Blue Beech
"What, like a fire-lighter?"
"Yis, yis, that's it, only bigger, an Blue Baitche is terrible tough. Then whin he has the sthick down to 'bout an inch thick, he ties all the slivers the wrong way wid a sthrand o' Litherwood, an' thrims down the han'el to suit, an' evens up the ind av the broom wid the axe an' lets it dhry out, an' thayer yer207is. Better broom was niver made, an' there niver wus ony other in th' famb'ly till he married that Kitty Connor, the lowest av the low, an' it's meself was all agin her, wid her proide an' her dirthy sthuck-up ways' nothin' but boughten things wuz good enough fur her,herthat niver had a dacint male till she thrapped moi Larry. Yis, low be it sphoken, but 'thrapped' 's the wurrud," said the old woman, raising her voice to give emphasis that told a lurid tale.
At this moment the door opened and in came Biddy, and as she was the daughter of the unspeakable Kitty the conversation turned.
"An' sure it's glad to see ye I am, an' when are ye comin' down to reside at our place?" was her greeting to Yan, and while they talked Granny took advantage of the chance to take a long pull at a bottle that looked and smelled like Lung-balm.
"Moi, Biddy, yer airly," said Granny.
"Shure, an' now it was late whin I left home, an' the schulmaster says it's always so walking from ayst to west."
"An' shure it's glad Oi am to say ye, fur Yan will shtop an ate wid us. It ain't duck an' grane pase, but, thank God, we hev enough an' a hearty welcome wid ivery boite. Ye say, Biddy makes me dinner ivery foine day an' Oi get a boite an' a sup for meself other toimes, an' slapes be me lone furby me Dog an' Cat an' the apples, which thayer ain't but a handful left, but fwhat thar is is yourn. Help yerself, choild, an' ate hearty," and she turned down the208gray-looking bedclothes to show the last half-dozen of the same rosy apples.
"Aint you afraid to sleep here alone nights, Granny?"
"Shure fwhat hev Oi to fayre? Thayer niver wuz robbers come but wanst, an' shure I got theyer last cint aff av them. They come one night an' broke in, an' settin' up, Oi sez, 'Now fwhatareyez lukin' fur?'
"'Money,' sez they, fur thayer was talk all round thin that Oi had sold me cow fur $25.
"'Sure, thin, Oi'll get up an' help ye,' sez Oi, fur divil a cint hev Oi been able to set me eyes on sense apple harvest.'"
'"We want $25, or we'll kill ye.'
"'Faith, an' if it wuz twenty-five cints Oi couldn't help it,' sez Oi, 'an' it's ready to die Oi am,' sez Oi, 'fur Oi was confessed last wake an' Oi'm a-sayin' me prayersthisminit.'
"Sez the littlest wan, an' he wa'n't so little, nigh as br'ad as that dooer, 'Hevn't ye sold yer cow?'
"'Ye'll foind her in the barrun,' sez Oi, 'though Oi hate to hev yez disturb her slapin'. It makes her drame an' that's bad fur the milk.'
"An' next thing them two robbers wuz laffin' at each other fur fools. Then the little wan sez:
"'Now, Granny, we'll lave ye in pace, if ye'll niver say a wurrud o' this'—but the other wan seemed kind o' sulky.
209"'Sorra a wurrud,' sez Oi, 'an' good frinds we'll be yit,' an' they wuz makin' fur the dooer to clayer out whin I sez:
"'Howld on! Me friends can't lave me house an' naither boite nor sup; turn yer backs an' ye plaze, till Oi get on me skirt.' An' whin Oi wuz up an' dacint an' tould them they could luk, Oi sez, 'It's the foinest Lung balm in the land ye shall taste,' an' the littlest feller he starts a-coughin', oh, a turrible cough—it fair scairt me, like a hoopin' croup—an' the other seemed just mad, and the littlest wan made fun av him. Oi seen the mean wan wuz left-handed or let on he wuz, but when he reached out fur the bottle he had on'y three fingers on his right, an' they both av them had the biggest, blackest, awfulest lukin' bairds—I'd know them two bairds agin ony place—an' the littlest had a rag round his head, said he had a toothache, but shure yer teeth don't ache in the roots o' yer haiyer. Then when they wuz goin' the littlest wan put a dollar in me hand an' sez, 'It's all we got bechuxst us, Granny.' 'Godbless ye,' sez Oi, 'an' Oi take it kindly. It's the first Oi seen sense apple harvest, an' it's a friend ye hev in me whin ye nade wan,'" and the old woman chuckled over her victory.
"Granny, do you know what the Indians use for dyeing colours?" asked Yan, harking back to his main purpose.
"Shure, Yahn, they jest goes to the store an' gets boughten dyes in packages like we do."
210"But before there were boughten dyes, didn't they use things in the woods?"
"That they did, for shure. Iverything man iver naded the good Lord made grow fur him in the woods."
"Yes, but what plants?"
"Faix, an' they differ fur different things."
"Yes, but what are they?" Then seeing how general questions failed, he went at it in detail.
"What do they use for yellow dye on the Porcupine quills—I mean before the boughten dyes came?"
"Well, shure an' that's a purty yellow flower that grows in the fall out in the field an' along the fences. The Yaller Weed, I call it, an' some calls it Goldenrod. They bile the quills in wather with the flower. Luk! Thar's some wool dyed that way."
"An' the red?" said Yan, scribbling away.
"Faix, an' they had no rale good red. They made a koind o' red o' berry juice b'iled, an' wanst I seen a turrible nice red an ol' squaw made b'ilin' the quills fust in yaller awhile an' next awhile in red."
"What berries make the best red, Granny?"
"Well, 'tain't the red wans, as ye moight think. Ye kin make it of Rosberries or Sumac or Huckleberries an' lots more, but Black Currants is redder than Red Currants, an' Squaw berries is best av them all."
"What are they like?"
"Shure, an' Oi'll show ye that same hairb," and they wandered around outside the shanty in vain search. "It's too airly," said Granny, "but it's211round thayer in heaps in August an' is the purtiest red iver grew. 'An Pokeweed, too, it ain't har'ly flowerin' yit, but in the fall it hez berries that's so red they're nigh black, an' dyes the purtiest kind o' a purple."
"What makes blue?"
"Oi niver sane none in the quills. Thayer may be some. The good Lord made iverything grow in the woods, but I ain't found it an' niver seen none. Ye kin make a grane av the young shoots av Elder, but it ain't purty like that," and she pointed to a frightful emerald ribbon that Biddy wore, "an' a brown of Butternut bark, an' a black av White Oak chips an' bark. Ye kin make a kind o' grane av two dips, wan of yaller an wan av black. Ye kin dye black wid Hickory bark, an' orange (bad scran to it) wid the inner bark of Birch, an' yaller wid the roots av Hoop Ash, an' a foine scarlet from the bark av the little root av Dogwood, but there ain't no rale blue in the woods, an' that's what I tell them orange-an'-blue Prattisons on the 12th o' July, fur what the Lord didn't make the divil did.
"Ye kin make a koind of blue out o' the Indigo hairb, but 'tain't like this," pointing to some screaming cobalt, "an' if it ain't in the woods the good Lord niver meant us to have it. Yis! I tell ye it's the divil's own colour, that blue-orange an' blue is the divil's own colours, shure enough, fur brimstone's yaller; an' its blue whin it's burnin', that I hed from his riv'rince himself—bless him!"Pokeweed
Saxifrage
212
Biddy meanwhile had waddled around the room slapping the boards with her broad bare feet as she prepared their dinner. She was evidently trying to put on style, for she turned out her toes excessively. She spoke several times about "the toime when she resoided with yer mamma," then at length, "Whayer's the tablecloth, Granny?"
"Now, wud ye listen to thot, an' she knowin' that divil a clath hev we in the wurruld, an' glad enough to hev vittles on the table, let alone a clath," said Granny, oblivious of the wreck she was making of Biddy's pride.
"Will ye hay tay or coffee, Yahn?" said Biddy.
"Tea," was Yan's choice.
"Faix, an' Oi'm glad ye said tay, fur Oi ain' seen a pick o' coffee sense Christmas, an' the tay Oi kin git in the woods, but thayer is somethin' Oi kin set afore ye that don't grow in the woods," and the old woman hobbled to a corner shelf, lifted down an old cigar box and from among matches, tobacco, feathers, tacks, pins, thread and dust she picked six lumps of cube sugar, formerly white.
"Thayer, shure, an' Oi wuz kapin' this fur whin his riv'rence comes; wanst a year he's here, God bless213him! but that's fower wakes ahid, an' dear knows fwhat may happen afore thin. Here, an' a hearty welcome," said she, dropping three of the lumps in Yan's tea. "We'll kape the rest fur yer second cup. Hev some crame?" and she pushed over a sticky-handled shaving-mug full of excellent cream. "Biddy, give Yahn some bread."
The loaf, evidently the only one, was cut up and two or three slices forced into Yan's plate.
"Mebbe the butther is a little hoigh," exclaimed the hostess, noting that Yan was sparing of it. "Howld on." She went again to the corner shelf and got down an old glass jar with scalloped edge and a flat tin cover. It evidently contained jam. She lifted the cover and exclaimed:
"Well, Oi niver!" Then going to the door she fished out with her fingers a dead mouse and threw it out, remarking placidly, "Oi've wondered whayer the little divil wuz. Oi ain't sane him this two wakes, an' me a-thinkin' it wuz Tom ate him. May Oi be furgiven the onjustice av it. Consarn them flies! That cover niver did fit." And again her finger was employed, this time to scrape off an incrustation of unhappy flies that had died, like Clarence, in their favourite beverage.
"Thayer, Yan, now ate hearty, all av it, an' welcome. It does me good to see ye ate—thayer's lots more whayer that come from," though it was obvious that she had put her all upon the table.
214Poor Yan was in trouble. He felt instinctively that the good old soul was wrecking her week's resources in this lavish hospitality, but he also felt that she would be deeply hurt if he did not appear to enjoy everything. The one possibly clean thing was the bread. He devoted himself to that; it was of poorest quality; one or two hairs looping in his teeth had been discouraging, but when he bit at a piece of linen rag with a button on it he was fairly upset. He managed to hide the rag, but could not conceal his sudden loss of appetite.
"Hev some more av this an' this," and in spite of himself his plate was piled up with things for him to eat, including a lot of beautifully boiled potatoes, but unfortunately the hostess carried them from the pot on the stove in a corner of her ancient and somber apron, and served him with her skinny paw.
Yan's appetite was wholly gone now, to the grief of his kind entertainer, "Shure an' she'd fix him up something to stringthen him," and Yan had hard work to beg off.
"Would ye like an aig," ventured Biddy.
"Why, yes! oh, yes, please," exclaimed Yan, with almost too much enthusiasm. He thought, "Well, hens are pure-minded creatures, anyway. An egg's sure to be clean."
Biddy waddled away to the 'barrun' and soon reappeared with three eggs.
"B'iled or fried?"
"Boiled," said Yan, aiming to keep to the safe side.
215Biddy looked around for a pot.
"Shure,that'sb'ilin' now," said Granny, pointing to the great mass of her undergarments seething in the boiler, and accordingly the eggs were dropped in there.
Yan fervently prayed that they might not break. As it was, two did crack open, but he got the other one, and that was virtually his dinner.
A Purple Blackbird came hopping in the door now.
"Will, now, thayer's Jack. Whayer hev ye been? I thought ye wuz gone fur good. Shure Oi saved him from a murtherin' gunner," she explained. "(Bad scran to the baste! I belave he was an Or'ngeman.) But he's all right now an' comes an' goes like he owned the place. Now, Jack, you git out av that wather pail," as the beautiful bird leaped into the half-filled drinking bucket and began to take a bath.
"Now luk at that," she shouted, "ye little rascal, come out o' that oven," for now the Blackbird had taken advantage of the open door to scramble into the dark warm oven.
"Thayer he goes to warrum his futs. Oh, ye little rascal! Next thing ye know some one'll slam the dooer, not knowin' a thing, and fire up, an' it's roastin' aloive ye'll be. Shure an' it's tempted Oi am to wring yer purty neck to save yer loife," and she drove him out with the harshest of words and the gentlest of hands.
Then Yan, with his arms full of labelled plants, set out for home.
216"Good-boi, choild, come back agin and say me soon. Bring some more hairbs. Good-boi, an' bless ye. Oi hope it's no sin to say so, fur Oi know yer a Prattison an' ye are all on yez goin' to hell, but yer a foine bhoy. Oi'm tumble sorry yer a Prattison."
When Yan got back to the Raftens' he found the dinner table set for one, though it was now three in the afternoon.
"Come and get your dinner," said Mrs. Raften in her quiet motherly way. "I'll put on the steak. It will be ready in five minutes."
"But I've had my dinner with Granny de Neuville."
"Yes, I know!"
"Did she stir yer tea with one front claw an' put jam on yer bread with the other?" asked Raften, rather coarsely.
"Did she b'ile her pet Blackbird fur yer soup?" said Sam.
Yan turned very red. Evidently all had a good idea of what he had experienced, but it jarred on him to hear their mockery of the good old soul.
He replied warmly, "She was just as kind and nice as she could be."
"You had better have a steak now," said Mrs. Raften, in solicitous doubt.
How tempting was the thought of that juicy brown steak! How his empty stomach did crave it! But the continued mockery had stirred him. He would stand up for the warm-hearted old woman who had ungrudgingly given him the best she had—had given her all—to make a hearty welcome for a stranger.217They should never know how gladly he would have eaten now, and in loyalty to his recent hostess he added the first lie of his life:
"No, thank you very much, but really I am not in the least hungry. I had a fine dinner at Granny de Neuville's."
Then, defying the inner pangs of emptiness, he went about his evening chores.
Black or Blue Birch
218
"Wonder where Caleb got that big piece of Birch bark," said Yan; "I'd like some for dishes."
"Guess I know. He was over to Burns's bush. There's none in ours. We kin git some."
Mahogany or Silver Birch
"Will you ask him?"
"Naw, who cares for an old Birch tree. We'll go an' borrow it when he ain't lookin'."
Yan hesitated.
Sam took the axe. "We'll call this a war party into the enemy's country. There's sure 'nuff war that-a-way. He's one of Da's 'friends.'"
Yan followed, in doubt still as to the strict honesty of the proceeding.
Over the line they soon found a good-sized canoe Birch, and were busy whacking away to get off a long roll, when a tall man and a small boy, apparently attracted by the chopping, came in sight and made toward them. Sam called under his breath: "It's old Burns. Let's git."
There was no time to save anything but themselves and the axe. They ran for the boundary fence, while Burns contented himself with shouting out threats and denunciations. Not that he cared a straw for the Birch tree—timber had no value in that country—but219unfortunately Raften had quarrelled with all his immediate neighbours, therefore Burns did his best to make a fearful crime of the petty depredation.
His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, came near enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets.
"Red-head—red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gits hol' o' you—Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and others equally galling and even more exquisitely refined.
"War party escaped and saved their scalps," and Sam placidly laid the axe in its usual place.
"Nothing lost but honour," added Yan. "Who's the kid?"
1st Prize Guy Burns
"Oh, that's Guy Burns. I know him. He's a mean little cuss, always sneaking and peeking. Lies like sixty. Got the prize—a big scrubbing-brush—for being the dirtiest boy in school. We all voted, and the teacher gave it to him."
Next day the boys made another war party for Birch bark, but had hardly begun operations when there was an uproar not far away, and a voice, evidently of a small boy, mouthing it largely, trying to pass itself off as a man's voice: "Hi, yer the —— ——. Yer git off my —— —— place —— ——"
"Le's capture the little cuss, Yan."
"An' burn him at the stake with horrid torture," was the rejoinder.
They set out in his direction, but again the appearance of Burns changed their war-party onslaught into220a rapid retreat.
(More opprobrium.)
During the days that followed the boys were often close to the boundary, but it happened that Burns was working near and Guy had the quickest of eyes and ears. The little rat seemed ever on the alert. He soon showed by his long-distance remarks that he knew all about the boys' pursuits—had doubtless visited the camp in their absence. Several times they saw him watching them with intense interest when they were practising with bow and arrow, but he always retreated to a safe distance when discovered, and then enjoyed himself breathing out fire and slaughter.
One day the boys came to the camp at an unusual hour. On going into a near thicket Yan saw a bare foot under some foliage. "Hallo, what's this?" He stooped down and found a leg to it and at the end of that Guy Burns.
Up Guy jumped, yelling "Paw—Paw—PAW!" He ran for his life, the Indians uttering blood-curdlers on his track. But Yan was a runner, and Guy's podgy legs, even winged by fear, had no chance. He was seized and dragged howling back to the camp.
"You let me alone, you Sam Raften—now you let me alone!" There was, however, a striking lack of opprobrium in his remarks now. (Such delicacy is highly commendable in the very young.)
"First thing is to secure the prisoner, Yan."
221Sam produced a cord.
"Pooh," said Yan. "You've got no style about you. Bring me some Leatherwood."
This was at hand, and in spite of howls and scuffles, Guy was solemnly tied to a tree—a green one—because, as Yan pointed out, that would resist the fire better.
The two Warriors now squatted cross-legged by the fire. The older one lighted a peace-pipe, and they proceeded to discuss the fate of the unhappy captive.
"Brother," said Yan, with stately gestures, "it is very pleasant to hear the howls of this miserable paleface." (It was really getting to be more than they could endure.)
"Ugh—heap good," said the Woodpecker.
"Ye better let me alone. My Paw'll fix you for this, you dirty cowards," wailed the prisoner, fast losing control of his tongue.
"Ugh! Take um scalp first, burn him after," and Little Beaver made some expressive signs.
"Wah—bully—me heap wicked," rejoined the Woodpecker, expectorating on a stone and beginning to whet his jack-knife.
The keen and suggestive "weet, weet, weet" of the knife on the stone smote on Guy's ears and nerves with appalling effect.
"Brother Woodpecker, the spirit of our tribe calls out for the blood of the victim—all of it."
"Great Chief Woodpecker, you mean," said Sam, aside. "If you don't call me Chief, I won't call you222Chief, that's all."
The Great Woodpecker and Little Beaver now entered the teepee, repainted each other's faces, adjusted their head-dresses and stepped out to the execution.
The Woodpecker re-whetted his knife. It did not need it, but he liked the sound.
Little Beaver now carried a lot of light firewood and arranged it in front of the prisoner, but Guy's legs were free and he gave it a kick which sent it all flying. The two War-chiefs leaped aside. "Ugh! Heap sassy," said the ferocious Woodpecker. "Tie him legs, oh, Brother Great Chief Little Beaver!"
A new bark strip tied his legs securely to the tree. Then Chief Woodpecker approached with his knife and said:
"Great Brother Chief Little Beaver, if we scalp him there is only one scalp, andyouwill have nothing to show, except you're content with the wishbone."
Here was a difficulty, artificial yet real, but Yan suggested:
"Great Brother Chief Red-headed-Woodpecker-Settin'-on-a-Stump-with-his-Tail-Waggling-over-the Edge, no scalp him; skin his hull head, then each take half skin."
"Wah! Very good, oh Brother Big-Injun-Chief Great-Little-Beaver-Chaw-a-Tree-Down."
223
Ugh! Heap sassy!
Then the Woodpecker got a piece of charcoal and proceeded in horrid gravity to mark out on the tow hair of the prisoner just what he considered a fair225division. Little Beaver objected that he was entitled to an ear and half of the crown, which is the essential part of the scalp. The Woodpecker pointed out that fortunately the prisoner had a cow-lick that was practically a second crown. This ought to do perfectly well for the younger Chief's share. The charcoal lines were dusted off for a try-over. Both Chiefs got charcoal now and a new sketch plan was made on Guy's tow top and corrected till it was accepted by both.
The victim had really never lost heart till now. His flow of threats and epithets had been continuous and somewhat tedious. He had threatened to tell his "paw" and "the teacher," and all the world, but finally he threatened to tell Mr. Raften. This was the nearest to a home thrust of any yet, and in some uneasiness the Woodpecker turned to Little Beaver and said:
"Brother Chief, do you comprehend the language of the blithering Paleface? What does he say?"
"Ugh, I know not," was the reply. "Maybe he now singeth a death song in his own tongue."
Guy was not without pluck. He had kept up heart so far believing that the boys were "foolin'," but when he felt the awful charcoal line drawn to divide his scalp satisfactorily between these two inhuman, painted monsters, and when with a final "weet, weet, weet" of the knife on the stone the implacable Woodpecker approached and grabbed his tow locks in one hand, then he broke down and wept bitterly.
226"Oh, please don't——Oh, Paw! Oh, Maw! Let me go this time an' I'll never do it again." What he would not do was not specified, but the evidence of surrender was complete.
"Hold on, Great Brother Chief," said Little Beaver. "It is the custom of the tribes to release or even to adopt such prisoners as have shown notable fortitude."
"Showed fortitude enough for six if it's the same thing as yellin'," said the Woodpecker, dropping into his own vernacular.
"Let us cut his bonds so that he may escape to his own people."
"Thar'd be more style to it if we left him thar overnight an' found next mornin' he had escaped somehow by himself," said the older Chief. The victim noted the improvement in his situation and now promised amid sobs to get them all the Birch bark they wanted—to do anything, if they would let him go. He would even steal for them the choicest products of his father's orchard.
Little Beaver drew his knife and cut bond after bond.
Woodpecker got his bow and arrow, remarking "Ugh, heap fun shoot him runnin'."
The last bark strip was cut. Guy needed no urging. He ran for the boundary fence in silence till he got over; then finding himself safe and unpursued, he rilled the air with threats and execrations. No part of his statement would do to print here.
After such a harrowing experience most boys would have avoided that swamp, but Guy knew Sam at227school as a good-natured fellow. He began to think he had been unduly scared. He was impelled by several motives, a burning curiosity being, perhaps the most important. The result was that one day when the boys came to camp they saw Guy sneaking off. It was fun to capture him and drag him back. He was very sullen, and not so noisy as the other time, evidently less scared. The Chiefs talked of fire and torture and of ducking him in the pond without getting much response. Then they began to cross-examineGyascutusthe prisoner. He gave no answer. Why did he come to the camp? What was he doing—stealing? etc. He only looked sullen.
"Let's blindfold him and drive a Gyascutus down his back," said Yan in a hollow voice.
"Good idee," agreed Sam, not knowing any more than the prisoner what a Gyascutus was. Then he added, "just as well be merciful. It'll put him out o' pain."
It is the unknown that terrifies. The prisoner's soul was touched again. His mouth was trembling at the corners. He was breaking down when Yan followed it up: "Then why don't you tell us what you are doing here?"
He blubbered out, "I want to play Injun, too."
The boys broke down in another way. They had not had time to paint their faces, so that their expressions were very clear on this occasion.
Then Little Beaver arose and addressed the Council.
228"Great Chiefs of the Sanger Nation: The last time we tortured and burned to death this prisoner, he created quite an impression. Never before has one of our prisoners shown so many different kinds of gifts. I vote to receive him into the Tribe."
The Woodpecker now arose and spoke:
"O wisest Chief but one in this Tribe, that's all right enough, but you know that no warrior can join us without first showing that he's good stuff and clear grit, all wool, and a cut above the average somehow. It hain't never been so. Now he's got to lick some Warrior of the Tribe. Kin you do that?"
"Nope."
"Or outrun one or outshoot him or something—or give us all a present. What kin you do?"
"I kin steal watermillyons, an' I kin see farder 'n any boy in school, an' I kin sneak to beat all creation. I watched you fellers lots of times from them bushes. I watched you buildin' that thar dam.I swum in it 'fore you did, an' I uster set an' smoke in your teepee when you wasn't thar, an' I heerd you talk the time you was fixin' up to steal our Birch bark."
"Don't seem to me like it all proves muchfortitude. Have you got any presents for the oldest head Chief of the tribe?"
"I'll get you all the Birch bark you want. I can't git what you cut, coz me an' Paw burned that so you couldn't git it, but I'll git you lots more, an' maybe—I'll steal you a chicken once in awhile."
"His intentions are evidently honourable Let's take him in on sufferance," said Yan.
229"All right," replied the head Chief, "he kin come in, but that don't spile my claim to that left half of his scalp down to that tuft of yellow moss on the scruff of his neck where the collar has wore off the dirt. I'm liable to call for it any time, an' the ear goes with it."
Guy wanted to treat this as a joke, but Sam's glittering eyes and inscrutable face were centered hungrily on that "yaller tuft" in a way that gave him the "creeps" again.
"Say, Yan—I mean Great Little Beaver—you know all about it, what kind o' stunts did they have to do to get into an Injun tribe, anyhow?"
"Different tribes do different ways, but the Sun Dance and the Fire Test are the most respectable and bothterribly hard."
"Well, what didyoudo?" queried the Great Woodpecker.
"Both," said Yan grinning, as he remembered his sunburnt arms and shoulders.
"Quite sure?" said the older Chief in a tone of doubt.
"Yes, sir; and I bore it so well that every one there agreed that I was the best one in the Tribe," said Little Beaver, omitting to mention the fact that he was the only one in it. "I was unanimously named 'Howling Sunrise.'"
"Well, I want to be 'Howling Sunrise,'" piped Guy in his shrill voice.
"You? You don't know whether you can pass at all, you Yaller Mossback."
230"Come, Mossy, which will you do?"
Guy's choice was to be sunburnt to the waist. He was burnt and freckled already to the shoulders, on arms as well as on neck, and his miserable cotton shirt so barely turned the sun's rays that he was elsewhere of a deep yellow tinge with an occasional constellation of freckles. Accordingly he danced about camp all one day with nothing on but his pants, and, of course, being so seasoned, he did not burn.
As the sun swung low the Chiefs assembled in Council.
The head Chief looked over the new Warrior, shook his head gravely and said emphatically: "Too green to burn. Your name is Sapwood."
Protest was in vain. "Sappy," he was and had to be until he won a better name. The peace pipe was smoked all round and he was proclaimed third War Chief of the Sanger Indians (the wordWarinserted by special request).
He was quite the most harmless member of the band and therefore took unusual pleasure in posing as the possessor of a perennial thirst for human heart-blood. War-paint was his delight, and with its aid he was singularly successful in correcting his round and smiling face into a savage visage of revolting ferocity. Paint was his hobby and his pride, but alas! how often it happens one's deepest sorrow is in the midst of one's greatest joy—the deepest lake is the old crater on top of the highest mountain. Sappy's eyes werenotthe sinister black beads of the wily Red-man, but a washed-out blue. His ragged, tow-coloured231locks he could hide under wisps of horsehair, the paint itself redeemed his freckled skin, but there was no remedy for the white eyelashes and the pale, piggy, blue eyes. He kept his sorrow to himself, however, for he knew that if the others got an inkling of his feelings on the subject his name would have been promptly changed to "Dolly" or "Birdy," or some other equally horrible and un-Indian appellation.
Sappy
Scarlet Tanager
232
"Say, Yan, I saw a Blood-Robin this morning."
"That's a new one," said Yan, in a tone of doubt.
"Well, it's the purtiest bird in the country."
"What? A Humming-bird?"
"Na-aw-w-w. They ain't purty, only small."
"Well, that shows what you know," retorted Yan, "'for these exquisite winged gems are at once the most diminutive and brilliantly coloured of the whole feathered race.'" This phrase Yan had read some where and his overapt memory had seized on it.
"Pshaw!" said Sam. "Sounds like a book, but I'll bet I seen hundreds of Hummin'-birds round the Trumpet-vine and Bee-balm in the garden, an' they weren't a millionth part as purty as this. Why, it's just as red as blood, shines like fire and has black wings. The old Witch says the Indians call it a War-bird 'cause when it flew along the trail there was sure going to be war, which is like enough, fur they wuz at it all the hull time."
"Oh, I know," said Yan. "A Scarlet Tanager. Where did you see it?"
"Why, it came from the trees, then alighted on the highest pole of the teepee."
233"Hope there isn't going to be any war there, Sam. I wish I had one to stuff."
"Tried to get him for you, sonny, spite of the Rules. Could 'a' done it, too, with a gun. Had a shy at him with an arrow an' I hain't been bird or arrow since. 'Twas my best arrow, too—old Sure-Death."
"Will ye give me the arrow if I kin find it?" said Guy.
"Now you bet I won't. What good'd that be to me?"
"Will you give me your chewin' gum?"
"No."
"Will you lend it to me?"
"Yep."
"Well, there's your old arrow," said Guy, pulling it from between the logs where it had fallen. "I seen it go there an' reckoned I'd lay low an' watch the progress of events, as Yan says," and Guy whinnied.
Early in the morning the Indians in war-paint went off on a prowl. They carried their bows and arrows, of course, and were fully alert, studying the trail at intervals and listening for "signs of the enemy."
Balsam-fir and fuzz-ballTheir moccasined feet gave forth no sound, and their keen eyes took in every leaf that stirred as their sinewy forms glided among the huge trunks of the primeval vegetation—at least, Yan's note-book said they did. They certainly went with very little noise, but they disturbed a small Hawk that flew from a Balsam-fir—a "Fire tree" they now called it, since they had discovered the wonderful properties of the234wood.
Three arrows were shot after it and no harm done. Yan then looked into the tree and exclaimed:
"A nest."
"Looks to me like a fuzz-ball," said Guy.
"Guess not," replied Yan. "Didn't we scare the Hawk off?"
He was a good climber, quite the best of the three, and dropping his head-dress, coat, leggings and weapon, she shinned up the Balsam trunk, utterly regardless of the gum which hung in crystalline drops or easily burst bark-bladders on every part.
He was no sooner out of sight in the lower branches than Satan entered into Guy's small heart and prompted him thus:
"Le's play a joke on him an' clear out."
Sam's sense of humour beguiled him. They stuffed Yan's coat and pants with leaves and rubbish, put them properly together with the head-dress, then stuck one of his own arrows through the breast of the coat into the ground and ran away.
Meanwhile Yan reached the top of the tree and found that the nest was only one of the fuzz-balls so common on Fir trees. He called out to his comrades but got no reply, so came down. At first the ridiculous dummy seemed funny, then he found that his coat had been injured and the arrow broken. He called for his companions, but got no answer; again and again, without reply. He went to where they all had intended going, but if they were there they235hid from him, and feeling himself scurvily deserted he went back to camp in no very pleasant humour. They were not there. He sat by the fire awhile, then, yielding to his habit of industry, he took off his coat and began to work at the dam.
He became engrossed in his work and did not notice the return of the runaways till he heard a voice saying "What's this?"
On turning he saw Sam poring over his private note-book and then beginning to read aloud:
"Kingbird, fearless crested Kingbird Thou art——"
But Yan snatched it out of his hands.
"I'll bet the rest was something about 'Singbird,'" said Sam.
Yan's face was burning with shame and anger. He had a poetic streak, and was morbidly sensitive about any one seeing its product. The Kingbird episode of their long evening walk was but one of many similar. He had learned to delight in these daring attacks of the intrepid little bird on the Hawks and Crows, and so magnified them into high heroics until he must try to record them in rhyme. It was very serious to him, and to have his sentiments afford sport to the others was more than he could bear. Of course Guy came out and grinned, taking his cue from Sam. Then he remarked in colourless tones, as though announcing an item of general news, "They say there was a fearless-crested Injun shot in the woods to-day."
236The morning's desertion left Yan in no mood for chaffing. He rightly attributed the discourtesy to Guy. Turning savagely toward him he said, meaningly:
"Now, no more of your sass, you dirty little sneak."
Guy reciting"I ain't talkin' to you," Guy snickered, and followed Sam into the teepee. There were low voices within for a time. Yan went over toward the dam and began to plug mud into some possible holes. Presently there was more snickering in the teepee, then Guy came out alone, struck a theatrical attitude and began to recite to a tree above Yan's head:
"Kingbird, fearless crested Kingbird,Thou art but a blooming sing bird—"
But the mud was very handy and Yan hurled a mass that spattered Guy thoroughly and sent him giggling into the teepee.
"Them's the bow-kays," Sam was heard to say. "Go out an' git some more; dead sure you deserve 'em. Letmeknow when the calls for 'author' begin?" Then there was more giggling. Yan was fast losing all control of himself. He seized a big stick and strode into the teepee, but Sam lifted the cover of the far side and slipped out. Guy tried to do the same, but Yan caught him.
"Here, I ain't doin' nothin'."
The answer was a sounding whack which made him wriggle.
237"You let me alone, you big coward. I ain't doin' nothin' to you. You better let me alone. Sam! S–A–M! S–A–A–A–M!!!" as the stick came down again and again.
"Don't bother me," shouted Sam outside. "I'm writin' poethry—terrible partic'lar job, poethry. He only means it in kindness, anyhow."
Guy was screaming now and weeping copiously.
"You'll get some more if you give me any more of your lip," said Yan, and stepped out to meet Sam with the note-book again, apparently scribbling away. As soon as he saw Yan he stood up, cleared his throat and began:
"Kingbird, fearless crested—"
But he did not finish it. Yan struck him a savage blow on the mouth. Sam sprang back a few steps. Yan seized a large stone.
"Don't you throw that at me," said Sam seriously. Yan sent it with his deadliest force and aim. Sam dodged it and then in self-defense ran at Yan and they grappled and fought, while Guy, eager for revenge, rushed to help Sam, and got in a few trifling blows.
Sam was heavier and stronger than Yan, but Yan had gained wonderfully since coming to Sanger. He was thin, but wiry, and at school he had learned the familiar hip-throw that is as old as Cain and Abel. It was all he did know of wrestling, but now it stood him in good stead. He was strong with rage, too— and almost as soon as they grappled he found his238chance. Sam's heels flew up and he went sprawling in the dust. One straight blow on the nose sent Guy off howling, and seeing Sam once more on his feet, Yan rushed at him again like a wild beast. A moment later the big boy went tumbling over the bank into the pond.
"Yousee if I don't get you sent about your business from here," spluttered Sam, now thoroughly angry. "I'll tell Da you hender the wurruk." His eyes were full of water and Guy's were full of stars and of tears. Neither saw the fourth party near; but Yan did. There, not twenty yards away, stood William Raften, spectator of the whole affair—an expression not of anger but of infinite sorrow and disappointment on his face—not because they had quarrelled—no—he knew boy nature well enough not to give that a thought—but thathisson, older and stronger than the other and backed by another boy, should be licked in fair fight by a thin, half-invalid.
It was as bitter a pill as he had ever had to swallow. He turned in silence and disappeared, and never afterward alluded to the matter.