Raften's eye twinkled. "Shure, I thought ye was all wan Tribe an'
paceable."

"We've got to suppress crime," retorted his son.

"Make him let me 'lone," whimpered Sapwood.

"We'll let ye off this time if ye find that Woodchuck. It's near two
days since we've had a skirmish."

"All right," and he went. Within five minutes he came running back,
beckoning. The boys got their bows and arrows, but fearing a trick
they held back. Guy dashed for his own weapons with unmistakable and
reassuring zest; then all set out for the field. Raften followed,
after asking if it would be safe for him to come along.

The grizzly old Woodchuck was there feeding in a bunch of clover. The
boys sneaked under the fence, crawling through the grass in true Injun
fashion, till the Woodchuck stood up to look around, then they lay
still; when he went down they crawled again, and all got within forty
yards. Now the old fellow seemed suspicious, so Sam said, "Next time
he feeds we all fire together." As soon, then, as the Woodchuck's
breast was replaced by the gray back, the boys got partly up and
fired. The arrows whizzed around Old Grizzly, but all missed, and he
had scrambled to his hole before they could send a second volley.

"Hallo, why didn't you hit him, Sappy?"

"I'll bet I do next time."

When they returned to Raften he received them with ridicule.

"But ye'r a poor lot o' hunters. Ye'd all starve if it wasn't for the
White settlement nearby. Faith, if ye was rale Injun ye'd sit up all
night at that hole till he come out in the morning: then ye'd get him;
an' when ye get through with that one I've got another in the high
pasture ye kin work on."

So saying, he left them, and Sam called after him:

"Say, Da; where's that note-book for Yan? He's the Chief of the
'coup-tally,' and I reckon he'll soon have a job an' need his book. I
feel it in my bones."

"I'll lave it on yer bed." Which he did, and Yan and Sam had the
pleasure of lifting it out of the window with a split stick.




XVI

How Yan Knew the Ducks Afar


One day as the great Woodpecker lay on his back in the shade he said
in a tone of lofty command:

"Little Beaver, I want to be amused. Come hyar. Tell me a story."

"How would you like a lesson in Tutnee?" was the Second Chief's
reply, but he had tried this before, and he found neither Sam nor Guy
inclined to take any interest in the very dead language.

"Tell me a story, I said," was the savage answer of the scowling and
ferocious Woodpecker.

"All right," said Little Beaver. "I'll tell you a story of such a fine
boy--oh, he was the noblest little hero that ever wore pantaloons or
got spanked in school. Well, this boy went to live in the woods, and
he wanted to get acquainted with all the living wild things. He found
lots of difficulties and no one to help him, but he kept on and
on--oh! he was so noble and brave--and made notes, and when he learned
anything new he froze on to it like grim death. By and by he got a
book that was some help, but not much. It told about some of the birds
as if you had them _in your hand_. But this heroic youth only saw
them at a distance and he was stuck. One day he saw a wild Duck on a
pond so far away he could only see some spots of colour, but he made
a sketch of it, and later he found out from that rough sketch that it
was a Whistler, and then this wonderful boy had an idea. All the
Ducks are different; all have little blots and streaks that are their
labels, or like the uniforms of soldiers. 'Now, if I can put their
uniforms down on paper I'll know the Ducks as soon as I see them on a
pond a long way off.' So he set to work and drew what he could
find. One of his friends had a stuffed Wood-duck, so the
'Boy-that-wanted-to-know' drew that from a long way off. He got
another from an engraving and two more from the window of a
taxidermist shop. But he knew perfectly well that there are twenty or
thirty different kinds of Ducks, for he often saw others at a distance
and made far-sketches, hoping some day he'd find out what they were.
Well, one day the 'Boy-that-wanted-to-know' sketched a new Duck on a
pond, and he saw it again and again, but couldn't find out what it
was, and there was his b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l sketch, but no one to tell
him its name, so when he saw that he just had to go into the teepee
and steal the First War Chief's last apple and eat it to hide his
emotion."

Here Yan produced an apple and began to eat it with an air of sadness.

Without changing a muscle, the Great Woodpecker continued the tale:

"Then when the First War Chief heard the harrowing tale of a blighted
life, he said: 'Shucks, I didn't want that old apple. It was fished
out of the swill-barrel anyway, but 'pears to me when a feller sets
out to do a thing an' don't he's a 'dumb failure,' which ain't much
difference from a 'durn fool.'

"Now, if this heroic youth had had gumption enough to come out
flat-footed, an' instead of stealing rotten apples that the pigs has
walked on, had told his trouble to the Great Head War Chief, that
native-born noble Red-man would 'a' said: 'Sonny, quite right. When in
doubt come to Grandpa. You want to get sharp on Duck. Ugh! Good'--then
he'd 'a' took that simple youth to Downey's Hotel at Downey's Dump an'
there showed him every kind o' Duck that ever was born, an' all tagged
an' labelled. Wah! I have spoken."

And the Great Woodpecker scowled ferociously at Guy, who was vainly
searching his face for a clue, not sure but what this whole thing was
some subtle mockery. But Yan had been on the lookout for this. Sam's
face throughout had shown nothing but real and growing interest. The
good sense of this last suggestion was evident, and the result was an
expedition was formed at once for Downey's Dump, a little town five
miles away, where the railroad crossed a long bog on the Skagbog
River. Here Downey, the contractor, had carried the railroad dump
across a supposed bottomless morass and by good luck had soon made
a bottom and in consequence a small fortune, with which he built a
hotel, and was now the great man of the town for which he had done so
much.

"Guess we'll leave the Third War Chief in charge of camp," said Sam,
"an' I think we ought to go disguised as Whites."

"You mean to go back to the Settlement and join the Whites?"

"Yep, an' take a Horse an' buggy, too. It's five miles."

That was a jarring note. Yan's imagination had pictured a foot
expedition through the woods, but this was more sensible, so he
yielded.

They went to the house to report and had a loving reception from
the mother and little Minnie. The men were away. The boys quickly
harnessed a Horse and, charged also with some commissions from the
mother, they drove to Downey's Dump.

On arriving they went first to the livery-stable to put up the horse,
then to the store, where Sam delivered his mother's orders, and having
made sure that Yan had pencil, paper and rubber, they went into
Downey's. Yan's feelings were much like those of a country boy going
for the first time to a circus--now he is really to see the things he
has dreamed of so long; now all heaven is his.

And, curiously enough, he was not disappointed. Downey was a rough,
vigorous business man. He took no notice of the boys beyond a brief
"Morning, Sam," till he saw that Yan was making very fair sketches.
All the world loves an artist, and now there was danger of too much
assistance.

The cases could not be opened, but were swung around and shades
raised to give the best light. Yan went at once to the bird he
had "far-sketched" on the pond. To his surprise, it was a female
Wood-duck. He put in the whole afternoon drawing those Ducks, male
and female, and as Downey had more than fifty specimens Yan felt like
Aladdin in the Fairy Garden--overpowered with abundance of treasure.
The birds were fairly well labelled with the popular names, and Yan
brought away a lot of sketches, which made him very happy. These he
afterward carefully finished and put together in a Duck Chart that
solved many of his riddles about the Common Duck.


       *       *       *       *       *

    [Illustration: The Fish-Ducks, Sawbills, or Mergansers]

    [Illustration: The River Ducks]

    (See description below.)


    Far-sketches showing common Ducks as seen on the water at about 50
    yards distance. The pair is shown in each square, the male above.

    N.B. The wings are rarely seen when the bird is swimming.


    THE FISH-DUCK, SAWBILLS OR MERGANSERS

    Largely white and all are crested, wings with large white areas in
    flight.

    1. The Shelldrake or Goosander (_Merganser americanus_).
    Bill, feet and eye red.

    2. The Sawbill or Red-breasted Merganser (_Merganser
    serrator_). Bill and feet red.

    3. Hooded Merganser (_Lophodytes cucullatus_). Bill and feet
    dark, paddle-box buff.


    THE RIVER DUCKS

    The males usually with shining green and black on head and wings,
    the females streaky gray-brown.

    4. Mallard _(Anas boschas_). Red feet; male has pale,
    greenish bill. Known in flight by white tail feathers and thin
    white bar on wing.

    5. Black Duck or Dusky Duck (_Anas obscura_). Dark bill, red
    feet, no white except in flight, then shows white lining of wings.

    6. Gadwall or Gray Duck (_Anas strepera_). Beak
    flesh-coloured on edges, feet reddish, a white spot on wing
    showing in flight.

    7. Widgeon or Baldpate (_A. americana_). Bill and feet dull
    blue; a large white spot on wing in flight; female has sides
    reddish.

    8. Green-winged Teal (_A. carolinensis_). Bill and feet dark.

    9. Blue-winged Teal (_A. discors_). Bill and feet dark.

    10. Shoveller (_Spatula clypeata_). Bill dark, feet red, eye
    yellow-orange; a white patch on wings showing in flight

    11. Pintail or Sprigtail (_Dafila acuta_). Bill and feet dull
    blue.

    12. Wood Duck or Summer Duck (_Aix sponsa_). Bill of male
    red, paddle-box buff, bill of female and feet of both dark.


[Illustration: The Sea Ducks]


THE SEA DUCKS

    Chiefly black and white in colour; the female brownish instead of
    black; most have yellow or orange eye, and more or less white on
    wings which does not show as they swim.

    13. Red-head (_Aythya americana_). Head and neck bright red;
    eye of male yellow, bill and feet blue.

    14. Canvasback (_A. vallisneria_). Head and neck dark-red,
    eye of male red, bill and feet of both dark or bluish.

    15. Ring-necked Bluebill (_A. collaria_). Bill and feet
    bluish.

    16. Big Bluebill (_A. marila_). Bill and feet bluish.

    17. Little Bluebill (_A. affinis_). Same colour as the
    preceding.

    18. Whistler or Goldeneye (_Clangula clangula americana_).
    Feet orange.

    19. Bufflehead or Butterball (_Charitonetta albeola_).

    20. Old-Squaw or Longtail (_Harelda hyemalis_). This is its
    winter plumage, in which it is mostly seen.

    21. Black Scoter (_Oidemia americana_). A jet-black Duck with
    orange bill; no white on it anywhere.

    22. White-winged Scoter (_O. deglandi_). A black Duck with
    white on cheek and wing; feet and bill orange; much white on wing
    shows as they fly, sometimes none as they swim.

    23. Surf Duck or Sea Coot (_O. perspicillata_). A black Duck
    with white on head, but none on wings: bill and feet orange.

    24. Ruddy Duck or Stiff-tailed Duck (_Erismatura
    jamaicensis_). Bill and feet bluish; male is in general a dull
    red with white face.

       *       *       *       *       *

When they got back to camp at dusk they found a surprise. On the
trail was a white thing, which on investigation proved to be a ghost,
evidently made by Guy. The head was a large puff-ball carved like a
skull, and the body a newspaper.

But the teepee was empty. Guy probably felt too much reaction after
the setting up of the ghost to sit there alone in the still night.




XVII

Sam's Woodcraft Exploit


Sam's "long suit," as he put it, was axemanship. He was remarkable
even in this land of the axe, and, of course, among the "Injuns" he
was a marvel. Yan might pound away for half an hour at some block that
he was trying to split and make no headway, till Sam would say, "Yan,
hit it right there," or perhaps take the axe and do it for him; then
at one tap the block would fly apart. There was no rule for this happy
hit. Sometimes it was above the binding knot, sometimes beside it,
sometimes right in the middle of it, and sometimes in the end of the
wood away from the binder altogether--often at the unlikeliest places.
Sometimes it was done by a simple stroke, sometimes a glancing stroke,
sometimes with the grain or again angling, and sometimes a compound of
one or more of each kind of blow; but whatever was the right stroke,
Sam seemed to know it instinctively and applied it to exactly the
right spot, the only spot where the hard, tough log was open to
attack, and rarely failed to make it tumble apart as though it were a
trick got ready beforehand. He did not brag about it. He simply took
it for granted that he was the master of the art, and as such the
others accepted him.

On one occasion Yan, who began to think he now had some skill, was
whacking away at a big, tough stick till he had tried, as he thought,
every possible combination and still could make no sign of a crack.
Then Guy insisted on "showing him how," without any better result.

"Here, Sam," cried Yan, "I'll bet this is a baffler for you."

Sam turned the stick over, selected a hopeless-looking spot, one as
yet not touched by the axe, set the stick on end, poured a cup of
water on the place, then, when that had soaked in, he struck with all
his force a single straight blow at the line where the grain spread to
embrace the knot. The aim was true to a hair and the block flew open.

"Hooray!" shouted Little Beaver in admiration.

"Pooh!" said Sapwood. "That was just chance. He couldn't do that
again."

"Not to the same stick!" retorted Yan. He recognized the consummate
skill and the cleverness of knowing that the cup of water was just
what was needed to rob the wood of its spring and turn the balance.

But Guy continued contemptuously, "I had it started for him."

"_I_ think that should count a _coup_," said Little Beaver.

"Coup nothin'," snorted the Third War Chief, in scorn. "I'll give you
something to do that'll try if you can chop. Kin you chop a six-inch
tree down in three minutes an' throw it up the wind ?"

"What kind o' tree?" asked the Woodpecker.

"Oh, any kind."

"I'll bet you five dollars I kin cut down a six-inch White Pine in two
minutes an' throw it any way I want to. You pick out the spot for me
to lay it. Mark it with a stake an' I'll drive the stake."

"I don't think any of the Tribe has five dollars to bet. If you can do
it we'll give you a grand coup feather," answered Little Beaver.

"No spring pole," said Guy, eager to make it impossible.

"All right," replied the Woodpecker; "I'll do it without using a
spring pole."

So he whetted up his axe, tried the lower margin of the head, found it
was a trifle out of the true--that is, its under curve centred, not on
the handle one span down, but half an inch out from the handle. A nail
driven into the point of the axe-eye corrected this and the chiefs
went forth to select a tree. A White Pine that measured roughly six
inches through was soon found, and Sam was allowed to clear away the
brush around it. Yan and Guy now took a stout stake and, standing
close to the tree, looked up the trunk. Of course, every tree in the
woods leans one way or another, and it was easy to see that this
leaned slightly southward. What wind there was came from the north, so
Yan decided to set the stake due north.

Sam's little Japanese eyes twinkled. But Guy who, of course, knew
something of chopping, fairly exploded with scorn. "Pooh! What do you
know? That's easy; any one can throw it straight up the wind. Give him
a cornering shot and let him try. There, now," and Guy set the stake
off to the north-west. "Now, smarty. Let's see you do that."

"All right. You'll see me. Just let me look at it a minute."

Sam walked round the tree, studied its lean and the force of the wind
on its top, rolled up his sleeves, slipped his suspenders, spat on his
palms, and, standing to west of the tree, said _"Ready_."

Yan had his watch out and shouted "_Go_."

Two firm, unhasty strokes up on the south side of the tree left a
clean nick across and two inches deep in the middle. The chopper then
stepped forward one pace and on the north-northwesterly side, eighteen
inches lower down than the first cut, after reversing his hands--which
is what few can do--he rapidly chopped a butt-kerf. Not a stroke
was hasty; not a blow went wrong. The first chips that flew were
ten inches long, but they quickly dwindled as the kerf sank in. The
butt-kerf was two-thirds through the tree when Yan called "One minute
up." Sam stopped work, apparently without cause, leaned one hand
against the south side of the tree and gazed unconcernedly up at its
top.

"Hurry up, Sam. You're losing time!" called his friend. Sam made no
reply. He was watching the wind pushes and waiting for a strong one.
It came--it struck the tree-top. There was an ominous crack, but Sam
had left enough and pushed hard to make sure; as soon as the recoil
began he struck in very rapid succession three heavy strokes, cutting
away all the remaining wood on the west side and leaving only a
three-inch triangle of uncut fibre. All the weight was now northwest
of this. The tree toppled that way, but swung around on the uncut
part; another puff of wind gave help, the swing was lost, the tree
crashed down to the northwest and drove the stake right out of sight
in the ground.

"Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! One minute and forty-five seconds!" How Yan
did cheer. Sam was silent, but his eyes looked a little less dull and
stupid than usual, and Guy said "Pooh? That's nothin'."

Yan took out his pocket rule and went to the stump. As soon as he laid
it on, he exclaimed "Seven and one-half inches through where you cut,"
and again he had to swing his hat and cheer.

"Well, old man, you surely did it that time. That's a grand coup if
ever I saw one," and so, notwithstanding Guy's proposal to "leave it
to Caleb," Sam got his grand Eagle feather as Axeman A1 of the Sanger
Indians.




XVIII

The Owls and The Night School


One night Sam was taking a last look at the stars before turning in. A
Horned Owl had been hooting not far away.

"_Hoo--hohoo-hoho--hoooooo_."

And as he looked, what should silently sail to the top of the medicine
pole stuck in the ground twenty yards away but the Owl.

"Yan! Yan! Give me my bow and arrow, quick. Here's a Cat-Owl--a
chicken stealer, he's fair game."

"He's only codding you, Yan," said Guy sleepily from his blanket. "I
wouldn't go."

But Yan rushed out with his own and Sam's weapons.

Sam fired at the great feathery creature, but evidently missed, for
the Owl spread its wings and sailed away.

"There goes my best arrow. That was my 'Sure-death.'"

"Pshaw!" growled Yan, as he noted the miss. "You can't shoot a little
bit."

But as they stood, there was a fluttering of broad wings, and there,
alighting as before on the medicine pole, was the Owl again.

"My turn now!" exclaimed Yan in a gaspy whisper.

He drew his bow, the arrow flew, and the Owl slipped off unharmed as
it had the first time.

"Yan, you're no good. An easy shot like that. Why, any idiot could hit
that. Why didn't you fetch her?"

"'Cause I'm not an idiot, I suppose. I hit the same place as you did,
anyway, and drew just as much blood."

"Ef he comes back again you call me," piped Guy in his shrill voice.
"I'll show you fellers how to shoot. You're no good at all 'thout me.
Why, I mind the time I was Deer-shooting----" but a fierce dash of the
whole Tribe for Sappy's bed put a stop to the reminiscent flow and
replaced it with whines of "Now you let me alone. I ain't doin'
nothin' to you."

During the night they were again awakened by the screech in the
tree-tops, and Yan, sitting up, said, "Say, boys, that's nothing but
that big Cat Owl."

"So it is," was Sam's answer; "wonder I didn't think of that before."

"I did," said Guy; "I knew it all the time."

In the morning they went out to find their arrows. The medicine pole
was a tall pole bearing a feathered shield, with the tribal totem, a
white Buffalo, which Yan had set up to be in Indian fashion. Sighting
in line from the teepee over this, they walked on, looking far beyond,
for they had learned always to draw the arrow to the head. They
had not gone twenty-five feet before Yan burst out in unutterable
astonishment: "Look! Look at that--and _that_------"

There on the ground not ten feet apart were two enormous Horned Owls,
both shot fairly through the heart, one with Sam's "Sure-death" arrow,
the other with Yan's "Whistler"; both shots had been true, and the
boys could only say, "Well, if you saw that in print you would say it
was a big lie!" It was indeed one of those amazing things which happen
only in real life, and the whole of the Tribe with one exception voted
a _grand coup_ to each of the hunters.

Guy was utterly contemptuous. "They got so close they hit by chance
an' didn't know they done it. If he had been shooting," etc., etc.,
etc.

"How about that screech in the tree-tops, Guy?"

"Errrrh."

What a fascination the naturalist always finds in a fine Bird. Yan
revelled in these two. He measured their extent of wing and the length
from beak to tail of each. He studied the pattern on their quills;
he was thrilled by their great yellow eyes and their long, powerful
claws, and he loved their every part. He hated to think that in a few
days these wonderful things would be disgusting and fit only to be
buried.

"I wish I knew hew to stuff them," he said.

"Why don't you get Si Lee to show you," was Sam's suggestion. "Seems
to me I often seen pictures of Injun medicine men with stuffed birds,"
he added shrewdly and happily.

"Well, that's just what I will do."

Then arose a knotty question. Should he go to Si Lee and thereby turn
"White" and break the charm of the Indian life, or should he attempt
the task of persuading Si to come down there to work without proper
conveniences. They voted to bring Si to camp. "Da might think we was
backing out." After all, the things needed were easily carried, and
Si, having been ambushed by a scout, consented to come and open a
night-school in taxidermy.

The tools and things that he brought were a bundle of tow made by
unravelling a piece of rope, some cotton wool, strong linen thread,
two long darning needles, arsenical soap worked up like cream,
corn-meal, some soft iron wire about size sixteen and some of
stovepipe size, a file, a pair of pliers, wire cutters, a sharp knife,
a pair of stout scissors, a gimlet, two ready-made wooden stands, and
last of all a good lamp. The boys hitherto had been content with the
firelight.

Thus in the forest teepee Yan had his first lesson in the art that was
to give him so much joy and some sorrow in the future.

Guy was interested, though scornful; Sam was much interested; Yan was
simply rapt, and Si Lee was in his glory. His rosy red cheeks and his
round figure swelled with pride; even his semi-nude head and fat,
fumbling fingers seemed to partake of his general elation and
importance.

First he stuffed the Owls' throats and wounds with cotton wool.

Then he took one, cut a slit from the back of the breast-bone nearly
to the tail (_A_ to _B_, Fig. 1), while Yan took the other and tried
faithfully to follow his example.

He worked the skin from the body chiefly by the use of his finger
nails, till he could reach the knee of each leg and cut this through
at the joint with the knife (_Kn,_ Fig. 1). The flesh was removed from
each leg-bone down to the heel-joint (_Hl, Hl_, Fig. 1), leaving the
leg and skin as in _Lg_, Figure 2. Then working back on each side of
the tail, he cut the "pope's nose" from the body and left it as part
of the skin, with the tail feathers in it, and this, Si explained, was
a hard place to get around. Sam called it "rounding Cape Horn." As the
flesh was exposed Si kept it powdered thickly with corn-meal, and this
saved the feathers from soiling.

Once around Cape Horn it was easy sailing. The skin was rapidly pushed
off till the wings were reached. These were cut off at the joint deep
in the breast (under _J J_, Fig. 1, or seen on the back, _W J_, Fig. 2),
the first bone of each wing was cleared of meat, and the skin, now
inside out and well mealed, was pushed off the neck up to the head.

Here Si explained that in most birds it would slip easily over the head,
but in Owls, Woodpeckers, Ducks and some others one had sometimes to
help it by a lengthwise slit on the nape (_Sn_, Fig. 2). "Owls is hard,
anyway," he went on, "though not so bad as Water-fowl. If ye want a real
easy bird for a starter, take a Robin or a Blackbird, or any land Bird
about that size except Woodpeckers."

When the ears were reached they were skinned and pulled out of the skull
without cutting, then, after the eyes were passed, the skin and body
looked as in Figure 2. Now the back of the head with the neck and body
was cut off (_Ct_, Fig. 2), and the first operation of the skinning was
done.

Yan got along fairly well, tearing and cutting the skin once or twice,
but learning very quickly to manage it.

Now began the cleaning of the skin.

The eyes were cut clean out and the brains and flesh carefully scraped
away from the skull.

The wing bones were already cleaned of meat down to the elbow joint,
where the big quill feathers began, and the rest of the wing had to
be cleared of flesh by cutting open the under side of the next joint
(_H_ to _El_, Fig. 1). The "pope's nose" and the skin generally was
freed from meat and grease by scraping with a knife and rubbing with
the meal.

Then came the poisoning. Every part of the bones and flesh had to be
painted with the creamy arsenical soap, then the head was worked back
into its place and the skin turned right side out.

When this was done it was quite late. Guy was asleep, Sam was nearly
so, and Yan was thoroughly tired out.

"Guess I'll go now," said Si. "Them skins is in good shape to keep,
only don't let them dry," so they were wrapped up in a damp sack and
put away in a tin till next night, when Si promised to return and
finish the course in one more lesson.

[Illustration: Owl-stuffing plate]


    OWL-STUFFING PLATE

    Fig. 1. The dead Owl, showing the cuts made in skinning it: A to
    B, for the body; El to H, on each wing, to remove the meat of the
    second joint.

    Fig. 2. After the skinning is done the skull remains attached to
    the skin, which is now inside out, the neck and body are cut off
    at Ct. Sn to Sn shows the slit in the nape needed for Owls and
    several other kinds.

    Fig. 3. Top view of the tow body, neck end up, and neck wire
    projecting.

    Fig. 4. Side view of the tow body, with the neck wire put through
    it; the tail end is downward.

    Fig. 5. The heavy iron wire for neck.

    Fig. 6. The Owl after the body is put in; it is now ready to close
    up, by stitching up the slit on the nape, the body slit B to C and
    the two wing slits El to H, on each wing.

    Fig. 7. A dummy as it _would look_ if all the feathers were
    off; this shows the proper position for legs and wings on the
    body. At W is a glimpse of the leg wire entering the body at the
    middle of the side.

    Fig. 8. Another view of the body without feathers; the dotted
    lines show the wires of the legs through the hard body, and the
    neck wire.

    Fig. 9. Two views of one of the wooden eyes; these are on a much
    larger scale than the rest of the figures in this plate.

    Fig. 10. The finished Owl, with the thread wrappings on and
    the wires still projecting; Nw is end of the neck wire; Bp is
    back-pin--that is, the wire in the center of the back; Ww and Ww
    are the wing wires; Tl are the cards pinned on the tail to hold it
    flat while it dries. The last operation is to remove the threads
    and cut all the wires off close so that the feathers hide what
    remains.


While they were so working Sam had busied himself opening the Owls'
stomachs--"looking up their records," as he called it. He now reported
that one had lynched a young Partridge and the other had killed a
Rabbit for its latest meal.

Next night Si Lee came as promised, but brought bad news. He had
failed to find the glass Owl eyes he had hoped were in his trunk. His
ingenuity, however, was of the kind that is never balked in a small
matter. He produced some black and yellow oil paints, explaining,
"Guess we'll make wooden eyes do for the present, an' when you get to
town you can put glass ones in their place." So Sam was set to work
whittling four wooden eyes the shape of well-raised buns and about
three-quarters of an inch across. When whittled, scraped and smooth,
Si painted them brilliant yellow with a central black spot and put
them away to dry (shown on a large scale on Owl Stuffing Plate, Fig. 9,
_a_ and _b_).

Meanwhile, he and Yan got out the two skins. The bloody feathers on
the breasts were washed clean in a cup of warm water, then dried with
cotton and dusted all over with meal to soak up any moisture left. The
leg and wing bones were now wrapped with as much tow as would take the
place of the removed meat. The eye sockets were partly filled with
cotton, then a long soft roll of tow about the length and thickness of
the original neck was worked up into the neck skin and into the skull
and left hanging. The ends of the two wing bones were fastened two
inches apart with a shackle of strong string (_X_, Fig. 2 and
Fig. 7). Now the body was needed.

For this Si rolled and lashed a wad of tow with strong thread until
he made a dummy of the same size and shape as the body taken out,
squeezing and sewing it into a hard solid mass. Next he cut about two
and a half feet of the large wire, filed both ends sharp, doubled
about four inches of one end back in a hook (Fig. 5), then drove the
long end through the tow body from the tail end out where the neck
should join on (Figs. 3 and 4). This was driven well in so that the
short end of the hook was buried out of sight. Now Si passed the
projecting ends of the long wire up the neck in the middle of the tow
roll or neck already there, worked it through the skull and out at the
top of the Owl's head, and got the tow body properly placed in the
skin with the string that bound the wing bones across the back
(_X_, Fig. 7).

Two heavy wires each eighteen inches long and sharp at one end were
needed for the legs. These were worked up one through the sole of
each foot under the skin of the leg behind (_Lw_, Fig. 6), then
through the tow body at the middle of the side (_W_, Fig. 7),
after which the sharp end was bent with pliers into a hook and driven
back into the hard body (after the manner of the neck wire, Fig. 4).

Another wire was sharpened and driven through the bones of the tail,
fastening that also to the tow body (_Tw_, Fig. 7).

Now a little soft tow was packed into places where it seemed needed
to fit the skin on, and it remained to sew up the opening below
(_Bc_ in Fig. 6), the wing slits (_El, H_, Fig. 6 and Fig.
1), and the slit in the nape (_Sn Sn_, Fig. 2) with half a dozen
stitches, always putting the needle into the skin from the flesh side.

The projecting wires of the feet were put through gimlet holes in the
perch and made firm, and Si's Owls were ready for their positions.
They were now the most ridiculous looking things imaginable, wings
floppy, heads hanging.

"Here is where the artist comes in," said Si proudly, conscious that
this was himself. He straightened up the main line of the body by
bending the leg wires and set the head right by hunching the neck into
the shoulders. "An Owl always looks over its shoulder," he explained,
but took no notice of Sam's query as to "whose shoulder he expected it
to look over." He set two toes of each foot forward on the perch and
two back to please Yan, who insisted that that was Owly, though Si
had his doubts. He spread the tail a little by pinning it between two
pieces of card (_Tl_, Fig. 10), gave it the proper slant, and now
had the wings to arrange.

They were drooping like those of a clucking hen. A sharp wire of the
small size was driven into the bend of each wing (_0_, Fig. 7),
nailing it in effect to the body (_Ww_ and _Ww_, Fig. 10). A long pin
was set in the middle of the back (_Bp_, Fig. 10), then using these
with the wing wires and head wire as lashing points, Si wrapped the
whole bird with the thread (Fig. 10), putting a wad of cotton here or
a bit of stick there under the wrapping till he had the position and
"feathering" perfect, as he put it.

"We can put in the eyes now," said he, "or later, if we soften
the skin around the eye-sockets by putting wet cotton in them for
twenty-four hours."

Yan had carefully copied Si's method with the second Owl, and
developed unusual quickness at it.

His teacher remarked, "Wall, I larned lots o' fellows to stuff birds,
but you ketch on the quickest I ever seen."

Si's ideas of perfection might differ from those of a trained
taxidermist; indeed, these same Owls afforded Yan no little amusement
in later years, but for the present they were an unmitigated joy.

They were just the same in position. Si knew only one; all his birds
had that. But when they had dried fully, had their wrappings removed,
the wires cut off flush and received the finishing glory of their
wooden eyes, they were a source of joy and wonder to the whole Tribe
of Indians.




XIX

The Trial of Grit


The boys had made war bonnets after the "really truly" Indian style
learned from Caleb. White Turkey tail-feathers and white Goose
wing-feathers dyed black at the tips made good Eagle feathers. Some
wisps of red-dyed horsehair from an old harness tassel; strips of red
flannel from an old shirt, and some scraps of sheepskin supplied the
remaining raw material. Caleb took an increasing interest, and helped
them not only to make the bonnet, but also to decide on what things
should count _coup_ and what _grand coup_. Sam had a number
of feathers for shooting, diving, "massacreeing the Whites," and his
grand tufted feathers for felling the pine and shooting the Cat-Owl.

Among other things, Yan had counted coup for trailing. The Deer hunt
had been made still more real by having the "Deer-boy" wear a pair of
sandals made from old boots; on the sole of each they put two lines
of hobnails in V shape, pointing forward. These made hooflike marks
wherever the Deer went. One of the difficulties with the corn was that
it gave no clue to the direction or doubling of the trail, but the
sandals met the trouble, and with a very little corn to help they had
an ideal trail. All became very expert, and could follow fast a very
slight track, but Yan continued the best, for what he lacked in
eyesight he more than made up in patience and observation. He already
had a _grand coup_ for finding and shooting the Deer in the heart,
that time, at first shot before the others came up even, and had won
six other _grand coups_--one for swimming 200 yards in five minutes,
one for walking four measured miles in one hour, one for running 100
yards in twelve seconds, one for knowing 100 wild plants, one for
knowing 100 birds, and the one for shooting the Horned Owl.

Guy had several good _coups_, chiefly for eyesight. He could see
"the papoose on the squaws back," and in the Deer hunt he had several
times won _coups_ that came near being called _grand coup_,
but so far fate was against him, and even old Caleb, who was partial
to him, could not fairly vote him a _grand coup_.

"What is it that the Injuns most likes in a man: I mean, what would
they druther have, Caleb?" asked Sappy one day, confidently expecting
to have his keen eyesight praised.

"Bravery," was the reply. "They don't care what a man is if he's
brave. That's their greatest thing--that is, if the feller has the
stuff to back it up. An' it ain't confined to Injuns; I tell you there
ain't anything that anybody goes on so much. Some men pretends to
think one thing the best of all, an' some another, but come right down
to it, what every man, woman an' child in the country loves an'
worships is pluck, clear grit, well backed up."

"_Well, I tell you_," said Guy, boiling up with enthusiasm at
this glorification of grit, "_I_ ain't scared o' nothin'."

"Wall, how'd you like to fight Yan there?"

"Oh, that ain't fair. He's older an' bigger'n I am."

"Say, Sappy, I'll give you one. Suppose you go to the orchard alone
an' get a pail of cherries. All the men'll be away at nine o'clock."

"Yes, and have old Cap chaw me up."

"Thought you weren't scared of anything, an' a poor little Dog smaller
than a yearling Heifer scares you."

"Well, I don't like cherries, anyhow."

"Here, now, Guy, I'll give you a real test. You see that stone?" and
Caleb held up a small round stone with a hole in it. "Now, you know
where old Garney is buried?"

Garney was a dissolute soldier who blew his head off, accidentally,
his friends claimed, and he was buried on what was supposed to be his
own land just north of Raften's, but it afterward proved to be part of
the highway where a sidepath joined in, and in spite of its diggers
the grave was at the _crossing of two roads_. Thus by the hand of
fate Bill Garney was stamped as a suicide.

The legend was that every time a wagon went over his head he must
groan, but unwilling to waste those outcries during the rumbling of
the wheels, he waited till midnight and rolled them out all together.
Anyone hearing should make a sympathetic reply or they would surely
suffer some dreadful fate. This was the legend that Caleb called up
to memory and made very impressive by being properly impressed
himself.

"Now," said he, "I am going to hide this stone just behind the rock
that marks the head of Garney's grave, an' I'll send you to git it
some night. Air ye game?"

"Y-e-s, I'll go," said the Third War Chief without visible enthusiasm.

"If he's so keen for it now, there'll be no holding him back when
night comes," remarked the Woodpecker.

"Remember, now," said Caleb, as he left them to return to his own
miserable shanty, "this is the chance to show what you're made of.
I'll tie a cord to the stone to make sure that you get it."

"We're just going to eat. Won't you stay and jine with us," called
Sam, but Caleb strode off without taking notice of the invitation.

In the middle of the night the boys were aroused by a man's voice
outside and the scratching of a stick on the canvas.

"Boys! Guy--Yan! Oh, Guy!"

"Hello! Who is it?"

"Caleb Clark! Say, Guy, it's about half-past eleven now. You have just
about time to go to Garney's grave by midnight an' get that stone,
and if you can't find the exact spot _you listen for the groaning
_--_that'll guide you_."

This cheerful information was given in a hoarse whisper that somehow
conveyed the idea that the old man was as scared as he could be.

"I--I--I--" stammered Guy, "I can't see the way."

"This is the chance of your life, boy. You get that stone and you'll
get a _grand coup_ feather, top honours fur grit. I'll wait here
till you come back."

"I--I--can't find the blamed old thing on such a dark night.
I--I--ain't goin'."

"Errr--you're scared," whispered Caleb.

"I ain't scared, on'y what's the use of goin' when I couldn't find the
place? I'll go when it's moonlight."

"Err--anybody here brave enough to go after that stone?"

"I'll go," said the other two at the same time, though with a certain
air of "But I hope I don't have to, all the same."

"You kin have the honour, Yan," said the Woodpecker, with evident
relief.

"Of course, I'd like the chance--but--but--I don't want to push ahead
of you--you're the oldest; that wouldn't be square," was the reply.

"Guess we'd better draw straws for it."

So Sam sought a long straw while Yan stirred up the coals to a blaze.
The long straw was broken in two unequal pieces and hidden in Sam's
hand. Then after shuffling he held it toward Yan, showing only the
two tips, and said, "Longest straw takes the job." Yan knew from old
experience that a common trick was to let the shortest straw stick out
farthest, so he took the other, drew it slowly out and out--it seemed
endless. Sam opened his hand and showed that the short straw remained,
then added with evident relief: "You got it. You are the luckiest
feller I ever did see. Everything comes your way."

If there had been any loophole Yan would have taken it, but it was
now clearly his duty to go for that stone. It was pride rather than
courage that carried him through. He dressed quietly and nervously;
his hands trembled a little as he laced his shoes. Caleb waited
outside when he heard that it was Yan who was going. He braced him up
by telling him: "You're the stuff. I jest love to see grit. I'll
go with you to the edge of the woods--'twouldn't be fair to go
farther--and wait there till you come back. It's easy to find. Go four
panels of fence past the little Elm, then right across on the other
side of the road is the big stone. Well, on the side next the north
fence you'll find the ring pebble. The coord is lying kind o' cross
the big white stone, so you'll find it easy; and here, take this
chalk; if your grit gives out, you mark on the fence how far you did
get, but don't you worry about that groaning--it's nothing but a
yarn--don't be scairt."

"I am afraid I am scared, but still I'll go."

"That's right," said the Trapper with emphasis. "Bravery ain't so much
not being scairt as going ahead when you are scairt, showing that you
kin boss your fears."

So they talked till they struck out of the gloom of the trees to the
comparative light of the open field.

"It's just fifteen minutes to midnight," said Caleb, looking at his
watch with the light of a match, "You'll make it easy. I'll wait
here."

Then Yan went on alone.

It was a somber night, but he felt his way along the field fence to
the line fence and climbed that into the road that was visible as a
less intense darkness on the black darkness of the grass. Yan walked
on up the middle cautiously. His heart beat violently and his hands
were cold. It was a still night, and once or twice little mousey
sounds in the fence corner made him start, but he pushed on. Suddenly
in the blackness to the right of the road he heard a loud "whisk,"
then he caught sight of a white thing that chilled his blood. It was
the shape of a man wrapped in white, but lacked a head, just as the
story had it. Yan stood frozen to the ground. Then his intellect came
to the rescue of his trembling body. "What nonsense! It must be a
white stone." But no, it moved. Yan had a big stick in his hand. He
shouted: "Sh, sh, sh!" Again the "corpse" moved. Yan groped on the
road for some stones and sent one straight at the "white thing." He
heard a "whooff" and a rush. The "white thing" sprang up and ran past
him with a clatter that told him he had been scared by Granny de
Neuville's white-faced cow. At first the reaction made him weak at the
knees, but that gave way to a better feeling. If a harmless old Cow
could lie out there all night, why should he fear? He went on more
quietly till he neared the rise in the road. He should soon see the
little Elm. He kept to the left of the highway and peered into the
gloom, going more slowly. He was not so near as he had supposed, and
the tension of the early part of the expedition was coming back more
than ever. He wondered if he had not passed the Elm--should he go
back? But no, he could not bear the idea; that would mean retreat.
Anyhow, he would put his chalk mark here to show how far he did get.
He sneaked cautiously toward the fence to make it, then to his relief
made out the Elm not twenty-five feet away. Once at the tree, he
counted off the four panels westward and knew that he was opposite the
grave of the suicide. It must now be nearly midnight. He thought he
heard sounds not far away, and there across the road he saw a whitish
thing--the headstone. He was greatly agitated as he crawled quietly as
possible toward it. Why quietly he did not know. He stumbled through
the mud of the shallow ditch at each side, reached the white stone,
and groped with clammy, cold hands over the surface for the string. If
Caleb had put it there it was gone now. So he took his chalk and wrote
on the stone "Yan."

Oh, what a scraping that chalk made! He searched about with his
fingers around the big boulder. Yes, there it was; the wind, no doubt,
had blown it off. He pulled it toward him. The pebble was drawn across
the boulder with another and louder rasping that sounded fearfully
in the night. Then at once a gasp, a scuffle, a rush, a splash of
something in mud, or water--horrible sounds of a being choking,
strangling or trying to speak. For a moment Yan sank down in terror.
His lips refused to move. But the remembrance of the cow came to help
him. He got up and ran down the road as fast as he could go, a cold
sweat on him. He ran so blindly he almost ran into a man who shouted
"Ho, Yan; is that you?" It was Caleb coming to meet him. Yan could
not speak. He was trembling so violently that he had to cling to the
Trapper's arm.

"What was it, boy? I heard it, but what was it?"

"I--I--don't know," he gasped; "only it was at the g-g-grave."

"Gosh! I heard it, all right," and Caleb showed no little uneasiness,
but added, "We'll be back in camp in ten minutes."

He took Yan's trembling hand and led him for a little while, but he
was all right when he came to the blazed trail. Caleb stepped ahead,
groping in the darkness.

Yan now found voice to say, "I got the stone all right, and I wrote my
name on the grave, too."

"Good boy! You're the stuff!" was the admiring response.

They were very glad to see that there was a fire in the teepee
when they drew near. At the edge of the clearing they gave a loud
"_O-hoo_--_O-hoo_--O-hoo-oo," the Owl cry that they had
adopted because it is commonly used by the Indians as a night signal,
and they got the same in reply from within.

"All right," shouted Caleb; "he done it, an' he's bully good stuff and
gets an uncommon _grand coup_."

"Wish I had gone now," said Guy. "I could 'a' done it just as well as
Yan."

"Well, go on now."

"Oh, there ain't any stone to get now for proof."

"You can write your name on the grave, as I did."

"Ah, that wouldn't prove nothin'," and Guy dropped the subject.

Yan did not mean to tell his adventure that night, but his excitement
was evident, and they soon got it out of him in full. They were
a weird-looking crowd as they sat around the flickering fire,
experiencing as he told it no small measure of the scare he had just
been through.

When he had finished Yan said, "Now, Guy, don't you want to go and try
it?"

"Oh, quit," said Guy; "I never saw such a feller as you for yammering
away on the same subjek."

Caleb looked at his watch now, as though about to leave, when Yan
said:

"Say, Mr. Clark, won't you sleep here? There's lots o' room in Guy's
bed."

"Don't mind if I do, seem' it's late."




XX

The White Revolver


In the morning Caleb had the satisfaction of eating a breakfast
prepared by the son of his enemy, for Sam was cook that day.

The Great Woodpecker expressed the thought of the whole assembly when
after breakfast he said: "Now I want to go and see that grave. I
believe Yan wrote his name on some old cow that was lying down and she
didn't like it and said so out loud!"

They arrived at the spot in a few minutes. Yes, there it was
plainly written on the rude gravestone, rather shaky, but perfectly
legible--"Yan."

"Pretty poor writing," was Guy's remark.

"Well, you sure done it! Good boy!" said Sam warmly. "Don't believe
I'd 'a' had the grit."

"Bet I would," said Guy.

"Here's where I crossed the ditch. See my trail in the mud? Out there
is where I heard the yelling. Let's see if ghosts make tracks. Hallo,
what the--"

There were the tracks in the mud of a big man. He had sprawled,
falling on his hands and knees. Here was the print of his hands
several times, and in the mud, half hidden, something shining--Guy saw
it first and picked it up. It was a white-handled Colt's revolver.

"Let's see that," said Caleb. He wiped off the mud. His eye kindled.
"That's my revolver that was stole from me 'way back, time I lost my
clothes and money." He looked it over and, glancing about, seemed lost
in thought. "This beats me!" He shook his head and muttered from time
to time, "This beats me!" There seemed nothing more of interest to
see, so the boys turned homeward.

On the way back Caleb was evidently thinking hard. He walked in
silence till they got opposite Granny de Neuville's shanty, which was
the nearest one to the grave. At the gate he turned and said: "Guess
I'm going in here. Say, Yan, you didn't do any of that hollering last
night, did you?"

"No, sir; not a word. The only sound I made was dragging the
ring-stone over the boulder."

"Well, I'll see you at camp," he said, and turned in to Granny's.

"The tap o' the marnin' to ye, an' may yer sowl rest in pace," was the
cheery old woman's greeting. "Come in--come in, Caleb, an' set down.
An' how is Saryann an' Dick?"

"They seem happy an' prosperin'," said the old man with bitterness.
"Say, Granny, did you ever hear the story about Garney's grave out
there on the road?"

"For the love av goodness, an' how is it yer after askin' me that now?
Sure an' I heard the story many a time, an' I'm after hearin' the
ghost last night, an' it's a-shiverin' yit Oi am."

"What did you hear, Granny?"

"Och, an' it was the most divilish yells iver let out av a soul in
hell. Shure the Dog and the Cat both av thim was scairt, and the owld
white-faced cow come a-runnin' an' jumped the bars to get aff av the
road."

Here was what Caleb wanted, and he kept her going by his evident
interest. After she tired of providing more realistic details of
the night's uproar, Caleb deliberately tapped another vintage of
tittle-tattle in hope of further information leaking out.