Two Little Savages Part 52

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 sa.s.ses 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 c.o.o.n between them on a stick, and before they reached the teepee they agreed that the carca.s.s 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 c.o.o.n-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 alb.u.ms on one of his regular rounds and again found, first that curious hoof-mark that had puzzled him before, and down by the pond alb.u.m 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 "ma.s.sacree," 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 pa.s.sed 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 Woodp.e.c.k.e.r 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 s.p.a.ces 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 c.o.o.n 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--"

"_Hss.h.!.+_" 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.