Chapter XV: Part III: In the Woods (7)

"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 for _the_ pen. 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!_" And 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.

"There it is, Bill. I hain't even counted it, and a thousand times obliged. If ever you need a friend, call on me."

Raften 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 was nothing 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.

"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.

XXVII

THE RIVAL TRIBE

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 three Boyle boys and their town friend.

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 the moment 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.

Inspired by this, they drove the Boilers from the field, scored a grand triumph, and 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 which the 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 in knowledge 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.

Yan'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.

XXVIII

White-Man's Woodcraft

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 2-1/4-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 multiply the 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 3-1/2 by 3; that equals 10-1/2, multiplied by 5 equals 52-1/2 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:

"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."

"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. A peg marked 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, in diagram) 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 them together in a triangle, leaving the pegs sticking up. He placed this triangle on the bank at _A B C_, sighting the line _A B_ for the little Hemlock _D_, and put three pegs in the ground exactly under the three pegs where the triangle was; moved the triangle to _E F G_ and placed it so that _F G_ should line with _A C_ and _E G_ with _D_. Now _A G D_ also must be an equilateral triangle; therefore, according to arithmetic, the line _D H_ must be seven-eighths of _A G. A G_ was 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.

Sam was interested in the White-man's Woodcraft chiefly on Yan's account, but Blackhawk was evidently impressed with the study itself, and said:

"Little Beaver, I'll give you one more to do. Can you measure how far apart those two trees are on that bank, without crossing?"

"Yes," said Yan; "easily." So he cut three poles 6, 8 and 10 feet long and pegged them together in a triangle (in diagram). "Now," said he, "_A B C_ is a right angle; it must be, when the legs of the triangle are 6, 8 and 10; that's a law."

He placed this on the shore, the side _A B_ pointing to the inner side of the first tree, and the side _B C_ as nearly as possible parallel with the line between the two trees. Then he put in a stake at _B_, another at _C_, and continued this line toward _K_. Now he slid his triangle along this till the side _G F_ pointed to _E_, and the side _H G_ in line with _C B_. The distance from _D_ to _E_, of course, is equal to _B G_, which can be measured, and again the tape line showed Yan to be nearly right.

This White-man's Woodcraft was easy for him, and he volunteered to teach the other Indians, but they thought it looked "too much like school." They voted him a _coup_ on finding how well he could do it. But when Raften heard of it he exclaimed in wonder and admiration, "My, but that's mightiful!" and would not be satisfied till the _coup_ was made a _grand coup_.

"Say, Beaver," said Woodpecker sadly, harking back, "if a Dog's front foot is 3-1/2 inches long and 3 inches wide, what colour is the end of his tail?"

"White," was the prompt reply; "'cause a Dog with feet that size and shape is most likely to be a yaller Dog, and a yaller Dog always has some white hairs in the end of his tail."

"Well, this 'un hadn't, 'cause his tail was cut off in the days of his youth!"

XXIX

The Long Swamp

The union of the tribes, however, was far from complete. Blackhawk was inclined to be turbulent. He was heavier than Beaver. He could not understand how that slighter, younger boy could throw him, and he wished to try again. Now Yan was growing stronger every day. He was quick and of very wiry build. In the first battle, which was entirely fisty, he was worsted; on the try-over, which cost him such an effort, he had arranged "a rough-and-tumble," as they called it, and had won chiefly by working his only trick. But now Blackhawk was not satisfied, and while he did not care to offer another deadly challenge, by way of a feeler he offered, some days after the peace, to try a friendly throw for scalps.

"Fists left out!" Just what Beaver wanted, and the biggest boy was sent flying. "If any other Boiler would like to try I'd be pleased to oblige him," said Yan, just a little puffed up, as he held up the second scalp he had won from Blackhawk.

Much to his surprise, Bluejay, the city boy, accepted, and he was still more surprised when the city boy sent _him_ down in the dust.

"Best out of three!" shouted Woodpecker quickly, in the interest of his friend, taking advantage of an unwritten law that when it is not stated to be in one try, usually called "sudden death," it is "best two out of three" that counts.

Yan knew now that he had found a worthy foe. He dodged, waiting for an opening--gripped--locked--and had him on the hip, he thought, but the city boy squirmed in time, yielding instead of resisting, and both went down tight-gripped. For a minute it was doubtful.

"Go it, Yan."

"Give it to him, Bluejay."

But Yan quickly threw out one leg, got a little purchase, and turned the city boy on his back.

"Hooray for Little Beaver!"

"One try more! So far even!" cried Blackhawk.

They closed again, but Yan was more than ever careful. The city boy was puffing hard. The real trial was over and Cy went down quite easily.

"Three cheers for Little Beaver!" A fourth scalp was added to his collection, and Sam patted him on the back, while Bluejay got out a pocket mirror and comb and put his hair straight.

But this did not help out in the matter of leadership, and when the Medicine Man heard of the continued deadlock he said:

"Boys, you know when there is a doubt about who is to lead the only way is for all Chiefs to resign and have a new election." The boys acted on this suggestion but found another deadlock. Little Beaver refused to be put up. Woodpecker got three votes, Blackhawk four, and Guy one (his own), and the Sangers refused to stand by the decision.

"Let's wait till after the 'hard trip'--that will show who is the real Chief--then have a new election," suggested Little Beaver, with an eye to Woodpecker's interest, for this hard trip was one that had been promised them by Caleb--a three-days' expedition in the Long Swamp.

This swamp was a wild tract, ten miles by thirty, that lay a dozen miles north of Sanger. It was swampy only in parts, but the dry places were mere rocky ridges, like islands in the bogs. The land on these was worthless and the timber had been ruined by fire, so Long Swamp continued an uninhabited wilderness.

There was said to be a few Deer on the hardwood ridges. Bears and Lynx were occasionally seen, and Wolves had been heard in recent winters. Of course there were Foxes, Grouse and Northern Hare. The streams were more or less choked with logs, but were known to harbour a few Beavers and an occasional Otter. There were no roads for summer use, only long, dim openings across the bogs, known as winter trails and timber roads. This was the region that the boys proposed to visit under Caleb's guidance.

Thus at last they were really going on an "Indian trip"--to explore the great unknown, with every probability of adventure.

At dawn Yan tapped the tom-tom. It sang a high and vibrant note, in guarantee of a sunny day.

They left camp at seven in the morning, and after three hours' tramp they got to the first part of the wilderness, a great tract of rocky land, disfigured with blackened trees and stumps, but green in places with groves of young Poplars or quaking Aspen.

The Indians were very ready to camp now, but the Medicine Man said, "No; better keep on till we find water." In another mile they reached the first stretch of level Tamarack bog and a welcome halt for lunch was called. "Camp!" shouted the leader, and the Indians ran each to do his part. Sam got wood for the fire and Blackhawk went to seek water, and with him was Blue jay, conspicuous in a high linen collar and broad cuffs, for Caleb unfortunately had admitted that he once saw an Indian Chief in high hat and stand-up collar.

Beaver was just a little disappointed to see the Medicine Man light the fire with a match. He wanted it all in truly Indian style, but the Trapper remarked, "Jest as well to have some tinder and a thong along when you're in the woods, but matches is handier than rubbing-sticks."

Blackhawk and Bluejay returned with two pails of dirty, tepid, swampy water.

"Why, that's all there is!" was their defense.

"Yan, you go and show them how to get good water," said Caleb, so the Second Sanger Chief, remembering his training, took the axe and quickly made a wooden digger, then went to the edge of the swamp, and on the land twenty feet from the bog he began to dig a hole in the sandy loam. He made it two feet across and sunk it down three feet. The roily water kept oozing in all around, and Bluejay was scornful. "Well, I'd rather have what we got." Beaver dug on till there was a foot of dirty water in the hole. Then he took a pail and bailed it all out as fast as possible, left it to fill, bailed it out a second time, and ten minutes later cautiously dipped out with a cup a full pail of crystal-clear cold water, and thus the Boilers learned how to make an Indian well and get clear water out of a dirty puddle.

After their simple meal of tea, bread and meat Caleb told his plan. "You never get the same good of a trip if you jest wander off; better have a plan--something to do; and do it without a guide if ye want adventures. Now eight is too many to travel together; you'd scare everything with racket and never see a livin' thing. Better divide in parties. I'll stay in camp and get things ready for the night."

Thus the leaders, Sam and Yan, soon found themselves paired with Guy and Peetweet. Wes felt bound to take care of his little cousin Char-less.

Bluejay, finding himself the odd man, decided to stay with Caleb, especially as the swamp evidently was without proper footpaths.

"Now," said Caleb, "northwest of here there is a river called the Beaver, that runs into Black River. I want one of you to locate that. It's thirty or forty feet wide and easy to know, for it's the only big stream in the swamp. Right north there is an open stretch of plain, with a little spring creek, where there's a band of Injuns camped. Somewhere northeast they say there's a tract of Pine bush not burned off, and there is some Deer there. None of the places is ten miles away except, maybe, the Injuns' camp. I want ye to go scoutin' and report. You kin draw straws to say who goes where."

So the straws were marked and drawn. Yan drew the timber hunt. He would rather have had the one after the Indians. Sam had to seek the river, and Wesley the Indian camp. Caleb gave each of them a few matches and this parting word:

"I'll stay here till you come back. I'll keep up a fire, and toward sundown I'll make a smoke with rotten wood and grass so you kin find your way back. Remember, steer by the sun; keep your main lines of travel; don't try to remember trees and mudholes; and if you get lost, you make _two smokes_ well apart and stay right there and holler every once in awhile; some one will be sure to come."

So about eleven o'clock the boys set out eagerly. As they were going Blackhawk called to the others, "First to carry out his job wins a _grand coup_!"

"Let the three leaders stake their scalps," said the Woodpecker.

"All right. First winner home gets a scalp from each of the others and saves his own."

"Say, boys, you better take along; your hull outfit, some grub an' your blankets," was the Medicine Man's last suggestion. "You may have to stay out all night."

Yan would rather have had Sam along, but that couldn't be, and Peetweet proved a good fellow, though rather slow. They soon left the high ground and came to the bog--flat and seemingly endless and with a few tall Tamaracks. There were some Cedar-birds catching Flies on the tall tree-tops, and a single Flycatcher was calling out: "_Whoit--whoit--whoit!_" Yan did not know until long after that it was the Olive-side. A Sparrow-hawk sailed over, and later a Bald Eagle with a Sparrow-hawk in hot and noisy pursuit. But the most curious thing was the surface of the bog. The spongy stretch of moss among the scattering Tamaracks was dotted with great masses of Pitcher Plant, and half concealed by the curious leaves were thousands of Droseræ, or fly-eating plants, with their traps set to secure their prey.

The bog was wonderful, but very bad walking. The boys sank knee-deep in the soft moss, and as they went farther, steering only by the sun, they found the moss sank till their feet reached the water below and they were speedily wet to the knees. Yan cut for each a long pole to carry in the hand; in case the bog gave way this would save them from sinking. After two miles of this Peetweet wanted to go back, but was scornfully suppressed by Little Beaver.

Shortly afterward they came to a sluggish little stream in the bog with a peculiar red-and-yellow scum along its banks. It was deep and soft-bottomed. Yan tried it with the pole--did not dare to wade, so they walked along its course till they found a small tree lying from bank to bank, then crossed on this. Half a mile farther on the bog got dryer, and a mass of green ahead marked one of the islands of high land. Over this they passed quickly, keeping the northwest course. They now had a succession of small bogs and large islands. The sun was hot here and Peetweet was getting tired. He was thirsty, too, and persisted in drinking the swamp water whenever he found a hole.

"Say, Peetweet, you'll suffer for that if you don't quit; that water isn't fit to drink unless you boil it."

But Peetweet complained of burning thirst and drank recklessly. After two hours' tramp he was very tired and wanted to turn back. Yan sought a dry island and then gathered sticks for a fire, but found all the matches they had were soaking wet with wading through the bog. Peetweet was much upset by this, not on account of fire now, but in case they should be out all night.

"You wait and see what an Indian does," said Little Beaver. He sought for a dried Balsam Fir, cut the rubbing-sticks, made a bow of a slightly bent branch, and soon had a blazing fire, to Peter's utter amazement, for he had never seen the trick of making a fire by rubbing-sticks.

After drinking some tea and eating a little, Pete felt more encouraged.

"We have travelled more than six miles now, I reckon," said the Chief; "an hour longer and we shall be in sight of the forest if there is one," and Yan led off across swamps more or less open and islands of burned timber.

Pete began to be appalled by the distance they were putting between them and their friends. "What if we should get lost? They never could find us."

"We won't get lost," said Yan in some impatience; "and if we did, what of it? We have only to keep on straight north or south for four or five hours and we reach some kind of a settlement."

After an hour's tramp northeast they came to an island with a tall tree that had branches right to the ground. Yan climbed up. A vast extent of country lay all about him--open flat bogs and timber islands, and on far ahead was a long, dark mass of solid ever-green--surely the forest he sought. Between him and it he saw water sparkling.

"Oh, Pete, you ought to be up here," he shouted joyfully; "it's worth the climb to see this view."

"I'd rather see our own back-yard," grumbled Pete.

Yan came down, his face aglow with pleasure, and exclaimed: "It's close to, now! I saw the Pine woods. Just off there."

"How far?"

"Oh, a couple of miles, at most."

"That's what you have been saying all along."

"Well, I saw it this time; and there is water out there. I saw that, too."

He tramped on, and in half an hour they came to the water, a deep, clear, slow stream, fringed with scrub willows, covered with lily-pads, and following the middle of a broad, boggy flat. Yan had looked for a pond, and was puzzled by the stream. Then it struck him. "Caleb said there was only one big stream through this swamp. This must be it. This is Beaver River."

The stream was barely forty feet across, but it was clearly out of the question to find a pole for a bridge, so Yan stripped off, put all his things in a bundle, and throwing them over, swam after them. Pete had to come now or be left.

As they were dressing on the northern side there was a sudden loud "_Bang--swish_!" A torrent of water was thrown in the air, with lily-pads broken from their mooring, the water pattered down, the wavelets settled, and the boys stood in astonishment to see what strange animal had made this disturbance; but nothing more of it was seen, and the mystery remained unsolved.

Then Yan heard a familiar "_Quack!_" down the stream. He took his bow and arrow, while Pete sat gloomily on a hummock. As soon as he peered through the rushes in a little bay he saw three Mallard close at hand. He waited till two were in line, then fired, killing one instantly, and the others flew away. The breeze wafted it within reach of a stick, and he seized it and returned in triumph to Pete, but found him ready to cry. "I want to go home!" he said miserably. The sight of the Mallard cheered him a little, and Yan said: "Come now, Pete, don't spoil everything, there's a good fellow. Brace up, and if I don't show you the Pine woods in twenty minutes I'll turn and take you home."

As soon as they got to the next island they saw the Pine wood--a solid green bank not half a mile away, and the boys gave a little cheer, and felt, no doubt, as Mungo Park did when first he sighted the Niger. In fifteen minutes they were walking in its dry and delightful aisles.

"Now we've won," said Yan, "whatever the others do, and all that remains is to get back."

"I'm awfully tired," said Pete; "let's rest awhile."

Yan looked at his watch. "It's four o'clock. I think we'd better camp for the night."

"Oh, no; I want to go home. It looks like rain."

It certainly did, but Yan replied, "Well, let's eat first." He delayed as much as possible so as to compel the making of a camp, and the rain came unexpectedly, before he even had a fire. Yet to his own delight and Peter's astonishment he quickly made a rubbing-stick fire, and they hung up their wet clothes about it. Then he dug an Indian well and took lots of time in the preparation, so it was six o'clock before they began to eat, and seven when finished--evidently too late to move out even though the rain seemed to be over. So Yan collected firewood, made a bed of Fir boughs and a windbreak of bushes and bark. The weather was warm, and with the fire and two blankets they passed a comfortable night. They heard their old friend the Horned Owl, a Fox barked his querulous "_Yap-yurr!_" close at hand, and once or twice they were awakened by rustling footsteps in the leaves, but slept fairly well.

At dawn Yan was up. He made a fire and heated some water for tea. They had very little bread left, but the Mallard was untouched.

Yan cleaned it, rolled it in wet clay, hid it in the ashes and covered it with glowing coals. This is an Indian method of cooking, but Yan had not fully mastered it. In half an hour he opened his clay pie and found the Duck burned on one side and very raw on the other. Part of it was good, however, so he called his companion to breakfast. Pete sat up white-faced and miserable, evidently a sick boy. Not only had he caught cold, but he was upset by the swamp water he had taken. He was paying the penalty of his indiscretion. He ate a little and drank some tea, then felt better, but clearly was unable to travel that day. Now for the first time Yan felt a qualm of fear. Separated by a dozen miles of swamp from all help, what could he do with a sick boy? He barked a small dead tree with a knife, then on the smooth surface wrote with a pencil, "Yan Yeoman and Pete Boyle camped here August 10, 18--"

He made Pete comfortable by the fire, and, looking for tracks, he found that during the night two Deer had come nearly into the camp; then he climbed a high tree and scanned the southern horizon for a smoke sign. He saw none there, but to the northwest, beyond some shining yellow hills, he discovered a level plain dotted over with black Fir clumps; from one of these smoke went up, and near it were two or three white things like teepees.

Yan hurried down to tell Pete the good news, but when he confessed that it was two miles farther from home Pete had no notion of going to the Indian camp; so Yan made a smoke fire, and knife-blazing the saplings on two sides as he went, he set out alone for the Indian camp. Getting there in half an hour, he found two log shanties and three teepees. As he came near he had to use a stick to keep off the numerous Dogs. The Indians proved shy, as usual, to White visitors. Yan made some signs that he had learned from Caleb. Pointing to himself, he held up two fingers--meaning that he was two. Then he pointed to the Pine woods and made sign of the other lying down, and added the hungry sign by pressing in his stomach with the edges of the hands, meaning "I am cut in two here." The Chief Indian offered him a Deer-tongue, but did not take further interest. Yan received it thankfully, made a hasty sketch of the camp, and returned to find Pete much better, but thoroughly alarmed at being so long alone. He was able and anxious now to go back. Yan led off, carrying all the things of the outfit, and his comrade followed slowly and peevishly. When they came to the river, Pete held back in fear, believing that the loud noise they had heard was made by some monster of the deep, who would seize them.

Yan was certain it could be only an explosion of swamp gas, and forced Pete to swim across by setting the example. What the cause really was they never learned.

They travelled very fast now for a time. Pete was helped by the knowledge that he was really going home. A hasty lunch of Deer-tongue delayed them but little. At three they sighted Caleb's smoke signal, and at four they burst into camp with yells of triumph.

Caleb fired off his revolver, and Turk bayed his basso profundo full-cry Fox salute. All the others had come back the night before.

Sam said he had "gone ten mile and never got a sight of that blamed river." Guy swore they had gone forty miles, and didn't believe there was any such river.

"What kind o' country did you see?"

"Nothin' but burned land and rocks."

"H-m, you went too far west--was runnin' parallel with Beaver River."

"Now, Blackhawk, give an account of yourself to Little Beaver," said Woodpecker. "Did you two win out?"

"Well," replied the Boiler Chief, "if Hawkeye travelled forty miles, we must have gone sixty. We pointed straight north for three hours and never saw a thing but bogs and islands of burned timber--never a sign of a plain or of Indians. I don't believe there are any."

"Did you see any sandhills?" asked Little Beaver.

"No."

"Then you didn't get within miles of it."

Now he told his own story, backed by Pete, and he was kind enough to leave out all about Peetweet's whimpering. His comrade responded to this by giving a glowing account of Yan's Woodcraft, especially dwelling on the feat of the rubbing-stick fire in the rain, and when they finished Caleb said:

"Yan, you won, and you more than won, for you found the green timber you went after, you found the river Sam went after, an' the Injuns Wesley went after. Sam and Wesley, hand over your scalps."

XXX

A New Kind of Coon

A merry meal now followed, chaffing and jokes passed several hours away, but the boys were rested and restless by nine o'clock and eager for more adventures.

"Aren't there any Coons 'round here, Mr. Clark?"

"Oh, I reckon so. Y-e-s! Down a piece in the hardwood bush near Widdy Biddy Baggs's place there's lots o' likely Cooning ground."

That was enough to stir them all, for the place was near at hand. Peetweet alone was for staying in camp, but when told that he might stay and keep house by himself he made up his mind to get all the fun he could. The night was hot and moonless, Mosquitoes abundant, and in trampling and scrambling through the gloomy woods the hunters had plenty of small troubles, but they did not mind that so long as Turk was willing to do his part. Once or twice he showed signs of interest in the trail, but soon decided against it.

Thus they worked toward the Widdy Baggs's till they came to a dry brook bed. Turk began at once to travel up this, while Caleb tried to make him go down. But the Dog recognized no superior officer when hunting. After leading his impatient army a quarter of a mile away from the really promising heavy timber, Turk discovered what _he_ was after, and that was a little muddy puddle. In this he calmly lay down, puffing, panting and lapping with energy, and his humble human followers had nothing to do but sit on a log and impatiently await his lordship's pleasure. Fifteen minutes went by, and Turk was still enjoying himself, when Sam ventured at last:

"'Pears to me if I owned a Dog I'd own him."

"There's no use crowdin' him," was the answer. "He's runnin' this hunt, an' he knows it. A Dog without a mind of his own is no 'count."

So when Turk had puffed like a Porpoise, grunted and wallowed like a Hog, to his heart's content and to the envy of the eight who sat sweltering and impatient, he arose, all dribbling ooze, probably to seek a new wallowing place, when his nose discovered something on the bank that had far more effect than all the coaxings and threats of the "waiting line," and he gave a short bark that was a note of joy for the boys. They were all attention now, as the old Hound sniffed it out, and in a few moments stirred the echoes with an opening blast of his deepest strain.

"Turk's struck it rich!" opined Caleb.

The old Dog's bawling was strong now, but not very regular, showing that the hunted animal's course was crooked. Then there was a long break in it, showing possibly that the creature had run a fence or swung from one tree to another.

"That's a Coon," said Yan eagerly, for he had not forgotten any detail of the other lesson.

Caleb made no reply.

The Hound tongued a long way off, but came back to the pond and had one or two checks.

"It's a great running for a Coon," Yan remarked, at length in doubt. Then to Caleb, "What do you think?"

Caleb answered slowly: "I dunno what to think. It runs too far for a Coon, an' 'tain't treed yet; an' I kin tell by the Dog's voice he's mad. If you was near him now you'd see all his back hair stannin' up."

Another circle was announced by the Dog's baying, and then the long, continuous, high-pitched yelping told that the game was treed at last.

"Well, that puts Fox and Skunk out of it," said the Trapper, "but it certainly don't act like a Coon on the ground."

"First there gets the Coon!" shouted Blackhawk, and the boys skurried through the dark woods, getting many a scratch and fall. As it was, Yan and Wesley arrived together and touched the tree at the same moment. The rest came straggling up, with Char-less last and Guy a little ahead of him. Guy wanted to relate the full particulars of his latest glorious victory over Char-less, but all attention was now on old Turk, who was barking savagely up the tree.

"Don't unnerstan' it at all, at all," said Caleb. "Coony kind o' tree, but Dog don't act Coony."

"Let's have a fire," said the Woodpecker, and the two crowds of boys began each a fire and strove hard to get theirs first ablaze.

The firelight reached far up into the night, and once or twice the hunters thought they saw the shining eyes of the Coon.

"Now who's to climb?" asked the Medicine Man.

"I will, I will," etc., seven times repeated; even Guy and Char-less chimed in.

"You're mighty keen hunters, but I want you to know I can't tell what it is that's up that tree. It may be a powerful big Coon, but seems to me the Dog acts a little like it was a Cat, and 'tain't so long since there was Painter in this county. The fact of him treeing for Turk don't prove that he's afraid of a Dog; lots of animals does that 'cause they don't want to be bothered with his noise. If it's a Cat, him as climbs is liable to get his face scratched. Judging by the actions of the Dog, _I think it's something dangerous_. Now who wants the job?"

For awhile no one spoke. Then Yan, "I'll go if you'll lend me the revolver."

"So would I," said Wesley quickly.

"Well, now, we'll draw straws"--and Yan won. Caleb felled a thin tree against the big one and Yan climbed as he had done once before.

There was an absence of the joking and chaffing that all had kept up when on the other occasion Yan went after the Coon. There was a tension that held them still and reached the climber to thrill him with a weird sense of venturing into black darkness to face a fearful and mysterious danger. The feeling increased as he climbed from the leaning tree to the great trunk of the Basswood, to lose sight of his comrades in the wilderness of broad leaves and twisted tree-arms. The dancing firelight sent shadow-blots and light-spots in a dozen directions with fantastic effect. Some of the feelings of the night at Garney's grave came back to him, but this time with the knowledge of real danger. A little higher and he was out of sight of his friends below. The danger began to appal him; he wanted to go back, and to justify the retreat he tried to call out, "No Coon here!" but his voice failed him, and, as he clung to the branch, he remembered Caleb's words, "There's nothing ahead of grit, an' grit ain't so much not bein' scairt as it is goin' straight ahead when you _are_ scairt." No; he would go on, come what would.

"Find anything?" drawled a cheery voice below, just at the right time.

Yan did not pause to answer, but continued to climb into the gloom. Then he thought he heard a Coon snarl above him. He swung to a higher branch and shouted, "Coon here, all right!" but the moment he did so a rattling growl sounded close to him, and looking down he saw a huge grey beast spring to a large branch between him and the ground, then come climbing savagely toward him. As it leaped to a still nearer place Yan got a dim view of a curious four-cornered face, shaggy and striped, like the one he saw so long ago in Glenyan--it was an enormous _Lynx_.

Yan got such a shock that he nearly lost his hold, but quickly recovering, he braced himself in a crotch, and got out the revolver just as the Lynx with a fierce snarl leaped to a side branch that brought it nearly on a level with him. He nervously cocked the pistol, and scarcely attempting to sight in the darkness, he fired and missed. The Lynx recoiled a little and crouched at the report. The boys below raised a shout and Turk outdid them all in racket.

"A Lynx!" shouted Yan, and his voice betrayed his struggle with fear.

"Look out!" Caleb called. "You better not let him get too close."

The Lynx was growling ferociously. Yan put forth all his will-power to control his trembling hand, took more deliberate aim, and fired. The fierce beast was struck, but leaped wildly at the boy. He threw up his arm and it buried its teeth in his flesh, while Yan clung desperately to the tree with the other arm. In a moment he knew he would be dragged off and thrown to the ground, yet felt less fear now than he had before. He clutched for the revolver with the left hand, but it found only the fur of the Lynx, and the revolver dropped from his grasp. Now he was indeed without hope, and dark fear fell on him. But the beast was severely wounded. Its hind quarters were growing heavy. It loosed its hold of Yan and struggled to get on the limb. A kick from his right foot upset its balance; it slipped from the tree and flopped to the ground below, wounded, but full of fight. Turk rushed at it, but got a blow from its armed paw that sent him off howling.