_sketch._ Reading would have done had books been at hand, but
not so well as sketching, because then the eyes are fixed on the book
instead of the woods, and the turning of the white pages is apt to
alarm the shy woodfolk.

Thus Yan put in many hours making drawings of things about the edge of
the pond.

[Illustration: Kingfisher]

As he sat one day in stillness a Minnow leaped from the water and
caught a Fly. Almost immediately a Kingfisher that had been shooting
past stopped in air, hovered, and darting downward, came up with a
Minnow in his beak, flew to a branch to swallow its prey, but no
sooner got there when a Chicken-hawk flashed out of a thick tree,
struck the Kingfisher with both feet and bore him downward to the
bank--in a moment would have killed him, but a long, brown creature
rushed from a hole in the bank and sprang on the struggling pair, to
change the scene in a twinkling. The three stragglers separated, the
Hawk to the left, the Kingfisher to the right, the Minnow flopped back
into the pool, and the Mink was left on the shore with a mouthful of
feathers and looking very foolish. As it stood shaking the down from
its nose another animal came gliding down through the shrubbery to the
shore--the old gray Cat. The Mink wrinkled up his nose, showed two
rows of sharp teeth and snarled in a furious manner, but backed off
under a lot of roots. The Cat laid down her ears; the fur on her back
and tail stood up; she crouched a little, her eyes blazing and the end
of her tail twitching, and she answered the snarling of the Mink with
a low growl. The Mink was evidently threatening "sudden death" to the
Cat, and Pussy evidently was not much impressed. The Mink retreated
farther under the roots till nothing but the green glowing of his eyes
was to be seen, and the Cat, coming forward, walked calmly by his
hiding-place and went about her business. The snarling under the root
died away, and as soon as his enemy was gone the Mink dived into the
water and was lost to view.

These two animals had a second meeting, as Yan had the luck to witness
from his watching-place. He had heard the "plop" of a deft plunge, and
looked in time only to see the spreading rings near the shore. Then
the water was ruffled far up in the pond. A brown spot showed and was
gone. A second appeared, to vanish as the first had done. Later, a
Muskrat crawled out on the shore, waddled along for twenty feet, then,
plunging in, swam below, came up at the other bank, and crawled under
a lot of overhanging roots. A minute later the Mink appeared, his hair
all plastered close till he looked like a four-legged Snake. He landed
where the Muskrat had come out, followed the trail so that it was
lost, then galloped up and down the shore, plunged in, swam across,
and beat about the other shore. At last he struck the trail and
followed. Under the root there were sounds of a struggle, the snarling
of the mink, and in two or three minutes he appeared dragging out the
body of the Muskrat. He sucked its blood and was eating the brains
when again the gray Cat came prowling up the edge of the pond and,
not ten feet off, stood face to face with the Mink, as she had done
before.

The Water Weasel saw his enemy but made no attempt to escape from
her. He stood with forepaws on his victim and snarling a warning and
defiance to the Cat. Pussy, after glaring for a few seconds, leaped
lightly to the high bank, passed above the Mink, then farther on
leaped down, and resumed her journey up the shore.

Why should the Mink fear the Cat the first time, and the Cat the Mink
the second? Yan believed that ordinarily the Cat could "lick,"
but that now the Mink had right on his side; he was defending his
property, and the Cat, knowing that, avoided a quarrel; whereas the
same Cat would have faced a thousand Mink in defense of her Kittens.

These two scenes did not happen the same day, but are told together
because Yan always told them together afterward to show that the
animals understand something of right and wrong.

But later Yan had another experience with the Muskrats. He and Sam
were smoothing out the lower album for the night, when a long stream
of water came briskly down the middle of the creek bed, which had been
dry for more than a week.

"Hallo," said Woodpecker, "where's that from?"

"A leak in the dam," said Little Beaver, with fear in his voice.

The boys ran up to the dam and learned that the guess was right.
The water had found an escape round the end of the dam, and a close
examination showed that it had been made by a burrowing Muskrat.

It was no little job to get it tightly closed up. But the spade was
handy, and a close-driven row of stakes with plenty of stiff clay
packed behind not only stopped the leak but gave a guarantee that in
future that corner at least would be safe.

When Caleb heard of the Muskrat mischief he said:

"Now ye know why the Beavers are always so dead sore on the Muskrats.
They know the Rats are liable to spoil their dams any time, so they
kill them whenever they get the chance."

Little Beaver rarely watched an hour without seeing something of
interest in the swamp. The other warriors had not the patience to wait
so long and they were not able to make a pastime of sketching.

Yan made several hiding-places where he found that living things were
most likely to be seen. Just below the dam was a little pool where
various Crawfish and thread-like Eels abounding proved very attractive
to Kingfisher and Crow, while little Tip-ups or Teetering Snipe would
wiggle their latter end on the level dam, or late in the day the
never-failing Muskrat would crawl out on a flat stone and sit like
a fur cap. The caГ±on part of the creek was another successful
hiding-place, but the very best was at the upper end of the pond, for
the simple reason that it gave a view of more different kinds of land.
First the water with Muskrats and occasionally a Mink, next the little
marsh, always there, but greatly increased now by the back-up of the
water. Here one or two Field-mice and a pair of Sora Rails were at
home. Close at hand was the thick woods, where Partridges and Black
Squirrels were sometimes seen.

Yan was here one day sketching the trunk of a Hemlock to pass the
watching time, but also because he had learned to love that old tree.
He never sketched because he loved sketching; he did not; the motive
always was love of the thing he was drawing.

A Black-and-white Creeper had crawled like a Lizard over all the
trunks in sight. A Downy Woodpecker had digged a worm out of a log by
labour that most birds would have thought ill-paid by a dozen such
worms. A Chipmunk had come nearer and nearer till it had actually run
over his foot and then scurried away chattering in dismay at its
own rashness; finally, a preposterous little Cock Chickadee sang
"_Spring soon_--_spring soon_," as though any one were interested in
the gratuitous and unconvincing fib, when a brown, furry form hopped
noiselessly from the green leaves by the pond, skipped over a narrow
bay without wetting its feet, paused once or twice, then in the middle
of the open glade it sat up in plain view--a Rabbit. It sat so long
and so still that Yan first made a sketch that took three of four
minutes, then got out his watch and timed it for three minutes longer
before it moved in the least. Then it fed for some time, and Yan
tried to make a list of the things it ate and the things it shunned,
but could not do so with certainty.

A noisy Flicker came out and alighted close by on a dried branch. The
Rabbit, or really a Northern Hare, "froze"--that is, became perfectly
still for a moment--but the Flicker marks were easy to read and had
long ago been learned as the uniform of a friend, so the Rabbit
resumed his meal, and when the Flicker flew again he paid no heed.
A Crow passed over, and yet another. "No; no danger from them." A
Red-shouldered Hawk wailed in the woods; the Rabbit heard that and
every other sound, but the Red-shoulder is not dangerous, and he knew
it. A large Hawk with _red tail_ circled silently over the glade,
and the Rabbit froze on the instant. That same red tail was the mark
of a dreaded foe. How well Bunny had learned to know them all!

A bunch of clover tempted him to a full repast, after which he hopped
into a tussock in the midst of the glade and there turned himself into
a moss-bump, his legs swallowed up in his fur, and his ears laid over
his back like a pair of empty gloves or a couple of rounded shingles;
his nose-wabblings reduced in number, and he seemed to be sleeping in
the last warm rays of the sun. Yan was very anxious to see whether his
eyes were open or not; he had been told that Rabbits sleep with
open eyes, but at this distance he could not be sure. He had no
field-glass and Guy was not at hand, so the point remained in doubt.

The last sun-blots had gone from the trail and the pond was all
shadowed by the trees on the western side. A Robin began its evening
hymn on a tall tree, where it could see the red sun going down, and a
Veery was trilling his _weary, weary, weary_ in the Elder thicket
along the brook, when another, a larger animal, loomed up in the
distant trail and glided silently toward Yan. Its head was low and he
could not make out what it was. As it stood there for a few seconds
Yan wet his finger in his mouth and held it up. A slight coolness on
the side next the coming creature told Yan that the breeze was from it
to him and would not betray him. It came on, seeming to grow larger,
turned a little to one side, and then Yan saw plainly by the sharp
nose and ears and the bushy tail that it was nothing less than a Fox,
probably the one that often barked near camp at night.

It was trotting away at an angle, knowing nothing of the watching boy
nor of the crouching Rabbit, when Yan, merely to get a better look at
the cunning one, put the back of his hand to his mouth and by sucking
made a slight Mouse-like squeak, sweetest music, potent spellbinder,
to a hungry Fox, and he turned like a flash. For a moment he stood,
head erect, full of poise and force in curb; a second squeak--he came
slowly back toward the sound and in so doing passed between Yan and
the Rabbit. He had crossed its old trail without feeling much
interest, but now the breeze brought its _body scent_. Instantly the
Fox gave up the Mouse hunt--no hunter goes after Mice when big game is
at hand--and began an elaborate and beautiful stalk of the Rabbit--the
Rabbit that he had not seen. But his nose was his best guide. He
cautiously zigzagged up the wind, picking his steps with the greatest
care, and pointing with his nose like a Pointer Dog. Each step was
bringing him nearer to Bunny as it slept or seemed asleep in the
tussock. Yan wondered whether he ought not to shout out and end the
stalk before the Rabbit was caught, but as a naturalist he was eager
to see the whole thing out and learn how the Fox would make the
capture. The red-furred gentleman was now within fifteen feet of the
tussock and still the gray one moved not. Now he was within twelve
feet--and no move; ten feet--and Bunny seemed in tranquil sleep; eight
feet--and now the Fox for the first time seemed to actually see his
victim. Yan had hard work to keep from shouting a warning; six
feet--and now the Fox was plainly preparing for a final spring.

"Is it right to let him?" and Yan's heart beat with excitement.

The Fox brought his feet well under him, tried the footing till it
was perfect, gathered all his force, then with silent, vicious energy
sprung straight for the sleeper. Sleeping? Oh, no! Not at all. Bunny
was playing his own game. The moment the Fox leaped, he leaped with
equal vigour the opposite way and out under his enemy, so Reynard
landed on the empty bunch of grass. Again he sprang, but the Rabbit
had rebounded like a ball in the other direction, and continued this
bewildering succession of marvellous erratic hops. The Fox in vain
tried to keep up, for these wonderful side jumps are the Rabbit's
strength and the Fox's weakness; and Bunny went zigzag--hop--skip--
into the thicket and was gone before the Fox could get his heavier
body under speed at all.

Had the Rabbit bounded out as soon as he saw the Fox coming he might
have betrayed himself unnecessarily; had he gone straight away when
the Fox leaped for him he might have been caught in three or four
leaps, for the enemy was under full speed, but by biding his time he
had courted no danger, and when it did come he had played the only
possible offset, and "lives in the greenwood still."

The Fox had to seek his supper somewhere else, and Yan went to camp
happy in having learned another of the secrets of the woods.




XII

Indian Signs And Getting Lost


"What do you mean when you say Indian signs, Mr. Clark?"

"Pretty near anything that shows there's Injuns round: a moccasin
track, a smell of smoke, a twig bent, a village, one stone a-top of
another or a white settlement scalped and burned--they all are Injun
signs. They all mean something, and the Injuns read them an' make
them, too, jest as you would writing."

"You remember the other day you told us three smokes meant you were
coming back with scalps."

"Well, no; it don't har'ly mean that. It means 'Good news'--that is,
with some tribes. Different tribes uses 'em different."

"Well, what does one smoke mean?"

"As a rule just simply '_Camp is here_'"

"And two smokes?"

"Two smokes means '_Trouble_'--may mean, _'I am lost.'_"

"I'll remember that; _double for trouble_."

"Three means good news. _There's luck in odd numbers_."

"And what is four?"

"Well, it ain't har'ly ever used. If I seen four smokes in camp I'd
know _something big_ was on--maybe a Grand Council."

"Well, if you saw five smokes what would you think?"

"I'd think some blame fool was settin' the hull place a-blaze," Caleb
replied with the sniff end of a laugh.

"Just now you said one stone on another was a sign. What does it
mean?"

"Course I can't speak for all Injuns. Some has it for one thing an'
some for another, but usually in the West two stones or 'Buffalo
chips' settin' one on the other means 'This is the trail'; and a
little stone at the left of the two would mean 'Here we turned off to
the left'; and at the other side, 'Here we turned to the right.' Three
stones settin' one on top of another means, 'This is sure enough the
trail,' 'Special' or 'Particular' or 'Look out'; an' a pile of stones
just throwed together means 'We camped here 'cause some one was sick.'
They'd be the stones used for giving the sick one a steam bath."

"Well, what would they do if there were no stones?"

"Ye mean in the woods?"

"Yes, or smooth prairie."

"Well, I pretty near forget, it's so long ago, but le's see now," and
Yan worried Caleb and Caleb threshed his memory till they got out a
general scheme, or Indian code, though Caleb was careful to say that
"some Injuns done it differently."

[Illustration: INDIAN SIGNS]

Yan must needs set about making a signal fire at once, and was
disappointed to find that a hundred yards away the smoke could not be
seen above the tree-tops, till Caleb showed him the difference between
a clear fire and a smoke or smudge fire.

"Begin with a clear fire to get the heat, then smother it with green
grass and rotten wood. There, now you see the difference," and a great
crooked, angling pillar of smoke rolled upward as soon as the grass
and punk began to sizzle in the glow of embers.

"I bet ye kin see that ten miles away if ye'r on a high place to look
for it."

"I bet I could see it twenty miles," chirped in Guy.

"Mr. Clark, were you ever lost?" continued the tireless asker.

"Why, course I was, an' more than once. Every one that goes in the
woods is bound to get lost once in awhile."

"What--do the Indians?"

"Of course! Why not? They're human, an' I tell you when you hear a man
brag that he never was lost, I know he never was far from his mother's
apron string. Every one is bound to get lost, but the real woodsman
gets out all right; that's the difference."

"Well, what would you do if you got lost?"

"Depends on where. If it was a country that I didn't know, and I had
friends in camp, after I'd tried my best I'd jest set right down and
make two smoke fires. 'Course, if I was alone I'd try to make a bee
line in the likeliest direction, an' this is easy to make if ye kin
see the sun and stars, but stormy weather 'tain't possible. No man kin
do it, an' if ye don't know the country ye have to follow some stream;
but I'm sorry for ye if ever ye have to do that, for it's the worst
walking on earth. It will surely bring ye out some place--that is, it
will keep ye from walking in a circle--but ye can't make more than
four or five miles a day on it."

[Illustration: "The Two Smokes"]

"Can't you get your direction from moss on the tree trunks?"

"_Naw!_ Jest try it an' see; moss on the north side of a tree
and rock; biggest branches on the south of a trunk; top of a Hemlock
pointing to east; the biggest rings of growth on the south side of
a stump, an' so on. It fits a tree standin' out by itself in the
open--the biggest ring is in the south, but it don't fit a tree on the
south side of an opening; then the biggest rings is on the north. If
ye have a compass in hand it's all kind o' half true--that is, just
a little bit true; but it ain't true; it's on'y a big lie, when ye'r
scared out o' your wits an' needin' to know. I never seen but one good
compass plant, an' that was the prairie Golden Rod. Get a bunch of
them in the open and the most of them point north, but under cover of
taller truck they jest point every which way for Sunday.

"If ye find a beaten game trail, ye follow that an it'll bring ye to
water--that is, if ye go the right way, an' that ye know by its gettin'
stronger. If it's peterin' out, ye'r goin' in the wrong direction. A
flock of Ducks or a Loon going over is sure to be pointing for water.
Y're safe to follow.

"If ye have a Dog or a Horse with ye he kin bring ye home all right.
Never knew them to fail but oncet, an' that was a fool Horse; there is
sech oncet in awhile, though there's more fool Dogs.

"But come right down to it, the compass is the safest thing. The sun
and stars is next, an' if ye know your friends will come ye'r best
plan is to set right down and make two smoke fires, keep them a-going,
holler every little while, and keep calm. Ye won't come to no harm
unless ye'r a blame fool, an' such ought to stay to hum, where they'll
be nursed."




XIII

Tanning Skins and Making Moccasins


Sam had made a find. A Calf had been killed and its skin hung limp on
a beam in the barn. His father allowed him to carry this off, and now
he appeared with a "fresh Buffalo hide to make a robe."

"I don't know how the Injuns dress their robes," he explained,
"but Caleb does, and he'll tell you, and, of course, I'll pay no
attention."

The old Trapper had nothing to do, and the only bright spots in his
lonely life, since his own door was shut in his face, were visits
to the camp. These had become daily, so it was taken as a matter of
course when, within an hour after Sam's return, he "happened round."

"How do the Indians tan furs and robes?" Yan asked at once.

"Wall, different ways--"

But before he could say more Hawkeye reappeared and shouted:

"Say, boys, Paw's old Horse died!" and he grinned joyfully, merely
because he was the bearer of news.

"Sappy, you grin so much your back teeth is gettin' sunburned," and
the Head Chief eyed him sadly.

"Well, it's so, an' I'm going to skin out his tail for a scalp. I bet
I'll be the Injunest one of the crowd."

"Why don't you skin the hull thing, an' I'll show you how to make lots
of Injun things of the hide," Caleb added, as he lighted his pipe.

"Will you help me?

"It's same as skinnin a Calf. I'll show you where to get the sewing
sinew after the hide's off."

So the whole camp went to Burns's field. Guy hung back and hid when he
saw his father there drawing the dead Horse away with the plough team.

"Good-day, Jim," was Caleb's greeting, for they were good friends.
"Struck hard luck with the Horse?"

"No! Not much. Didn't cost nothing; got him for boot in a swap. Glad
he's dead, for he was foundered."

"We want his skin, if you don't."

"You're welcome to the hull thing."

"Well, just draw it over by the line fence we'll bury what's left when
we're through."

"All right. You hain't seen that durn boy o' mine, have you?"

"Why, yes; I seen him not long ago," said Sam. "He was p'inting right
for home then."

"H-m. Maybe I'll find him at the house."

"Maybe you will." Then Sam added under his breath, "I don't think."

So Burns left them, and a few minutes later Guy sneaked out of the
woods to take a secondary part in the proceedings.

Caleb showed them how to split the skin along the under side of each
leg and up the belly. It was slow work skinning, but not so unpleasant
as Yan feared, since the animal was fresh.

Caleb did the most of the work; Sam and Yan helped. Guy assisted with
reminiscences of his own Calf-skinning and with suggestions drawn from
his vast experiences.

When the upper half of the skin was off, Caleb remarked: "Don't
believe we can turn him over, and when the Injuns didn't have a Horse
at hand to turn over the Buffalo they used to cut the skin in two down
the line of the back. I guess we better do that. We've got all the
rawhide we need, anyhow."

So they cut off the half they had skinned, took the tail and the mane
for "scalps," and then Caleb sent Yan for the axe and a pail.

He cut out a lump of liver and the brains of the Horse. "That," said
he, "is for tanning, an' here is where the Injun woman gits her sewing
thread."

He made a deep cut alongside the back bone from the middle of the back
to the loin, then forcing his fingers under a broad band of whitish
fibrous tissue, he raised it up, working and cutting till it ran down
to the hip bone and forward to the ribs. This sewing sinew was about
four inches wide, very thin, and could easily be split again and again
till it was like fine thread.

"There," he said, "is a hank o' thread. Keep that. It'll dry up, but
can be split at any time, and soaking in warm water for twenty minutes
makes it soft and ready for use. Usually, when she's sewing, the squaw
keeps a thread soaking in her mouth to be ready. Now we've got a Horse
skin and a Calfskin I guess we better set up a tan-yard."

"Well, how do you tan furs, Mr. Clark?"

"Good many different ways. Sometimes just scrape and scrape till I get
all the grease and meat off the inside, then coat it with alum and
salt and leave it rolled up for a couple of days till the alum has
struck through and made the skin white at the roots of the hair, then
when this is half dry pull and work it till it is all soft.

"But the Injuns don't have alum and salt, and they make a fine tan out
of the liver and brains, like I'm going to do with this."

"Well, I want to do it the Indian way."

"All right, you take the brains and liver of your Calf."

"Why not some of the Horse brains and liver?"

"Oh, I dunno. They never do it that way that I've seen. Seems like it
went best with its own brains."

"Now," remarked the philosophical Woodpecker, "I call that a wonderful
provision of nature, always to put Calf brains and liver into a
Calfskin, and just enough to tan it."

"First thing always is to clean your pelt, and while you do that I'll
put the Horsehide in the mud to soak off the hair." He put it in the
warm mud to soak there a couple of days, just as he had done the
Calfskin for the drum-heads, then came to superintend the dressing of
the Buffalo "robe."

Sam first went home for the Calf brains and liver, then he and Yan
scraped the skin till they got out a vast quantity of grease, leaving
the flesh side bluish-white and clammy, but not greasy to the touch.
The liver of the Calf was boiled for an hour and then mashed up with
the raw brains into a tanning "dope" or mash and spread on the flesh
side of the hide, which was doubled, rolled up and put in a cool place
for two days. It was then opened out, washed clean in the brook and
hung till nearly dry. Then Caleb cut a hardwood stake to a sharp edge
and showed Yan how to pull and work the hide over the edge till it was
all soft and leathery.

The treatment of the Horsehide was the same, once the hair was
removed, but the greater thickness needed a longer soaking in the "tan
dope."

After two days the Trapper scraped it clean and worked it on the
sharp-edged stake. It soon began to look like leather, except in one
or two spots. On examining these he said:

"H-m, Tanning didn't strike right through every place. So he buttered
it again with the mash and gave it a day more; then worked it as
before over the angle of the pole till it was soft and fibrous.

"There," said he, "that's Injun tan leather. I have seen it done by
soaking the hide for a few days in liquor made by boiling Hemlock or
Balsam bark in water till it's like brown ink, but it ain't any better
than that. Now it needs one thing more to keep it from hardening after
being wet. It has to be smoked."

So he made a smoke fire by smothering a clear fire with rotten wood;
then fastening the Horsehide into a cone with a few wooden pins, he
hung it in the dense smoke for a couple of hours, first one side out,
then the other till it was all of a rich smoky-tan colour and had the
smell so well known to those who handle Indian leather.

"There it is; that's Injun tan, an' I hope you see that elbow grease
is the main thing in tannin'."

"Now, will you show us how to make moccasins and war-shirts?" asked
Little Beaver, with his usual enthusiasm.

"Well, the moccasins is easy, but I won't promise about the
war-shirts. That's pretty much a case of following the pattern of your
own coat, with the front in one piece, but cut down just far enough
for your head to go through, instead of all the way, and fixed with
tie-strings at the throat and fringes at the seams and at the bottom;
it hain't easy to do. But any one kin larn to make moccasins. There is
two styles of them--that is, two main styles. Every Tribe has its own
make, and an Injun can tell what language another speaks as soon as
he sees his footgear. The two best known are the Ojibwa, with soft
sole--sole and upper all in one, an' a puckered instep--that's what
Ojibwa means--'puckered moccasin.' The other style is the one most
used in the Plains. You see, they have to wear a hard sole, 'cause the
country is full of cactus and thorns as well as sharp stones."

"I want the Sioux style. We have copied their teepee and war
bonnet--and the Sioux are the best Indians, anyway."

"Or the worst, according to what side you're on," was Caleb's reply.
But he went on: "Sioux Injuns are Plains Injuns and wear a hard sole.
Let's see, now. I'll cut you a pair."

"No, make them for _me_. It's my Horse," said Guy.

"No, you don't. Your Paw give that to me." Caleb's tone said plainly
that Guy's laziness had made a bad impression, so he had to stand
aside while Yan was measured. Caleb had saved a part of the hide
untanned though thoroughly cleaned. This was soaked in warm water till
soft. Yan's foot was placed on it and a line drawn around the foot
for a guide; this when cut out made the sole of one moccasin (A, cut
below), and by turning it underside up it served as pattern to cut the
other.

Now Caleb measured the length of the foot and added one inch, and
the width across the instep, adding half an inch, and with these as
greatest length and breadth cut out a piece of soft leather (B). Then
in this he made the cut _a b_ on the middle line one way and _c
d_ on the middle line the other way. A second piece the reverse of
this was cut, and next a piece of soft leather for inside tongue (C)
was sewn to the large piece (B), so that the edge _a b_ of C was
fast to _a b_ of B. A second piece was sewn to the other leather
(B reversed).

"Them's your vamps for uppers. Now's the time to bead 'em if you want
to."

"Don't know how."

"Well, I can't larn you that; that's a woman's work. But I kin show
you the pattern of the first pair I ever wore; I ain't likely to
forget 'em, for I killed the Buffalo myself and seen the hull making."
He might have added that he subsequently married the squaw, but he did
not.

"There's about the style" [D]. "Them three-cornered red and white
things all round is the hills where the moccasins was to carry me
safely; on the heel is a little blue pathway with nothing in it: that
is behind--it's past. On the instep is three red, white and blue
pathways where the moccasin was to take me: they're ahead--in the
future. Each path has lots of things in it, mostly changes and trails,
an' all three ends in an Eagle feather--that stands for an honour. Ye
kin paint them that way after they're made. Well, now, we'll sew on
the upper with a good thick strand of sinew in the needle--or if you
have an awl you kin do without a needle on a pinch--and be sure to
bring the stitches out the edge of the sole instead of right through,
then they don't wear off. That's the way." [E.]

So they worked away, clumsily, while Guy snickered and sizzled, and
Sam suggested that Si Lee would make a better squaw than both of them.

The sole as well as the upper being quite soft allowed them to turn
the moccasin inside out as often as they liked--and they did like; it
seemed necessary to reverse it every few minutes. But at length the
two pieces were fastened together all around, the seam gap at the heel
was quickly sewn up, four pairs of lace holes were made (_a, b, c,
d_, in D), and an eighteen-inch strip of soft leather run through
them for a lace.

Now Yan painted the uppers with his Indian paints in the pattern that
Caleb had suggested, and the moccasins were done.

A squaw would have made half a dozen good pairs while Yan and Caleb
made the one poor pair, but she would not have felt so happy about it.




XIV

Caleb's Philosophy


The tracks of Mink appeared from time to time on Yan's creekside mud
albums, and at length another of these tireless watchers, placed at
the Wakan Rock, reported to him that Mink as well as Skunks came there
now for a nightly feast.

The Mink was a large one, judging by the marks, and Caleb was asked to
help in trapping it.

"How do you trap Mink, Mr. Clark?" was the question.

"Don't trap 'em at all this time o' year, for they're no good till
October," was the answer.

"Well, how do you trap them when they are in season?"

"Oh, different ways."

It was slow work, but Yan kept on and at length got the old man going.

"Airly days we always used a deadfall for Mink. That's made like this,
with a bird or a Partridge head for bait. That kills him sure, sudden
and merciful. Then if it's cold weather he freezes and keeps O.K.
till you come around to get him; but in warm weather lots o' pelts are
spoiled by being kept too long, so ye have to go round pretty often
to save all you kill. Then some one brought in them new-fangled steel
traps that catches them by the foot and holds them for days and days,
some times, till they jest starve to death or chaw their foot off to
get free. I mind once I ketched a Mink with only two legs left. He had
been in a steel trap twice before and chawed off his leg to get
away. Them traps save the trapper going round so often, but they're
expensive, and heavy to carry, and you have got to be awful
hard-hearted before ye kin use 'em. I tell ye, when I thought of all
the sufferin' that Mink went through it settled me for steel traps.
Since then, says I, if ye must trap, use a deadfall or a ketchalive,
one or other; no manglin' an' tormentin' for days. I tell ye that thar
new Otter trap that grabs them in iron claws ought to be forbid by
law; it ain't human.

"Same way about huntin'. Huntin's great sport, an' it can't be bad,
'cause I can't for the life of me see that it makes men bad. 'Pears
to me men as hunt is humaner than them as is above it; as for the
cruelty--wall, we know that no wild animal dies easy abed. They all
get killed soon or late, an' if it's any help to man to kill them I
reckon he has as good a right to do it as Wolves an' Wildcats. It
don't hurt any more--yes, a blame sight less--to be killed by a rifle
ball than to be chawed by Wolves. The on'y thing I says is don't do
it cruel--an' don't wipe out the hull bunch. If ye never kill a thing
that's no harm to ye 'live an' no good to ye dead nor more than the
country kin stand, 'pears to me ye won't do much harm, an' ye'll have
a lot o' real fun to think about afterward.

"But I mind a feller from Europe, some kind o' swell, that I was
guidin' out West. He had crippled a Deer so it couldn't get away. Then
he sat down to eat lunch right by, and every few moments he'd fire a
shot into some part or another, experimentin' an' aimin' not to kill
it for awhile. I heard the shootin' an' blattin', an when I come up I
tell ye it set my blood a-boilin'. I called him some names men don't
like, an' put that Deer out o' pain quick as I could pull trigger.
That bu'st up our party--I didn't want no more o' him. He come pretty
near lyin' by the Deer that day. It makes me hot yet when I think of
it.

"If he'd shot that Deer down runnin' an' killed it as quick as he
could it wouldn't 'a' suffered more than if it had been snagged a
little, 'cause bullets of right weight numb when they hit. The Deer
wouldn't have suffered more than he naturally would at his finish,
maybe less, an' he'd 'a' suffered it at a time when he could be some
good to them as hunted him. An' these yer new repeatin' guns is a
curse. A feller knows he has lots of shot and so blazes away into a
band o' Deer as long as he can see, an lots gets away crippled, to
suffer an' die; but when a feller has only one shot he's going to
place it mighty keerful. Ef it's sport ye want, get a single-shot
rifle, ef it's destruction, get a Gatling-gun.

"Sport's good, but I'm agin this yer wholesale killin' an' cruelty.
Steel traps, light-weight bullets an' repeatin' guns ain't human. I
tell ye it's them as makes all the sufferin'."

This was a long speech for Caleb, but it was really less connected
than here given. Yan had to keep him going with occasional questions.
This he followed up.

"What do you think about bows and arrows, Mr. Clark?"

"I wouldn't like to use them on big game like Bear and Deer, but I'd
be glad if shotguns was done away with and small game could be killed
only with arrows. They are either sure death or clear miss. There's no
cripples to get away and die. You can't fire an arrow into a flock of
birds and wipe out one hundred, like you can with one of them blame
scatterguns. It's them things that is killing off all the small game.
Some day they'll invent a scattergun that is a pump repeater like them
new rifles, and when every fool has one they'll wonder where all the
small game has gone to.

"No, sir, I'm agin them. Bows and arrows is less destructful an' calls
for more Woodcraft an' give more sport--that is, for small game.
Besides, they don't make that awful racket, an' you know who is the
party that owns the shot, for every arrow is marked."

Yan was sorry that Caleb did not indorse the arrow for big game, too.

The Trapper was well started now; he seemed ready enough with
information to-day, and Yan knew enough to "run the rapids on the
freshet."

"How do you make a ketchalive?"

"What for?"

"Oh, Mink."

"They ain't fit to catch now, and the young ones need the mothers."

"I wouldn't keep it. I only want to make a drawing."

"Guess that won't harm it if you don't keep it too long. Have ye any
boards? We used to chop the whole thing out of a piece of Balsam wood
or White Pine, but the more stuff ye find ready-made the easier it is.
Now I'll show you how to make a ketchalive if ye'll promise me never
to miss a day going to it while it is set."

The boys did not understand how any one could miss a day in visiting a
place of so much interest, and readily promised.

So they made a ketchalive, or box-trap, two feet long, using hay wire
to make a strong netting at one end.

"Now," said the trapper, "that will catch Mink, Muskrat, Skunk,
Rabbit--'most anything, 'cording to where you put it and how you bait
it."

"Seems to me the Wakan Rock will be a good place to try."

So the trap was baited with a fish head firmly lashed on the wire
trigger.

In the morning, as Yan approached, he saw that it was sprung. A
peculiar whining and scratching came from it and he shouted in great
excitement: "Boys, boys, I've got him! I've got the Mink!"

They seized the trap and held it cautiously up for the sunlight to
shine through the bars, and there saw to their disgust that they had
captured only the old gray Cat. As soon as the lid was raised she
bounded away, spitting and hissing, no doubt to hurry home to tell the
Kittens that it was all right, although she had been away so long.




XV

A Visit from Raften


"Sam, I must have another note-book. It's no good getting up a new
'massacree' of Whites, 'cause there ain't any note-books there, but
maybe your father would get one the next time he drove to Downey's
Dump. I suppose I'll have to go on a peace party to ask him."

Sam made no answer, but looked and listened out toward the trail, then
said: "Talk of the er--Angels, here comes Da."

When the big man strode up Yan and Guy became very shy and held back.
Sam, in full war-paint, prattled on in his usual style.

"Morning, Da; I'm yer kid. Bet ye'r in trouble an' want advice or
something."

Raften rolled up his pendulous lips and displayed his huge front tusks
in a vast purple-and-yellow grin that set the boys' hearts at ease.

"Kind o' thought you'd be sick av it before now."

"Will you let us stay here till we are?" chimed in Sam, then without
awaiting the reply that he did not want, "Say, Da, how long is it
since there was any Deer around here?"

"Pretty near twenty years, I should say."

"Well, look at that now," whispered the Woodpecker.

Raften looked and got quite a thrill for the dummy, half hidden in the
thicket, looked much like a real deer.

"Don't you want to try a shot?" ventured Yan.

Raften took the bow and arrow and made such a poor showing that he
returned them with the remark. "Sure a gun's good enough for me,"
then, "Ole Caleb been around since?"

"Old Caleb? I should say so; why, he's our stiddy company."

"'Pears fonder o'you than he is of me."

"Say, Da, tell us about that. How do you know it was Caleb shot at
you?"

"Oh, I don't know it to prove it in a coort o' law, but we quarr'led
that day in town after the Horse trade an' he swore he'd fix me an'
left town. His own stepson, Dick Pogue, stood right by and heard him
say it; then at night when I came along the road by the green bush I
was fired at, an' next day we found Caleb's tobacco pouch and some
letters not far away. That's about all I know, an' all I want to know.
Pogue served him a mean trick about the farm, but that's none o' my
business. I 'spect the old fellow will have to get out an' scratch for
himself pretty soon."

"He seems kind-hearted," said Yan.

"Ah, he's got an awful temper, an' when he gets drunk he'd do
anything. Other times he's all right."

"Well, how is it about the farm?" Sam asked. "Doesn't he own it?"

"No, I guess not now. I don't r'aly know. I only hear them say. Av
coorse, Saryann ain't his own daughter. She's nowt o' kin, but he has
no one else, and Dick was my hired man--a purty slick feller with his
tongue; he could talk a bird off a bush; but he was a good worker. He
married Sary and persuaded the old man to deed them the place, him to
live in comfort with them to the end of his days. But once they got
the place, 'twas aisy to see that Dick meant to get rid o' Caleb, an'
the capsheaf was put last year, about his Dog, old Turk. They wouldn't
have him 'round. They said he was scaring the hens and chasing sheep,
which is like enough, for I believe he killed wan ov my lambs, an' I'd
give ten dollars to have him killed--making sure 'twas him, av coorse.
Rather than give up the Dog, Caleb moved out into the shanty on the
creek at the other end of the place. Things was better then, for Dick
and Saryann let up for awhile an' sent him lots o' flour an' stuff,
but folks say they're fixin' it to put the old man out o' that and get
shet of him for good. But I dunno; it's none o' my business, though he
does blame me for putting Dick up to it."

"How's the note-book?" as Raften's eye caught sight of the open
sketch-book still in Yan's hand.

"Oh, that reminds me," was the reply. "But what is this?" He showed
the hoof-mark be had sketched. Raften examined it curiously.

"H-m, I dunno'; 'pears to me moighty loike a big Buck. But I guess
not; there ain't any left."

"Say, Da," Sam persisted, "wouldn't you be sore if you was an old man
robbed and turned out?"

"Av coorse; but I wouldn't lose in a game of swap-horse, an' then go
gunnin' after the feller. If I had owt agin him I'd go an' lick him or
be licked, an' take it all good-natured. Now that's enough. We'll talk
about something else."

"Will you buy me another note-book next time you go to Downey's Dump?
I don't know how much it will cost or I'd give you the money," said
Yan, praying mentally that it be not more than the five or ten cents
which was all his capital.

"Shure; I'll charge it up. But ye needn't wait till next week.
Thayer's one back at the White settlement ye can have for nothin'."

"Say, Mr. Raften," Guy broke in, "I kin lick them all at
Deer-hunting."

Sam looked at Yan and Yan looked at Sam, then glanced at Guy, made
some perfectly diabolical signs, seized each a long knife and sprung
toward the Third War Chief, but he dodged behind Raften and commenced
his usual "Now you let me 'lone--"