Chapter XIV: Part III: In the Woods (6)

"By all manes," said Raften scoffingly; "now that he's got me unarrumed again. You dhirty coward! Get out av the way, bhoys, an Oi'll settle him," for Raften was incapable of fear, and the boys would have been thrust aside and trouble follow, but that Raften as he left the house had called his two hired men to follow and help fight the fire, and now they came on the scene. One of them was quite friendly with Caleb, the other neutral, and they succeeded in stopping hostilities for a time, while Sam exploded:

"Now see here, Da, 'twould just 'a' served you right if you'd got a hole through you. You make me sick, running on Caleb. He didn't make that fire; 'twas me an' Yan, an' we'll put it out safe enough. You skinned Caleb an' he never done you no harm. You run on him just as Granny de Neuville done on you after she grabbed your groceries. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Tain't square, an' 'tain't being a man. When you can't prove nothin' you ought to shut up."

Raften was somewhat taken aback by this outburst, especially as he found all the company against him. He had often laughed at Granny de Neuville's active hatred against him when he had done her nothing but good. It never occurred to him that he was acting a similar part. Most men would have been furious at the disrespectful manner of their son, but Raften was as insensitive as he was uncowardly. His first shock of astonishment over, his only thought of Sam was, "Hain't he got a cheek! My! but he talks like a lawyer, an' he sasses right back like a fightin' man; belave I'll make him study law instid of tooth-pullin'."

The storm was over, for Caleb's wrath was of the short and fierce kind, and Raften, turning away in moral defeat, growled: "See that ye put that fire out safe. Ye ought all to be in yer beds an' aslape, like dacint folks."

"Well, ain't you dacint?" retorted Sam.

Raften turned away, heeding neither that nor Guy's shrill attempt to interpolate some details of his own importance in this present hunt--"Ef it hadn't been for me they wouldn't had no axe along, Mr. Raften"--but William had disappeared.

The boys put out the fire carefully and made somewhat silently for camp. Sam and Yan carried the Coon between them on a stick, and before they reached the teepee they agreed that the carcass weighed at least eighty pounds.

Caleb left them, and they all turned in at once and slept the sleep of the tired camper.

XXIII

The Banshee's Wail and the Huge Night Prowler

Next day while working on the Coon-skin Sam and Yan discussed thoroughly the unpleasant incident of the night before, but they decided that it would be unwise to speak of it to Caleb unless he should bring up the subject, and Guy was duly cautioned.

That morning Yan went to the mud albums on one of his regular rounds and again found, first that curious hoof-mark that had puzzled him before, and down by the pond album the track of a very large bird--much like a Turkey track, indeed. He brought Caleb to see them. The Trapper said that one was probably the track of a Blue Crane (Heron), and the other, "Well, I don't hardly know; but it looks to me mighty like the track of a big Buck--only there ain't any short of the Long Swamp, and that's ten miles at least. Of course, _when there's only out it ain't a track_; it's an accident."

"Yes; but I've found lots of them--a trail every time, but not quite enough to follow."

That night after dark, when he was coming to camp with the product of a "massacree," Yan heard a peculiar squawking, guttural sound that rose from the edge of the pond and increased in strength, drawing nearer, till it was a hideous and terrifying uproar. It was exactly the sound that Guy had provoked on that first night when he came and tried to frighten the camp. It passed overhead, and Yan saw for a moment the form of a large slow-flying bird.

Next day it was Yan's turn to cook. At sunrise, as he went for water, he saw a large Blue Heron rise from the edge of the pond and fly on heavy pinions away over the tree-tops. It was a thrilling sight. The boy stood gazing after it, absolutely rapt with delight, and when it was gone he went to the place where it rose and found plenty of large tracks just like the one he had sketched. Unquestionably it was the same bird as on the night before, and the mystery of the Wolf with the sore throat was solved. This explanation seemed quite satisfactory to everybody but Guy. He had always maintained stoutly that the woods were full of Bears right after sundown. Where they went at other times was a mystery, but he "reckoned he hadn't yet run across the bird that could scare him--no, nor the beast, nuther."

Caleb agreed that the grating cry must be that of the Blue Crane, but the screech and wail in the tree-tops at night he could shed no light on.

There were many other voices of the night that became more or less familiar. Some of them were evidently birds; one was the familiar Song-Sparrow, and high over the tree-tops from the gloaming sky they often heard a prolonged sweet song. It was not till years afterward that Yan found out this to be the night-song of the Oven-bird, but he was able to tell them at once the cause of the startling outcry that happened one evening an hour after sundown.

The Woodpecker was outside, the other two inside the teepee. A peculiar sound fell on his ear. It kept on--a succession of long whines, and getting stronger. As it gave no sign of ending, Sam called the other boys. They stood in a row there and heard this peculiar "_whine, whine, whine_" develop into a loud, harsh "_whow, whow, whow_."

"It must be some new Heron cry," Yan whispered.

But the sound kept on increasing till it most resembled the yowling of a very strong-voiced Cat, and still grew till each separate "_meow_" might have been the yell of a Panther. Then at its highest and loudest there was a prolonged "_meow"_ and silence, followed finally by the sweet chant of the Song-sparrow.

A great light dawned on Little Beaver. Now he remembered that voice in Glenyan so long ago, and told the others with an air of certainty:

"Boys, that's the yelling of a Lynx," and the next day Caleb said that Yan was right.

Some days later they learned that another lamb had been taken from the Raften flock that night.

In the morning Yan took down the tom-tom for a little music and found it flat and soft.

"Hallo," said he; "going to rain."

Caleb looked up at him with an amused expression. "You're a reg'lar Injun. It's surely an Injun trick that. When the tom-tom won't sing without being warmed at the fire they allus says 'rain before night.'"

The Trapper stayed late that evening. It had been cloudy all the afternoon, and at sundown it began to rain, so he was invited to supper. The shower grew heavier instead of ending. Caleb went out and dug a trench all round the teepee to catch the rain, then a leader to take it away. After supper they sat around the campfire in the teepee; the wind arose and the rain beat down. Yan had to go out and swing the smoke poles, and again his ear was greeted with _the screech_. He brought in an armful of wood and made the inside of the teepee a blaze of cheerful light. A high wind now came in gusts, so that the canvas flopped unpleasantly on the poles.

"Where's your anchor rope?" asked the Trapper.

Sam produced the loose end; the other was fastened properly to the poles above. It had never been used, for so far the weather had been fine; but now Caleb sunk a heavy stake, lashed the anchor rope to that, then went out and drove all the pegs a little deeper, and the Tribe felt safe from any ordinary storm.

There was nothing to attract the old Trapper to his own shanty. His heirs had begun to forget that he needed food, and what little they did send was of vilest quality. The old man was as fond of human society as any one, and was easily persuaded now to stay all night, "if you can stand Guy for a bedfeller." So Caleb and Turk settled down for a comfortable evening within, while the storm raged without.

"Say, don't you touch that canvas, Guy; you'll make it leak."

"What, me? Oh, pshaw! How can it leak for a little thing like that?" and Guy slapped it again in bravado.

"All right, it's on your side of the bed," and sure enough, within two minutes a little stream of water was trickling from the place he had rubbed, while elsewhere the canvas turned every drop.

This is well known to all who have camped under canvas during a storm, and is more easily remembered than explained.

The smoke hung heavy in the top of the teepee and kept crowding down until it became unpleasant.

"Lift the teepee cover on the windward side, Yan. There, that's it--but hold on," as a great gust came in, driving the smoke and ashes around in whirlwinds. "You had ought to have a lining. Give me that canvas: that'll do." Taking great care not to touch the teepee cover, Caleb fastened the lining across three pole spaces so that the opening under the canvas was behind it. This turned the draught from their backs and, sending it over their heads, quickly cleared the teepee of smoke as well as kept off what little rain entered by the smoke hole.

"It's on them linings the Injuns paint their records and adventures. They mostly puts their totems on the outside an' their records on the lining."

"Bully," said Sam; "now there's a job for you. Little Beaver; by the time you get our adventures on the inside and our totems on the out I tell you we'll be living in splendour."

"I think," answered Yan indirectly, "we ought to take Mr. Clark into the Tribe. Will you be our Medicine Man?" Caleb chuckled in a quiet way, apparently consenting. "Now I have four totems to paint on the outside," and this was the beginning of the teepee painting that Yan carried out with yellow clay, blue clay dried to a white, yellow clay burned to red, and charcoal, all ground in Coon grease and Pine gum, to be properly Indian. He could easily have gotten bright colours in oil paint, but scorned such White-man's truck, and doubtless the general effect was all the better for it.

"Say, Caleb," piped Guy, "tell us about the Injuns--about their bravery. Bravery is what _I_ like," he added with emphasis, conscious of being now on his own special ground. "Why, I mind the time that old Woodchuck was coming roaring at me--I bet some fellers would just 'a' been so scared--"

"_Hssh!_" said Sam.

Caleb smoked in silence. The rain pattered on the teepee without; the wind heaved the cover. They all sat silently. Then sounded loud and clear a terrifying "_scrrrrrr--oouwurr_." The boys were startled--would have been terrified had they been outside or alone.

"That's it--that's the Banshee," whispered Sam.

Caleb looked up sharply.

"What is it?" queried Yan. "We've heard it a dozen times, at least."

Caleb shook his head, made no reply, but turned to his Dog. Turk was lying on his side by the fire, and at this piercing screech he had merely lifted his head, looked backward over his shoulder, turned his big sad eyes on his master, then laid down again.

"Turk don't take no stock in it."

"Dogs never hear a Banshee," objected Sam, "no more than they can see a ghost; anyway, that's what Granny de Neuville says." So the Dog's negative testimony was the reverse of comforting.

"Hawkeye," said the Woodpecker, "you're the bravest one of the crowd. Don't you want to go out and try a shot at the Banshee? I'll lend you my Witch-hazel arrow. We'll give you a _grand coup_ feather if you hit him. Go ahead, now--you know bravery is what _you_ like."

"Yer nothin' but a passel o' blame dumb fools," was the answer, "an' I wouldn't be bothered talking to ye. Caleb, tell us something about the Indians."

"What the Injuns love is bravery," said the Medicine Man with a twinkle in his eye, and everybody but Guy laughed, not very loudly, for each was restrained by the thought that _he_ would rather not be called upon to show his bravery to-night.

"I'm going to bed," said Hawkeye with unnecessary energy.

"Don't forget to roost under the waterspout you started when you got funny," remarked the Woodpecker.

Yan soon followed Guy's example, and Sam, who had already learned to smoke, sat up with Caleb. Not a word passed between them until after Guy's snore and Yan's regular puffs told of sound sleep, when Sam, taking advantage of a long-awaited chance, opened out rather abruptly:

"Say, Caleb, I ain't going to side with no man against Da, but I know him just about as well as he knows me. Da's all right; he's plumb and square, and way down deep he's got an awful kind heart; it's pretty deep, I grant you, but it's there, O.K. The things he does on the quiet to help folks is done on the quiet and ain't noticed. The things he does to beat folks--an' he does do plenty--is talked all over creation. But I know he has a wrong notion of you, just as you have of him, and it's got to be set right."

Sam's good sense was always evident, and now, when he laid aside his buffoonery, his voice and manner were very impressive--more like those of a grown man than of a fifteen-year-old boy.

Caleb simply grunted and went on smoking, so Sam continued, "I want to hear your story, then Ma an' me'll soon fix Da."

The mention of "Ma" was a happy stroke. Caleb had known her from youth as a kind-hearted girl. She was all gentleness and obedience to her husband except in matters of what she considered right and wrong, and here she was immovable. She had always believed in Caleb, even after the row, and had not hesitated to make known her belief.

"There ain't much to tell," replied Caleb bitterly. "He done me on that Horse-trade, an' crowded me on my note so I had to pay it off with oats at sixty cents, then he turned round and sold them within half an hour for seventy-five cents. We had words right there, an' I believe I did say I'd fix him for it. I left Downey's Dump early that day. He had about $300 in his pocket--$300 of my money--the last I had in the world. He was too late to bank it, so was taking it home, when he was fired at in going through the 'green bush'. My tobacco pouch and some letters addressed to me was found there in the morning. Course he blamed me, but I didn't have any shootin'-iron then; my revolver, the white one, was stole from me a week before--along with them same letters, I expect. I consider they was put there to lay the blame on me, an' it was a little overdone, most folks would think. Well, then your Da set Dick Pogue on me, an' I lost my farm--that's all."

Sam smoked gravely for awhile, then continued:

"That's true about the note an' the oats an' the Horse-trade--just what Da would do; that's all in the game: but you're all wrong about Dick Pogue--that's too dirty for Da."

"_You_ may think so, but _I don't_."

Sam made no answer, but after a minute laid his hand on Turk, who responded with a low growl. This made Caleb continue: "Down on me, down on my Dog. Pogue says he kills Sheep 'an' every one is ready to believe it. I never knowed a Hound turn Sheep-killer, an' I never knowed a Sheep-killer kill at home, an' I never knowed a Sheep-killer content with one each night, an' I never knowed a Sheep-killer leave no tracks, an' Sheep was killed again and again when Turk was locked up in the shanty with me."

"Well, whose Dog is it does it?"

"I don't know as it's any Dog, for part of the Sheep was eat each time, they say, though I never seen one o' them that was killed or I could tell. It's more likely a Fox or a Lynx than a Dog."

There was a long silence, then outside again the hair-lifting screech to which the Dog paid no heed, although the Trapper and the boy were evidently startled and scared.

They made up a blazing fire and turned in silently for the night.

The rain came down steadily, and the wind swept by in gusts. It was the Banshee's hour, and two or three times, as they were dropping off, that fearful, quavering human wail, "like a woman in distress," came from the woods to set their hearts a-jumping, not Caleb and Sam only, but all four.

In the diary which Yan kept of those times each day was named after its event; there was Deer day, Skunk-and-Cat day, Blue Crane day, and this was noted down as the night of the Banshee's wailing.

Caleb was up and had breakfast ready before the others were fully awake. They had carefully kept and cleaned the Coon meat, and Caleb made of it a "prairie pie," in which bacon, potatoes, bread, one small onion and various scraps of food were made important. This, warmed up for breakfast and washed down with coffee, made a royal meal, and feasting they forgot the fears of the night.

The rain was over, but the wind kept on. Great blockish clouds were tumbling across the upper sky Yan went out to look for tracks. He found none but those of raindrops.

The day was spent chiefly about camp, making arrows and painting the teepee.

Again Caleb was satisfied to sleep in the camp. The Banshee called once that night, and again Turk seemed not to hear, but half an hour later there was a different and much lower sound outside, a light, nasal "_wow_." The boys scarcely heard it, but Turk sprang up with bristling hair, growling, and forcing his way out under the door, he ran, loudly barking, into the woods.

"He's after something now, all right," said his master; "and now he's treed it," as the Dog began his high-pitched yelps.

"Good old Dog; he's treed the Banshee," and Yan rushed out into the darkness. The others followed, and they found Turk barking and scratching at a big leaning Beech, but could get no hint of what the creature up it might be like.

"How does he usually bark for a Banshee?" asked the Woodpecker, but got no satisfaction, and wondering why Turk should bother himself so mightily over a little squeal and never hear that awful scream, they retired to camp.

Next morning in the mud not far from the teepee Yan found the track of a common Cat, and shrewdly guessed that this was the prowler that had been heard and treed by the Dog; probably it was his old friend of the Skunk fight. The wind was still high, and as Yan pored over the tracks he heard for the first time in broad daylight the appalling screech. It certainly was _loud_, though less dreadful than at night, and peering up Yan saw _two large limbs that crossed and rubbed each other, when the right puff of wind came_. This was the Banshee that did the wailing that had scared them all--_all but the Dog_. His keener senses, unspoiled by superstition, had rightly judged the awful sound as the harmless scraping of two limbs in the high wind, but the lower, softer noise made by the prowling Cat he had just as truly placed and keenly followed up.

Guy was the only one not convinced. He clung to his theory of Bears.

Late in the night the two Chiefs were awakened by Guy. "Say, Sam--Sam. Yan--Yan--Yan--Yan, get up; that big Bear is 'round again. I told you there was a Bear, an' you wouldn't believe me."

There was a loud champing sound outside, and occasionally growls or grumbling.

"There's surely something there, Sam. I wish Turk and Caleb were here now."

The boys opened the door a little and peered out. There, looming up in the dim starlight, was a huge black animal, picking up scraps of meat and digging up the tins that were buried in the garbage hole. All doubts were dispelled. Guy had another triumph, and he would have expressed his feelings to the full but for fear of the monster outside.

"What had we better do?"

"Better not shoot him with arrows. That'll only rile him. Guy, you blow up the coals and get a blaze."

All was intense excitement now, "Oh, why haven't we got a gun!"

"Say, Sam, while Sap--I mean Hawkeye--makes a blaze, let's you and me shoot with blunt arrows, if the Bear comes toward the teepee." So they arranged themselves, Guy puttering in terror at the fire and begging them not to shoot.

"What's the good o' riling him? It--it--it's croo-oo-el."

Sam and Yan stood with bows ready and arrows nocked.

Guy was making a failure of the fire, and the Bear began nosing nearer, champing his teeth and grunting. Now the boys could see the great ears as the monster threw up its head.

"Let's shoot before he gets any nearer." At this Guy promptly abandoned further attempts to make a fire and scrambled up on a cross stick that was high in the teepee for hanging the pot. He broke out into tears when he saw Sam and Yan actually drawing their bows.

"He'll come in and eat us, he will."

But the Bear was coming anyway, and having the two tomahawks ready, the boys let fly. At once the Bear wheeled and ran off, uttering the loud, unmistakable squeal of an old Pig--Burns's own Pig--for young Burns had again forgotten to put up the bars that crossed his trail from the homestead to the camp.

Guy came down quickly to join in the laugh. "I tole you fellers not to shoot. I just believed it was our old Hog, an' I couldn't help crying when I thought how mad Paw'd be when he found out."

"I s'pose you got up on that cross pole to see if Paw was coming, didn't you?"

"No; he got up there to show how brave he was."

This was the huge night prowler that Guy had seen, and in the morning one more mystery was explained, for careful examination of Yan's diary of the big Buck's track showed that it was nothing more than the track of Burns's old Hog. Why had Caleb and Raften both been mistaken? First, because it was a long time since they had seen a Buck track, and second, because this Pig happened to have a very unpiggy foot--one as much like that of a Buck as of a Hog.

XXIV

Hawkeye Claims Another Grand Coup

"_Wa wa wa wa wa! Wa wa wa wa wa! Wa wa wa wa wa!_" Three times it echoed through the woods--a loud, triumphant cry.

"That's Hawkeye with a big story of bravery; let's hide."

So Sam and Yan scrambled quickly into the teepee, hid behind the lining and watched through an "arrow hole." Guy came proudly stepping, chin in air, uttering his war-whoop at intervals as he drew near, and carrying his coat bundled up under one arm.

"_Coup! Grand coup! Wa wa wa wa!_" he yelled again and again, but looked simple and foolish when he found the camp apparently deserted.

So he ceased his yells and, walking deliberately into the teepee, pulled out the sugar box and was stuffing a handful into his mouth when the other two Chiefs let off their wildest howls and, leaping from their concealment, chased him into the woods--not far, for Yan laughed too much, and Sam had on but one boot.

This was their re-gathering after a new search for adventures. Early in the morning, as he wiped off the breakfast knives by sticking them into the sod, the Second War Chief had suggested: "Say, boys, in old days Warriors would sometimes set out in different directions in search of adventure, then agree to meet at a given time. Let's do that to-day and see what we run across."

"Get your straws," was Woodpecker's reply, as he returned from putting the scraps on the Wakan Rock.

"No you don't," put in Hawkeye hastily; "at least, not unless you let me hold the straws. I know you'll fix it so I'll have to go home."

"All right. You can hold the three straws; long one is Woodpecker--that's his head with a bit of red flannel to prevent mistakes; the middle-sized thin one is me; and the short fat one is you. Now let them drop. Sudden death and no try over."

The straws fell, and the two boys gave a yell as Hawkeye's fate pointed straight to the Burns homestead.

"Oh, get out; that's no good. We'll take the other end," he said angrily, and persisted in going the opposite way.

"Now we all got to go straight till we find something, and meet here again when that streak of sunlight gets around in the teepee to that pole."

As the sunstreak, which was their Indian clock, travelled just about one pole for two hours, this gave about four hours for adventures.

Sam and Yan had been back some minutes, and now Guy, having recovered his composure, bothered not to wipe the stolen sugar from his lips, but broke out eagerly:

"Say, fellers, I bet I'm the bully boy. I bet you I--"

"Silence!" roared Woodpecker. "You come last."

"All right; I don't care. I bet I win over all of you. I bet a million dollars I do."

"Go ahead, Chief Woodpecker-settin'-on-the-edge."

So Sam began:

"I pulls on my boots" [he went barefooted half the time]. "Oh, I tell you I know when to wear my boots--an' I set out following my straw line straight out. I don't take no back track. _I'm_ not scared of the front trail," and he turned his little slit eyes sadly on Guy, "and I kep' right on, and when I came to the dry bed of the creek it didn't turn _me_; no, not a dozen rods; and I kept right till I came to a Wasp's nest, and I turned and went round that coz it's cruel to go blundering into a nest of a lot of poor innocent little Wasps--and I kep' on, till I heard a low growl, and I looked up and didn't see a thing. Then the growling got louder, and I seen it was a hungry Chipmunk roaring at me and jest getting ready to spring. Then when I got out my bonearrer he says to me, he says, as bold as brass 'Is your name Woodpecker?' Now that scared me, and so I told a lie--my very first. I says, says I. 'No,' says I. 'I'm Hawkeye.' Well, you should 'a seen him. He just turned pale; every stripe on his back faded _when I said that name_, and he made for a hollow log and got in. Now I was mad, and tried to get him out, but when I'd run to one end he'd run to the other, so we ran up and down till I had a deep-worn trail alongside the log, an' he had a deep-worn trail inside the log, an' I was figgerin' to have him wear it right through at the bottom so the log'd open, but all of a sudden I says, 'I know what to do for you.' I took off my boot and stuffs the leg into one end of the log. Then I rattles a stick at the other end and I heard him run into the boot. Then I squeezes in the leg and ties a string around it an' brings him home, me wearing one boot and the Chipmunk the other, and there he is in it now," and Sam curled up his free bunch of toes in graphic comment and added: "Humph! I s'pose you fellers thought I didn't know what I was about when I drawed on my long boots this morning."

"Well, I just want to see that Chipmunk an' maybe I'll believe you."

"In there hunting for a loose patch," and Sam held up the boot.

"Let's turn him out," suggested the Second Chief.

So the string was cut and the Chipmunk scrambled out and away to a safer refuge.

"Now, sonny," said Sam, as it disappeared, "don't tell your folks what happened you or they'll swat you for a liar."

"Oh, shucks! That's no adventure. Why, I--"

"Hold on, Hawkeye; Little Beaver next."

"Well, I don't care. I bet I--"

Sam grabbed his knife and interrupted: "Do you know what Callahan's spring lamb did when it saw the old man gathering mint? Go ahead, Little Beaver."

"I hadn't much of an adventure, but I went straight through the woods where my straw pointed and ran into a big dead stub. It was too old and rotten for Birds to use now, as well as too late in the season, so I got a pole and pushed it over, and I found the whole history of a tenement in that stub. First of all, a Flicker had come years ago and dug put a fine big nesting-place, and used it maybe two or three times. When he was through, or maybe between seasons, the Chickadees made a winter den of it, for there were some Chickadee tail-feathers in the bottom. Next a Purple Blackbird came and used the hole, piling up a lot of roots with mud on them. Next year it seems it came again and made another nest on top of the last; then that winter the Chickadees again used it for a cubby-hole, for there were some more Chickadee feathers. Next year a Blue Jay found it out and nested there. I found some of her egg-shells among the soft stuff of the nest. Then I suppose a year after a pair of Sparrow-hawks happened on the place, found it suited them, and made their nest in it and hatched a brood of little Sparrow-hawks. Well, one day this bold robber brought home to his little ones a 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 Mole _was_ a Mouse specie," remarked Hawkeye, not satisfied with Yan's distinction.

"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 till to-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 you _easy_ any 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 farmhouse an'--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 he found 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. I _am_ Hawkeye. 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'm _brave_, boohoo!"

"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."

XXV

The Three-Fingered Tramp.

Broad-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. 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."

Yan 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.

"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.

"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.

"Bring me the whetstone," the tyrant growled, "an' some more coffee." Yan did so. The tramp began whetting 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 not with 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.

"'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," while 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."

"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 a _sick 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; and 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.

XXVI

WINNING BACK THE FARM

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. How could 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, 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."

"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.

"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 spoke to 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.