blue jay and hawk with shrew
"What's that?"
"Oh, a little thing like a Mouse, only it isn't a Mouse at all; it is second cousin to a Mole."
"I allus thought a Molewasa Mouse specie," remarked Hawkeye, not satisfied with Yan's distinction.
Section of Flicker's Nest (half of trunk cut away, to show chamber)
475"Oh, you!" interrupted Sam. "You'll try to make out the Burnses is some kin to the Raftens next."
"I bet I won't!" and for once Guy got even.
"Well," Yan continued, "it so happened—about the first time in about a million years—the little Hawks were not hungry just then. The Shrew wasn't gobbled up at once, and though wounded, it set to work to escape as soon as it was free of the old one's claws. First it hid under the little ones, then it began to burrow down through the feather-bed of the Sparrow-hawk's nest, then through the Blue Jay's nest, then through the soft stuff of the Blackbird's nest and among the old truck left by the Chickadees till it struck the hard mud floor of the Blackbird's nest, and through that it could not dig. Its strength gave out now, and it died there and lay hidden in the lowest nest of the house, till years after I came by and broke open the old stub and made it tell me a sad and mournful story—that—maybe—never happened at all. But there's the drawing I made of it at the place, showing all the nests just as I found them, and there's the dried up body of the little Shrew."
Sam listened with intense interest, but Guy was at no pains to conceal his contempt. "Oh, pshaw! That's no adventure—just a whole lot of 's'posens' without a blame thing doing. Now I'll tell you what I done. I—"
"Now, Hawkeye," Sam put in, "please don't be rough about it. Leave out the awful things: I ain't well to-day. You keep back the scary parts till476to-morrow."
"I tell you I left here and went straight as a die, an' I seen a Woodchuck, but he wasn't in line, so I says: 'No, some other day. I kin get youeasyany time.' Then I seen a Hawk going off with a Chicken, but that was off my beat, an' I found lots o' old stumps an' hundreds o' Chipmunks an' wouldn't be bothered with them. Then I come to a farmhouseGuy's claiman'—an' I went around that so's not to scare the Dog, an' I went pretty near as far as Downey's Dump—yes, a little a-past it—only to one side—when up jumps a Partridge as big as a Turkey, an' a hull gang of young ones—about thirty or forty. I bet I seen them forty rod away, an' they all flew, but one that lighted on a tree as far as—oh, 'cross that field, anyway. I bet you fellers wouldn't 'a' seen it at all. Well, I jest hauled off as ca'm as ca'm an' let him have it. I aimed straight for his eye—an' that's where I hit him.Now who gets a grand coup, for there he is!" Hawkeye unrolled his coat and turned out a bobtailed young Robin in the speckled plumage, shot through the body.
"So that's your Partridge. I call that a young Robin," said the First Chief with slow emphasis. "Rules is broke. Killed a Song-bird. Little Beaver, arrest the criminal."
But Hawkeye struggled with all the ferocity born of his recent exploit, and had to be bound hand and foot while a full Council was called to try the case. The angry protests weakened when he477found how serious the Councillors were. Finally he pleaded "guilty" and was condemned to wear a black feather of disgrace and a white feather for cowardice for three days, as well as wash the dishes for a week. They would also have made him cook for that term, but that they had had some unhappy experiences with some dishes of Guy's make.
"Well, I won't do it, that's all," was the prisoner's defiant retort. "I'll go home first."
"And hoe the garden? Oh, yes; I think I see you."
"Well, I won't do it. You better let me 'lone."
"Little Beaver, what do they do when an Injun won't obey the Council?"
"Strip him of his honours. Do you remember that stick we burned with 'Sapwood' on it?"
"Good idee. We'll burn Hawkeye for a name and dig up the old one"
"No, you won't, you dirty mean Skunks! Ye promised me you'd never call me that again. IamHawkeye. I kin see farder'n—n—" and he began to weep.
"Well, will you obey the Council?"
"Yes; but I won't wear no white feather—I'mbrave, boohoo!"
Guy dishwashing, wearing black feather"All right. We'll leave that off; but you must do the other punishments.
"Will I still be Hawkeye?"
"Yes."
"All right. I'll do it."
the three-fingered print
478
the three-fingered printBroad-shouldered, beetle-browed, brutal and lazy was Bill Hennard, son of a prosperous settler. He had inherited a fine farm, but he was as lazy as he was strong, and had soon run through his property and followed the usual course from laziness to crime. Bill had seen the inside of more than one jail. He was widely known in the adjoining township of Emolan; many petty thefts were traced to him, and it was openly stated that but for the help of a rich and clever confederate he would certainly be in the penitentiary. It was darkly hinted, further, that this confederate was a well-to-do Sangerite who had many farms and a wife and son and a little daughter, and his first name was William, and his second name Ra—— "But never mind; and don't for the world say I told you." Oh, it's easy to get rich—if you know how. Of course, these rumours never reached the parties chiefly concerned.
Hennard had left Downey's Dump the evening before, and avoiding the roads, had struck through the woods, to visit his partner, with important matters to arrange—very important for Hennard. He was much fuddled when he left Downey's, the night was cloudy, and consequently he had wandered round and round till he was completely lost.
480
Well, sonny, cookin' dinner?
481
He slept under a tree (a cold, miserable sleep it was), and in the sunless morning he set out with little certainty to find his "pal." After some time he stumbled on the trail that led him to the boys' camp. He was now savage with hunger and annoyance, and reckless with bottle assistance, for he carried a flask. No longer avoiding being seen, he walked up to the teepee just as Little Beaver was frying meat for the noonday meal he expected to eat alone. At the sound of footsteps Yan turned, supposing that one of his companions had come back, but there instead was a big, rough-looking tramp.
"Well, sonny, cookin' dinner? I'll be glad to j'ine ye," he said with an unpleasant and fawning smile.
His manner was as repulsive as it could be, though he kept the form of politeness.
"Where's your folks, sonny?"
"Haven't any—here," replied Yan, in some fear, remembering now the tramps of Glenyan.
"H-m—all alone—camped all alone, are ye?"
"The other fellers are away till the afternoon."
"Wall, how nice. Glad to know it. I'll trouble you to hand me that stick," and now the tramp's manner changed from fawning to command, as he pointed to Yan's bow hanging unstrung.
"That's my bow!" replied Yan, in fear and indignation.
"I won't tell ye a second time—hand me that stick, or I'll spifflicate ye."
482Yan stood still. The desperado strode forward, seized the bow, and gave him two or three blows on the back and legs.
"Now, you young Pup, get me my dinner, and be quick about it, or I'll break yer useless neck."
Yan now realized that he had fallen into the power of the worst enemy of the harmless camper, and saw too late the folly of neglecting Raften's advice to have a big Dog in camp. He glanced around and would have run, but the tramp was too quick for him and grabbed him by the collar. "Oh, no you don't; hold on, sonny. I'll fix you so you'll do as you're told." He cut the bowstring from its place, and violently throwing Yan down, he tied his feet so that they had about eighteen inches' play.
"Now rush around and get my dinner; I'm hungry. An' don't you spile it in the cooking or I'll use the gad on you; an' if you holler or cut that cord I'll kill ye. See that?" and he got out an ugly-looking knife.
Tears of fear and pain ran down Yan's face as he limped about to obey the brute's orders.
"Here, you move a little faster!" and the tramp turned from poking the fire with the bow to give another sounding blow. If he had looked down the trail he would have seen a small tow-topped figure that turned and scurried away at the sound.
Yan was trained to bear punishment, but the tyrant seemed careless of even his life.
"Are you going to kill me?" he burst out, after another attack for stumbling in his shackles.
shackles
483"Don't know but I will when I've got through with ye," replied the desperado with brutal coolness. "I'll take some more o' that meat—an' don't you let it burn, neither. Where's the sugar for the coffee? I'll get a bigger club if ye don't look spry," and so the tramp was served with his meal. "Now bring me some tobaccer."
Yan hobbled into the teepee and reached down Sam's tobacco bag.
"Here, what's that box? Bring that out here," and the tramp pointed to the box in which they kept some spare clothes. Yan obeyed in fear and trembling. "Open it."
"I can't. It's locked, and Sam has the key."
"He has, has he? Well, I have a key that will open it," and so he smashed the lid with the axe; then he went through the pockets, got Yan's old silver watch and chain, and in Sam's trousers pocket he got two dollars.
"Ha! That's just what I want, sonny," and the tramp put them in his own pockets. "'Pears to me the fire needs a little wood," he remarked, as his eye fell on Yan's quiverful of arrows, and he gave that a kick that sent many of them into the blaze....arrows into the blaze
"Now, sonny, don't look at me quite so hard, like you was taking notes, or I may have to cut your throat and put you in the swamp hole to keep ye from telling tales."
Yan was truly in terror of his life now.
the knife
"Bring me the whetstone," the tyrant growled, "an' some more coffee." Yan did so. The tramp began484whetting his long knife, and Yan saw two things that stuck in his memory: first, the knife, which was of hunting pattern, had a brass Deer on the handle; second, the hand that grasped it had only three fingers.
"What's that other box in there?"
"That's—that's—only our food box."
"You lie to me, will ye?" and again the stick descended. "Haul it out."
"I can't."
"Haul it out or I'll choke ye."
Yan tried, but it was too heavy.
"Get out, you useless Pup!" and the tramp walked into the teepee and gave Yan a push that sent him headlong out on the ground.
The boy was badly bruised, but saw his only chance. The big knife was there. He seized it, cut the cord on his legs, flung the knife afar in the swamp and ran like a Deer. The tramp rushed out of the teepee yelling and cursing. Yan might have gotten away had he been in good shape, but the tramp's cruelty really had crippled him, and the brute was rapidly overtaking him. As he sped down the handiest, the south trail, he sighted in the trees ahead a familiar figure, and yelling with all his remaining strength, "Caleb! Caleb!! Caleb Clark!!!" he fell swooning in the grass.
There is no mistaking the voice of dire distress. Caleb hurried up, and with one impulse he and the tramp grappled in deadly struggle. Turk was not485with his master, and the tramp had lost his knife, so it was a hand-to-hand conflict. A few clinches, a few heavy blows, and it was easy to see who must win. Caleb was old and slight. The tramp, strong, heavy-built, and just drunk enough to be dangerous, was too much for him, and after a couple of rounds the Trapper fell writhing with a foul blow. The tramp felt again for his knife, swore savagely, looked around for a club, found only a big stone, and would have done no one knows what, when there was a yell from behind, another big man crashed down the trail, and the tramp faced William Raften, puffing and panting, with Guy close behind. The stone meant for Caleb he hurled at William, who dodged it, and now there was an even fight. Had the tramp had his knife it might have gone hard with Raften, but fist to fist the farmer had the odds. His old-time science turned the day, and the desperado went down with a crusher "straight from the shoulder."
It seemed a veritable battle-field—three on the ground and Raften, red-faced and puffing, but sturdy and fearless, standing in utter perplexity.
"Phwhat the divil does it all mane?"
"I'll tell you, Mr. Raften," chirped in Guy, as he stole from his safe shelter.
"Oh, ye're here, are ye, Guy? Go and git a rope at camp—quick now," as the tramp began to move.
As soon as the rope came Raften tied the fellow's arms safely.
486"'Pears to me Oi've sane that hand befoore," remarked Raften, as the three fingers caught his eye.
Yan was now sitting up, gazing about in a dazed way. Raften went over to his old partner and said: "Caleb, air ye hurrt? It's me—it's Bill Raften. Air ye hurrt?"
Caleb rolled his eyes and looked around.
Yan came over now and knelt down. "Are you hurt, Mr. Clark?"
He shook his head and pointed to his chest.
"He's got his wind knocked out," Raften explained; "he'll be all right in a minute or two. Guy, bring some wather."
Yan told his story and Guy supplied an important chapter. He had returned earlier than expected, and was near to camp, when he heard the tramp beating Yan. His first impulse to run home to his puny father was replaced with the wiser one to go for brawny Mr. Raften.
The tramp was now sitting up and grumbling savagely.
"Now, me foine feller," said William. "We'll take ye back to camp for a little visit before we take ye to the 'Pen.' A year in the cooler will do ye moore good, Oi'm thinkin', than anny other tratement. Here, Guy, you take the end av the rope and fetch the feller to camp, while I help Caleb."
Guy was in his glory. The tramp was forced to go ahead; Guy followed, jerking the rope and playing Horse, shouting, "Ch'—ch'—ch'—get up, Horsey,"487while William helped old Caleb with a gentleness that recalled a time long ago when Caleb had so helped him after a falling tree had nearly killed him in the woods.
At camp they found Sam. He was greatly astonished at the procession, for he knew nothing of the day's events, and fearfully disappointed he was on learning what he had missed.
Caleb still looked white and sick when they got him to the fire, and Raften said, "Sam, go home and get your mother to give you a little brandy."
the brandy cup
"You don't need to go so far," said Yan, "for that fellow has a bottle in his pocket."
"I wouldn't touch a dhrap of annything he has, let alone give it to asick friend," was William's reply.
So Sam went for the brandy and was back with it in half an hour.
"Here now, Caleb," said William, "drink that now an' ye'll feel better," and as he offered the cup he felt a little reviving glow of sympathy for his former comrade.
When Sam went home that morning it was with a very clear purpose. He had gone straight to his mother and told all he knew about the revolver and the misunderstanding with Caleb, and they two had had a long, unsatisfactory interview with the father. Raften was brutal and outspoken as usual. Mrs. Raften was calm and clear-witted. Sam was shrewd. The result was a complete defeat for William—a defeat that he would not acknowledge;488and Sam came back to camp disappointed for the time being, but now to witness the very thing he had been striving for—his father and the Trapper reconciled; deadly enemies two hours ago, but now made friends through a fight. Though overpowered in argument, Raften's rancour was not abated, but rather increased toward the man he had evidently misused, until the balance was turned by the chance of his helping that man in a time of direst straits.
...but now made friends through a fight
489
Oh, the magic of the campfire! No unkind feeling long withstands its glow. For men to meet at the same campfire is to come closer, to have better understanding of each other, and to lay the foundations of lasting friendship. "He and I camped together once!" is enough to explain all cordiality between the men most wide apart, and Woodcraft days are days of memories happy, bright and lifelong.
To sit at the same camp fireside has always been a sacred bond, and the scene of twenty years before was now renewed in the Raften woods, thanks to that campfire lit a month before—the sacred fire. How well it had been named! William and Caleb were camped together in good fellowship again, marred though it was with awkwardness as yet, but still good fellowship.
Raften was a magistrate. He sent Sam with an order to the constable to come for the prisoner. Yan went to the house for provisions and to bring Mrs. Raften, and Guy went home with an astonishing account of his latest glorious doings. The tramp desperado was securely fastened to a tree; Caleb was in the teepee lying down. Raften went in for a few minutes, and when he came out the tramp was gone. His bonds were cut, not slipped. How490could he nave gotten away without help?
"Never mind," said Raften. "That three-fingered hand is aisy to follow. Caleb, ain't that Bill Hennard?"
"I reckon."
The men had a long talk. Caleb told of the loss of his revolver—he was still living in the house with the Pogues then—and of its recovery. They both remembered that Hennard was close by at the time of the quarrel over the Horse-trade. There was much that explained itself and much of mystery that remained.
But one thing was clear. Caleb had been tricked out of everything he had in the world, for it was just a question of days now before Pogue would, in spite of Saryann, throw off all pretense and order Caleb from the place to shift for himself.
Raften sat a long time thinking, then said:
"Caleb, you do exactly as Oi tell ye and ye'll get yer farrum back. First, Oi'll lend ye wan thousand dollars for wan week."
A thousand dollars!!!Caleb's eyes opened, and what was next he did not then learn, for the boys came back and interrupted, but later the old Trapper was fully instructed.
When Mrs. Raften heard of it she was thunderstruck. A thousand dollars in Sanger was like one hundred thousand dollars in a big city. It was untold wealth, and Mrs. Raften fairly gasped.
A thousand dollars in Sanger was like one hundred thousand dollars in a big city
491"A thousand dollars, William! Why! isn't that a heavy strain to put on the honesty of a man who thinks still that he has some claim on you? Is it safe to risk it?"
"Pooh!" said William. "Oi'm no money-lender, nor spring gosling nayther. Thayer's the money Oi'll lend him," and Raften produced a roll of counterfeit bills that he as magistrate had happened to have in temporary custody. "Thayer's maybe five hundred or six hundred dollars, but it's near enough."
Caleb, however, was allowed to think it real money, and fully prepared, he called at his own—the Pogue house—the next day, knocked, and walked in.
"Good morning, father," said Saryann, for she had some decency and kindness.
"What do you want here?" said Dick savagely; "bad enough to have you on the place, without forcing yerself on us day and night."
"Hush now, Dick; you forget—"
"Forget—I don't forget nothin'," retorted Dick, interrupting his wife. "He had to help with the chores an' work, an' he don't do a thing and expects to live on me."
"Oh, well, you won't have me long to bother you," said Caleb sadly, as he tottered to a chair. His face was white and he looked sick and shaky.
"What's the matter, father?"
"Oh, I'm pretty bad. I won't last much longer You'll be quit o' me before many days."
492"Big loss!" grumbled Dick.
"I—I give you my farm an' everything I had—"
"Oh, shut up. I'm sick of hearing about it."
"At least—'most—everything. I—I—I—didn't say nothing about a little wad o'—o'—bills I had stored away. I—I—" and the old man trembled violently—"I'm so cold."
"Dick, do make a fire," said his wife.
"I won't do no sich fool trick. It's roastin' hot now."
"'Tain't much," went on the trembling old man, "only fif—fif—teen hundred—dollars. I got it here now," and he drew out the roll of greenbacks.
FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS!Twice as much as the whole farm and stock were worth! Dick's eyes fairly popped out, and Caleb was careful to show also the handle of the white revolver.
"Why, father," exclaimed Saryann, "you are ill: Let me go get you some brandy. Dick, make a fire. Father is cold as ice."
"Yes—please—fire—I'm all of—a—tremble—with —cold."
Dick rushed around now and soon the big fire place was filled with blaze and the room unpleasantly warm.
Quinine"Here, father, have some brandy and water," said Dick, in a very different tone. "Would you like a little quinine?"
"No, no—I'm better now; but I was saying—I only got a few days to live, an' having no legal kin— this here wad'd go to the gover'ment, but I spoke493to the lawyer, an' all I need do—is—add—a word to the deed o' gift—for the farm—to include this—an' it's very right you should have it, too." Old Caleb shook from head to foot and coughed terribly.
"Oh, father, let me send for the doctor," pleaded Saryann, and Dick added feebly, "Yes, father, let me go for the doctor."
"No, no; never mind. It don't matter. I'll be better off soon. Have you the deed o' gift here?"
"Oh, yes, Dick has it in his chest." Dick ran to get the deed, for these were the days before registration in Canada; possession of the deed was possession of the farm, and to lose the deed was to lose the land.
The old man tremblingly fumbled over the money, seeming to count it—"Yes—just—fif-teen hun'erd," as Dick came clumping down the ladder with the deed.
"Have you got a—pen—and ink—"
Dick went for the dried-up ink bottle while Saryann hunted forthepen. Caleb's hand trembled violently as he took the parchment, glanced carefully over it—yes, this was it—the thing that had made him a despised pauper. He glanced around quickly. Dick and Saryann were at the other end of the room. He rose, took one step forward and stuffed the deed into the blazing fire. Holding his revolver in his right hand and the poker in the left, he stood erect and firm, all sign of weakness gone; his eyes were ablaze, and with voice of stern command he hissed "Stand back!"494And pointed the pistol as he saw Dick rushing to rescue the deed. In a few seconds it was wholly consumed, and with that, as all knew, the last claim of the Pogues on the property, for Caleb's own possessory was safe in a vault at Downey's.
"Now," thundered Caleb, "you dirty paupers, get out of my house! Get off my land, and don't you dare touch a thing belonging to me."
He raised his voice in a long "halloo" and rapped three times on the table. Steps were heard outside. Then in came Raften with two men.
"Magistrate Raften, clear my house of them interlopers, if ye please."
Caleb gave them a few minutes to gather up their own clothes, then they set out on foot for Downey's, wild with helpless rage, penniless wanderers in the world, as they had meant to leave old Caleb.
Now he was in possession of his own again, once more comfortably "fixed." After the men had had their rough congratulations and uproarious laughter over the success of the trick, Raften led up to the question of money, then left a blank, wondering what Caleb would do. The good old soul pulled out the wad.
In a few seconds it was wholly consumed
"There it is, Bill. I hain't even counted it, and a thousand times obliged. If ever you need a friend, call on me."
masksRaften chuckled, counted the greenbacks and said "All right!" and to this day Caleb doesn't know that the fortune he held in his hand that day was495nothing but a lot of worthless paper.
A week later, as the old Trapper sat alone getting his evening meal, there was a light rap at the door.
"Come in."
A woman entered. Turk had sprung up growling, but now wagged his tail, and when she lifted a veil Caleb recognized Saryann.
mask
"What do you want?" he demanded savagely.
"'Twasn't my doing, father; you know it wasn't; and now he's left me for good." She told him her sorrowful story briefly. Dick had not courted Saryann, but the farm, and now that that was gone he had no further use for her. He had been leading a bad life, "far worse than any one knew," and now he had plainly told her he was done with her.
Caleb's hot anger never lasted more than five minutes. He must have felt that her story was true, for the order of former days was reestablished, and with Saryann for housekeeper the old man had a comfortable home to the end of his days.
Pogue disappeared; folks say he went to the States. The three-fingered tramp never turned up again, and about this time the serious robberies in the region ceased. Three years afterward they learned that two burglars had been shot while escaping from an American penitentiary. One of them was undoubtedly Dick Pogue, and the other was described as a big dark man with three fingers on the right hand.
496
The winning back of the farm, according to Sanger custom must be celebrated in a "sociable" that took the particular form of a grand house-warming, in which the Raftens, Burnses and Boyles were fully represented, as Char-less was Caleb's fast friend. The Injun band was very prominent, for Caleb saw that it was entirely owing to the meetings at the camp that the glad event had come about.
Caleb acted as go-between for Char-less Boyle and William Raften, and their feud was forgotten—for the time at least—as they related stories of their early hunting days, to the delight of Yan and the Tribe. There were four other boys there whom Little Beaver met for the first time. They were Wesley Boyle, a dark-skinned, low-browed, active boy of Sam's age; his brother Peter, about twelve, fair, fat and freckled, and with a marvellous squint; and their cousin Char-less Boyle, Jr., good-natured, giggly, and of spongy character; also Cyrus Digby, a smart city boy, who was visiting "the folks," and who usually appeared in white cuffs and very high stand-up collar. These boys were greatly interested in the Sanger Indian camp, and one outcome of the meeting at Caleb's was the formation of another Tribe of Indians, composed of the three497Boyle boys and their town friend.
Blackhawk
Since most of these were Boyles and the hunting-ground was the Boyles woods about that marshy pond, and especially because they had read of a band of Indians named Boilers or Stoneboilers (Assineboines), they called themselves the "Boilers." Wesley was the natural leader. He was alert as well as strong, and eager to do things, so made a fine Chief. His hooked nose and black hair and eyes won for him the appropriate name of "Blackhawk." The city boy being a noisy "show-off," who did little work, was called "Bluejay" Peter Boyle was "Peetweet," and Char-less, from his peculiar snickering and showing two large front teeth, was called "Red-squirrel."
They made their camp as much as possible like that of the Sangers, and adopted their customs; but a deadly rivalry sprang up between them from the first. The Sangers felt that they were old and experienced Woodcrafters. The Boilers thought they knew as much and more, and they outnumbered the Sangers. Active rivalry led to open hostilities. There was a general battle with fists and mud; that proved a draw. Then a duel between leaders was arranged, and Blackhawk won the fight and the Woodpecker's scalp. The Boilers were wild with enthusiasm. They proposed to take the whole Sanger camp, but in a hand-to-hand fight of both tribes it was another draw. Guy, however, scored a glorious triumph over Char-less and secured his scalp at the498moment of victory.
Now Little Beaver sent a challenge to Blackhawk. It was scornfully accepted. Again the Boiler Chief was victor and won another scalp, while Little Beaver got a black eye and a bad licking, but the enemy retired.
Yan had always been considered a timid boy at Bonnerton, but that was largely the result of his repressive home training. Sanger was working great changes. To be treated with respect by the head of the house was a new and delightful experience. It developed his self-respect. His wood life was making him wonderfully self-reliant, and improved health helped his courage, so next day, when the enemy appeared in full force, every one was surprised when Yan again challenged Blackhawk. It really cost him a desperate and mighty effort to do so, for it is one thing to challenge a boy that you think you can "lick" and another to challenge one the very day after he has licked you. Indeed, if the truth were known, Yan did it in fear and trembling, and therein lay the courage—in going ahead when fear said "Go back."
It is quite certain that a year before he would not have ventured in such a fight, and he only did it now because he had realized that Blackhawk was left-handed, and a plan to turn this to account had suggested itself. Every one was much surprised at the challenge, but much more so when, to the joy of his tribe, Little Beaver won a brilliant victory.
499Inspired by this, they drove the Boilers from the field, scored a grand triumph, and Sam and Yan each captured a scalp.Sam and Yan each captured a scalp
The Sangers held a Council and scalp-dance in celebration that night around an outdoor fire. The Medicine Man was sent for to be in it.
After the dance, Chief Beaver, his face painted to hide his black eye, made a speech. He claimed that the Boilers would surely look for reinforcements and attempt a new attack, and that, therefore, the Sangers should try to add to their number, too.
"I kin lick Char-less any time," piped in Guy proudly, and swung the scalp he had won.
But the Medicine Man said: "If I were you boys I'd fix up a peace. Now you've won you ought to ask them to a big pow-wow."
These were the events that led to the friendly meeting of the two Tribes in full war-paint.
Chief Woodpecker first addressed them: "Say, fellers—Brother Chiefs, I mean—this yere quar'lin' don't pay. We kin have more fun working together. Let's be friends an' join in one Tribe. There's more fun when there's a crowd."
"All right," said Blackhawk; "but we'll call the tribe the 'Boilers,' coz we have the majority, and leave me Head Chief."
"You are wrong about that. Our Medicine Men makes us even number and more than even weight. We've got the best camp—have the swimming-pond, and we are the oldest Tribe, not to speak of the success we had in a certain leetle business not long ago which500the youngest of us kin remember," and Guy grinned in appreciation of this evident reference to his exploit.
As a matter of fact, it was the swimming-pond that turned the day. The Boilers voted to join the Sangers. Their holiday was only ten days, the Sangers had got a week's extension, and all knew that they could get most out of their time by going to the pond camp. The question of a name was decided by Little Beaver.
"Boiler Warriors," said he, "it is the custom of the Indians to have the Tribes divided in clans. We are the Sanger clan. You are the Boiler clan. But as we all live in Sanger we are all Sanger Indians."
"Who's to be Head Chief?"
Blackhawk had no notion of submitting to Woodpecker, whom he had licked, nor would Woodpecker accept a Chief of the inferior tribe. One suggested that Little Beaver be Chief, but out of loyalty to his friend, the Woodpecker, Yan declined.
"Better leave that for a few days till you get acquainted," was the Medicine Man's wise suggestion.
That day and the next were spent in camp. The Boilers had their teepee to make and beds to prepare. The Sangers merrily helped, making a "bee" of it.
Bow and arrow making were next to do. Little Beaver had not fully replaced his own destroyed by the robber. A hunt of the Burlap Deer was a pleasant variation of the second day, though there were but two bows for all, and the Boilers began to realize that they were really far behind the Sangers in501knowledge of Woodcraft.
At swimming Blackhawk was easily first. Of course, this greatly increased his general interest in the swimming-pond, and he chiefly was responsible for the making of a canoe later on.
The days went on right merrily—oh, so fast! Little Beaver showed all the things of interest in his kingdom. How happy he was in showing them—playing experienced guide as he used to dream it! Peetweet took a keen interest; so did the city boy. Char-less took a little interest in it all, helped a little, was generally a little in everything, and giggled a good deal. Hawkeye was disposed to bully Char-less, since he found him quite lickable. His tone was high and haughty when he spoke to him—not at all like his whining when addressing the others. He volunteered to discipline Char-less if he should ill-treat any of the others, and was about to administer grievous personal punishment for some trifling offense, when Blackhawk gave him a warning that had good effect.
the Boilers' teepeeYan's note-book was fully discussed and his drawings greatly admired. He set to work at once with friendly enthusiasm to paint the Boilers' teepee. Not having any adventures that seemed important, except, perhaps, Blackhawk's defeat of Woodpecker and Little Beaver, subjects that did not interest the artist, the outside decorations were the totem of the clan and its members.
502
Blackhawk was the introducer of a new game which he called "judging."
"How far is it from here to that tree?" he would ask, and when each had written down his guess they would measure, and usually it was Woodpecker or Blackhawk that came nearest to the truth. Guy still held the leadership "for far sight," for which reason he suggested that game whenever a change of amusement was wanted.
Yan, following up Blackhawk's suggestion, brought in the new game of "White-man's Woodcraft."
"Can you," asked he, "tell a Dog's height by its track?"
"No; nor you nor any one else," was the somewhat scornful reply.
"Oh, yes, I can. Take the length in inches of his forefoot track, multiply it by 8, and that gives his height at the shoulder. You try it and you'll see. A little Dog has a 2¼ inch foot and stands about 18 inches, a Sheep Dog with a 3-inch track stands 24 inches, and a Mastiff or any big Dog with a 4-inch track gives 30 to 32 inches."
"You mean every Dog is 8 feet high?" drawled Sam, doubtfully, but Yan went on. "And you can tell his weight, too, by the track. You multiply503the width of his forefoot in inches by the length, and multiply that by 5, and that gives pretty near his weight in pounds. I tried old Cap. His foot is 3½ by 3; that equals 10½, multiplied by 5 equals 52½ pounds: just about right."
"I'll bet I seen a Dog at the show that that wouldn't work on," drawled Sam. "He was as long as my two arms, he had feet as big as a young Bear, an' he wasn't any higher than a brick. He was jest about the build of a Caterpiller, only he didn't have but four legs at the far ends. They was so far apart he couldn't keep step. He looked like he was raised under a bureau. I think when they was cutting down so on his legs they might have give him more of them; a row in the middle would 'a' been 'bout right."
"Yes, I know him. That's a Dachshund. But you can't reckon on freaks; nothing but straight Dog. It works on wild animals, too—that is, on Wolves and Foxes and maybe other things," then changing the subject Beaver continued:
dachshund
"Can you tell the height of a tree by its shadow?"
"Never thought of that. How do you do it?"
"Wait till your own shadow is the same length as yourself—that is, about eight in the morning or four in the afternoon—then measure the tree's shadow. That gives its length."
"You'd have to wait all day to work that, and you can't do it at all in the woods or on a dull day," objected Blackhawk. "I'd rather do it by guess."
504"I'll bet my scalp against yours I can tell the height of that tree right now without climbing it, and get closer than you can by guessing," said Little Beaver.
"No, I won't bet scalps on that—but I'll bet who's to wash the dishes."
"All right. To the top of that tree, how much is it?"
"Better not take the top, 'cause we can't get there to measure it, but say that knot," was the rejoinder. "Here, Woodpecker, you be judge."
"No, I want to be in this guessing. The loser takes the next turn of dishwashing for each of the others."
So Blackhawk studied the knot carefully and wrote down his guess—Thirty-eight feet.
Sam said, "Blackhawk! Ground's kind of uneven. I'd like to know the exact spot under the tree that you'd measure to. Will you mark it with a peg?"
So Blackhawk went over and put in a white peg, at the same time unwittingly giving Woodpecker what he wanted—a gauge, for he knew Blackhawk was something more than five feet high; judging then as he stood there Sam wrote down Thirty-five feet.
Now it was Yan's turn to do it by "White-man's Woodcraft," as he called it. He cut a pole exactly ten feet long, and choosing the smoothest ground, he walked about twenty yards from the tree, propped the pole upright, then lay down so that his eye was level with the tree base and in line with the top of the pole and the knot on the tree.
...the height of the knot
A peg505marked the spot.
Now he measured from this "eye peg" to the foot of the pole; it was 31 feet. Then from the eye peg to the peg under the tree; it was 87 feet. Since the 10-foot pole met the line at 31 feet, then 31 is to 10 as 87 is to the tree—or 28 feet. Now one of the boys climbed and measured the height of the knot. It was 29 feet, and Yan had an easy victory.
"Here, you close guessers, do you want another try, and I'll give you odds this time, if you come within ten feet you'll win. I want only two feet to come and go on."
"All right. Pick your trees."
"'Tisn't a tree this time, but the distance across that pond, from this peg (H) to that little Hemlock (D). You put down your guesses and I'll show you another trick."
Sam studied it carefully and wrote Forty feet. Wes put down Forty-five.
"Here, I want to be in this. I'll show you fellers how," exclaimed Guy in his usual scornful manner, and wrote down Fifty feet.
"Let's all try it for scalps," said Char-less, but this was ruled too unimportant for scalps, and again the penalty of failure was dishwashing, so the other boys came and put down their guesses close to that of their Chief—Forty-four, Forty-six and Forty-nine feet.
"Now we'll find out exactly," and Little Beaver, with an air of calm superiority, took three straight poles of exactly the same length and pegged them506together in a triangle, leaving the pegs sticking up. He placed this triangle on the bank atA B C, sighting the lineA Bfor the little HemlockD, and put three pegs in the ground exactly under the three pegs where the triangle was; moved the triangle toE F Gand placed it so thatF Gshould line withA CandE GwithD. NowA G Dalso must be an equilateral triangle; therefore, according to arithmetic, the lineD Hmust be seven-eighths ofA G. A Gwas easily measured—70 feet. Seven-eighths of 70 equals 61-1/4 feet. The width of the pond—they measured it with tape line—was found to be 60 feet, so Yan was nearest, but Guy claimed that 50 feet was within 10 feet of it, which was allowed. Thus there were two winners—two who escaped dishwashing; and Hawkeye's bragging became insufferable. He never again got so close in a guess, but no number of failures could daunt him after such a success.