Two Little Savages Part 29

Even the vague terrors of the night were now sources of amus.e.m.e.nt.

III

A Crippled Warrior and the Mud Alb.u.ms

"Say, Sam; what about Guy? Do we want him?"

"Well, it's just like this. If it was at school or any other place I wouldn't be bothered with the dirty little cuss, but out in the woods like this one feels kind o' friendly, an' three's better than two.

Besides, he has been admitted to the Tribe already."

"Yes, that's what I say. Let's give him a _yell_."

So the boys uttered a long yell, produced by alternating the voice between a high falsetto and a natural tone. This was the "yell," and had never failed to call Guy forth to join them unless he had some ch.o.r.e on hand and his "Paw" was too near to prevent his renegading to the Indians. He soon appeared waving a branch, the established signal that he came as a friend.

He came very slowly, however, and the boys saw that he limped frightfully, helping himself along with a stick. He was barefoot, as usual, but his left foot was swaddled in a bundle of rags.

"h.e.l.lo, Sappy; what happened? Out to Wounded Knee River?"

"Nope. Struck luck. Paw was bound I'd ride the Horse with the scuffler all day, but he gee'd too short an' I arranged to tumble off'n him, an' Paw cuffled me foot some. Law! how I did holler! You should 'a'

heard me."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "He soon appeared, waving a branch."]

"Bet we did," said Sam. "When was it?"

"Yesterday about four."

"Exactly. We heard an awful screech and Yan says, says he, 'There's the afternoon train at Kelly's Crossing, but ain't she late?'

"'Train!' says I. 'Pooh. I'll bet that's Guy Burns getting a new licking.'"

"Guess I'll well up now," said War Chief Sapwood, so stripped his foot, revealing a scratch that would not have cost a thought had he got it playing ball. He laid the rags away carefully and with them every trace of the limp, then entered heartily into camp life.

The vast advantage of being astir early now was seen. There were Squirrels in every other tree, there were birds on every side, and when they ran to the pond a wild Duck spattered over the surface and whistled out of sight.

"What you got?" called Sam, as he saw Yan bending eagerly over something down by the pond.

Yan did not answer, and so Sam went over and saw him studying out a mark in the mud. He was trying to draw it in his note-book.

"What is it?" repeated Sam.

"Don't know. Too stubby for a Muskrat, too much claw for a Cat, too small for a c.o.o.n, too many toes for a Mink."

"I'll bet it's a Whangerdoodle."

Yan merely chuckled in answer to this.

"Don't you laugh," said the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, solemnly, "You'd be more apt to cry if you seen one walk into the teepee blowing the whistle at the end of his tail. Then it'd be, 'Oh, Sam, where's the axe?'"

"Tell you what I do believe it is," said Yan, not noticing this terrifying description; "it's a Skunk."

"Little Beaver, my son! I thought I would tell you, then I sez to meself, 'No; it's better for him to find out by his lone. Nothing like a struggle in early life to develop the stuff in a man. It don't do to help him too much,' sez I, an' so I didn't."

Here Sam condescendingly patted the Second War Chief on the head and nodded approvingly. Of course he did not know as much about the track as Yan did, but he prattled on:

"Little Beaver! you're a heap struck on tracks--Ugh--good! You kin tell by them everything that pa.s.ses in the night. Wagh! Bully! You're likely to be the naturalist of our Tribe. But you ain't got gumption.

Now, in this yer hunting-ground of our Tribe there is only one place where you can see a track, an' that is that same mud-bank; all the rest is hard or gra.s.sy. Now, what I'd do if I was a Track-a-mist, I'd give the critters lots o' chance to leave tracks. I'd fix it all round with places so nothing could come or go 'thout givin' us his impressions of the trip. I'd have one on each end of the trail coming in, an' one on each side of the creek where it comes in an' goes out."

"Well, Sam, you have a pretty level head. I wonder I didn't think of that myself."

"My son, the Great Chief does the thinking. It's the rabble--that's you and Sappy--that does the work."

But all the same he set about it at once with Yan, Sappy following with a _slight limp now_. They removed the sticks and rubbish for twenty feet of the trail at each end and sprinkled this with three or four inches of fine black loam. They cleared off the bank of the stream at four places, one at each side where it entered the woods, and one at each side where it went into the Burns's Bush.

"Now," said Sam, "there's what I call visitors' alb.u.ms like the one that Phil Leary's nine fatties started when they got their brick house and their swelled heads, so every one that came in could write their names an' something about 'this happy, happy, ne'er-to-be-forgotten visit'--them as could write. Reckon that's where our visitors get the start, for all of ours kin write that has feet."

"Wonder why I didn't think o' that," said Yan, again and again. "But there's one thing you forget," he said. "We want one around the teepee."

This was easily made, as the ground was smooth and bare there, and Sappy forgot his limp and helped to carry ashes and sand from the fire-hole. Then planting his broad feet down in the dust, with many snickers, he left some very interesting tracks.

"I call that a bare track" said Sam.

"Go ahead and draw it," giggled Sappy

"Why not?" and Yan got out his book.

"Bet you can't make it life-size," and Sam glanced from the little note-book to the vast imprint.

After it was drawn, Sam said, "Guess I'll peel off and show you a human track." He soon gave an impression of his foot for the artist, and later Yan added his own; the three were wholly different.

"Seems to me it would be about right, if you had the ways the toes pointed and the distance apart to show how long the legs wuz."

Again Sam had given Yan a good idea. From that time he noted these two points and made his records much better.

"Air you fellers roostin' here now?" said Sappy in surprise, as he noted the bed as well as the pots and pans.

"Yep."

"Well, I wanter, too. If I kin git hol' o' Maw 'thout Paw, it'll be O.K."

"You let on we don't want you and Paw'll let you come. Tell him Ole Man Raften ordered you off the place an' he'll fetch you here himself."

"I guess there's room enough in that bed fur three," remarked the Third War Chief.

"Well, I guess there ain't," said Woodp.e.c.k.e.r. "Not when the third one won first prize for being the dirtiest boy in school. You can get stuff an' make your own bed, across there on the other side the fire."