XIII
The Hostile Spy
"Wonder where Caleb got that big piece of Birch bark," said Yan; "I'dlike some for dishes."
"Guess I know. He was over to Burns's bush. There's none in ours. Wekin git some."
"Will you ask him?"
"Naw, who cares for an old Birch tree. We'll go an' borrow it when heain't lookin'."
Yan hesitated.
Sam took the axe. "We'll call this a war party into the enemy'scountry. There's sure 'nuff war that-a-way. He's one of Da's'_friends.'_"
Yan followed, in doubt still as to the strict honesty of theproceeding.
Over the line they soon found a good-sized canoe Birch, and were busywhacking away to get off a long roll, when a tall man and a small boy,apparently attracted by the chopping, came in sight and made towardthem. Sam called under his breath: "It's old Burns. Let's git."
There was no time to save anything but themselves and the axe. Theyran for the boundary fence, while Burns contented himself withshouting out threats and denunciations. Not that he cared a straw forthe Birch tree--timber had no value in that country--but unfortunatelyRaften had quarrelled with all his immediate neighbours, thereforeBurns did his best to make a fearful crime of the petty depredation.
His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, camenear enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets.
"Red-head--red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gitshol' o' you--Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and othersequally galling and even more exquisitely refined.
"War party escaped and saved their scalps," and Sam placidly laid theaxe in its usual place.
"Nothing lost but honour," added Yan. "Who's the kid?"
"Oh, that's Guy Burns. I know him. He's a mean little cuss, alwayssneaking and peeking. Lies like sixty. Got the prize--a bigscrubbing-brush--for being the dirtiest boy in school. We all voted,and the teacher gave it to him."
Next day the boys made another war party for Birch bark, but hadhardly begun operations when there was an uproar not far away, and avoice, evidently of a small boy, mouthing it largely, trying to passitself off as a man's voice: "Hi, yer the ---- ----. Yer git off my---- ---- place ---- ----"
"Le's capture the little cuss, Yan."
"An' burn him at the stake with horrid torture," was the rejoinder.
They set out in his direction, but again the appearance of Burnschanged their war-party onslaught into a rapid retreat.
(More opprobrium.)
During the days that followed the boys were often close to theboundary, but it happened that Burns was working near and Guy had thequickest of eyes and ears. The little rat seemed ever on the alert. Hesoon showed by his long-distance remarks that he knew all about theboys' pursuits--had doubtless visited the camp in their absence.Several times they saw him watching them with intense interest whenthey were practising with bow and arrow, but he always retreated to asafe distance when discovered, and then enjoyed himself breathing outfire and slaughter.
One day the boys came to the camp at an unusual hour. On going into anear thicket Yan saw a bare foot under some foliage. "Hallo, what'sthis?" He stooped down and found a leg to it and at the end of thatGuy Burns.
Up Guy jumped, yelling "Paw--Paw--PAW!" He ran for his life, theIndians uttering blood-curdlers on his track. But Yan was a runner,and Guy's podgy legs, even winged by fear, had no chance. He wasseized and dragged howling back to the camp.
"You let me alone, you Sam Raften--now you let me alone!" There was,however, a striking lack of opprobrium in his remarks now. (Suchdelicacy is highly commendable in the very young.)
"First thing is to secure the prisoner, Yan."
Sam produced a cord.
"Pooh," said Yan. "You've got no style about you. Bring me someLeatherwood."
This was at hand, and in spite of howls and scuffles, Guy was solemnlytied to a tree--a green one--because, as Yan pointed out, that wouldresist the fire better.
The two Warriors now squatted cross-legged by the fire. The older onelighted a peace-pipe, and they proceeded to discuss the fate of theunhappy captive.
"Brother," said Yan, with stately gestures, "it is very pleasant tohear the howls of this miserable paleface." (It was really getting tobe more than they could endure.)
"Ugh--heap good," said the Woodpecker.
"Ye better let me alone. My Paw'll fix you for this, you dirtycowards," wailed the prisoner, fast losing control of his tongue.
"Ugh! Take um scalp first, burn him after," and Little Beaver madesome expressive signs.
"Wah--bully--me heap wicked," rejoined the Woodpecker, expectoratingon a stone and beginning to whet his jack-knife.
The keen and suggestive "_weet, weet, weet_" of the knife on thestone smote on Guy's ears and nerves with appalling effect.
"Brother Woodpecker, the spirit of our tribe calls out for the bloodof the victim--all of it."
"Great Chief Woodpecker, you mean," said Sam, aside. "If you don'tcall me Chief, I won't call you Chief, that's all."
The Great Woodpecker and Little Beaver now entered the teepee,repainted each other's faces, adjusted their head-dresses and steppedout to the execution.
The Woodpecker re-whetted his knife. It did not need it, but he likedthe sound.
Little Beaver now carried a lot of light firewood and arranged it infront of the prisoner, but Guy's legs were free and he gave it a kickwhich sent it all flying. The two War-chiefs leaped aside. "Ugh! Heapsassy," said the ferocious Woodpecker. "Tie him legs, oh, BrotherGreat Chief Little Beaver!"
A new bark strip tied his legs securely to the tree. Then ChiefWoodpecker approached with his knife and said:
"Great Brother Chief Little Beaver, if we scalp him there is only onescalp, and _you_ will have nothing to show, except you're contentwith the wishbone."
Here was a difficulty, artificial yet real, but Yan suggested:
"Great Brother ChiefRed-headed-Woodpecker-Settin'-on-a-Stump-with-his-Tail-Waggling-over-theEdge, no scalp him; skin his hull head, then each take half skin."
"Wah! Very good, oh Brother Big-Injun-Chief Great-Little-Beaver-Chaw-a-Tree-Down."
Then the Woodpecker got a piece of charcoal and proceeded in horridgravity to mark out on the tow hair of the prisoner just what heconsidered a fair division. Little Beaver objected that he wasentitled to an ear and half of the crown, which is the essential partof the scalp. The Woodpecker pointed out that fortunately the prisonerhad a cow-lick that was practically a second crown. This ought to doperfectly well for the younger Chief's share. The charcoal lines weredusted off for a try-over. Both Chiefs got charcoal now and a newsketch plan was made on Guy's tow top and corrected till it wasaccepted by both.
"Ugh! Heap sassy!"]
The victim had really never lost heart till now. His flow of threatsand epithets had been continuous and somewhat tedious. He hadthreatened to tell his "paw" and "the teacher," and all the world, butfinally he threatened to tell Mr. Raften. This was the nearest to ahome thrust of any yet, and in some uneasiness the Woodpecker turnedto Little Beaver and said:
"Brother Chief, do you comprehend the language of the blitheringPaleface? What does he say?"
"Ugh, I know not," was the reply. "Maybe he now singeth a death songin his own tongue."
Guy was not without pluck. He had kept up heart so far believing thatthe boys were "foolin'," but when he felt the awful charcoal linedrawn to divide his scalp satisfactorily between these two inhuman,painted monsters, and when with a final "_weet, weet, weet_"of the knife on the stone the implacable Woodpecker approached andgrabbed his tow locks in one hand, then he broke down and weptbitterly.
"Oh, please don't----Oh, Paw! Oh, Maw! Let me go this time an' I'llnever do it again." What he would not do was not specified, but theevidence of surrender was complete.
"Hold on, Great Brother Chief," said Little Beaver. "It is the customof the tribes to release or even to adopt such prisoners as have shownnotable fortitude."
> "Showed fortitude enough for six if it's the same thing as yellin',"said the Woodpecker, dropping into his own vernacular.
"Let us cut his bonds so that he may escape to his own people."
"Thar'd be more style to it if we left him thar overnight an' foundnext mornin' he had escaped somehow by himself," said the older Chief.The victim noted the improvement in his situation and now promisedamid sobs to get them all the Birch bark they wanted--to do anything,if they would let him go. He would even steal for them the choicestproducts of his father's orchard.
Little Beaver drew his knife and cut bond after bond.
Woodpecker got his bow and arrow, remarking "Ugh, heap fun shoot himrunnin'."
The last bark strip was cut. Guy needed no urging. He ran for theboundary fence in silence till he got over; then finding himself safeand unpursued, he rilled the air with threats and execrations. No partof his statement would do to print here.
After such a harrowing experience most boys would have avoided thatswamp, but Guy knew Sam at school as a good-natured fellow. He beganto think he had been unduly scared. He was impelled by severalmotives, a burning curiosity being, perhaps the most important. Theresult was that one day when the boys came to camp they saw Guysneaking off. It was fun to capture him and drag him back. He was verysullen, and not so noisy as the other time, evidently less scared.The Chiefs talked of fire and torture and of ducking him in the pondwithout getting much response. Then they began to cross-examine theprisoner. He gave no answer. Why did he come to the camp? What was hedoing--stealing? etc. He only looked sullen.
"Let's blindfold him and drive a Gyascutus down his back," said Yan ina hollow voice.
"Good idee," agreed Sam, not knowing any more than the prisoner what aGyascutus was. Then he added, "just as well be merciful. It'll put himout o' pain."
It is the unknown that terrifies. The prisoner's soul was touchedagain. His mouth was trembling at the corners. He was breaking downwhen Yan followed it up: "Then why don't you tell us what you aredoing here?"
He blubbered out, "I want to play Injun, too."
The boys broke down in another way. They had not had time to painttheir faces, so that their expressions were very clear on thisoccasion.
Then Little Beaver arose and addressed the Council.
"Great Chiefs of the Sanger Nation: The last time we tortured andburned to death this prisoner, he created quite an impression. Neverbefore has one of our prisoners shown so many different kinds ofgifts. I vote to receive him into the Tribe."
The Woodpecker now arose and spoke:
"O wisest Chief but one in this Tribe, that's all right enough, butyou know that no warrior can join us without first showing that he'sgood stuff and clear grit, all wool, and a cut above the averagesomehow. It hain't never been so. Now he's got to lick some Warrior ofthe Tribe. Kin you do that?"
"Nope."
"Or outrun one or outshoot him or something--or give us all a present.What kin you do?"
"I kin steal watermillyons, an' I kin see farder 'n any boy in school,an' I kin sneak to beat all creation. I watched you fellers lots oftimes from them bushes. I watched you buildin' that thar dam. _Iswum in it 'fore you did_, an' I uster set an' smoke in your teepeewhen you wasn't thar, an' I heerd you talk the time you was fixin' upto steal our Birch bark."
"Don't seem to me like it all proves much _fortitude_. Have yougot any presents for the oldest head Chief of the tribe?"
"I'll get you all the Birch bark you want. I can't git what you cut,coz me an' Paw burned that so you couldn't git it, but I'll git youlots more, an' maybe--I'll steal you a chicken once in awhile."
"His intentions are evidently honourable Let's take him in onsufferance," said Yan.
"All right," replied the head Chief, "he kin come in, but that don'tspile my claim to that left half of his scalp down to that tuft ofyellow moss on the scruff of his neck where the collar has wore offthe dirt. I'm liable to call for it any time, an' the ear goes withit."
Guy wanted to treat this as a joke, but Sam's glittering eyes andinscrutable face were centered hungrily on that "yaller tuft" in a waythat gave him the "creeps" again.
"Say, Yan--I mean Great Little Beaver--you know all about it, whatkind o' stunts did they have to do to get into an Injun tribe,anyhow?"
"Different tribes do different ways, but the Sun Dance and the FireTest are the most respectable and both _terribly hard_."
"Well, what did _you_ do?" queried the Great Woodpecker.
"Both," said Yan grinning, as he remembered his sunburnt arms andshoulders.
"Quite sure?" said the older Chief in a tone of doubt.
"Yes, sir; and I bore it so well that every one there agreed thatI was the best one in the Tribe," said Little Beaver, omitting tomention the fact that he was the only one in it. "I was unanimouslynamed 'Howling Sunrise.'"
"Well, I want to be 'Howling Sunrise,'" piped Guy in his shrill voice.
"You? You don't know whether you can pass at all, you YallerMossback."
"Come, Mossy, which will you do?"
Guy's choice was to be sunburnt to the waist. He was burnt andfreckled already to the shoulders, on arms as well as on neck, and hismiserable cotton shirt so barely turned the sun's rays that he waselsewhere of a deep yellow tinge with an occasional constellation offreckles. Accordingly he danced about camp all one day with nothing onbut his pants, and, of course, being so seasoned, he did not burn.
As the sun swung low the Chiefs assembled in Council.
The head Chief looked over the new Warrior, shook his head gravely andsaid emphatically: "Too green to burn. Your name is Sapwood."
Protest was in vain. "Sappy," he was and had to be until he won abetter name. The peace pipe was smoked all round and he was proclaimedthird War Chief of the Sanger Indians (the word _War_ inserted byspecial request).
He was quite the most harmless member of the band and therefore tookunusual pleasure in posing as the possessor of a perennial thirst forhuman heart-blood. War-paint was his delight, and with its aid he wassingularly successful in correcting his round and smiling face intoa savage visage of revolting ferocity. Paint was his hobby and hispride, but alas! how often it happens one's deepest sorrow is in themidst of one's greatest joy--the deepest lake is the old crater on topof the highest mountain. Sappy's eyes were _not_ the sinisterblack beads of the wily Red-man, but a washed-out blue. His ragged,tow-coloured locks he could hide under wisps of horsehair, the paintitself redeemed his freckled skin, but there was no remedy for thewhite eyelashes and the pale, piggy, blue eyes. He kept his sorrow tohimself, however, for he knew that if the others got an inkling of hisfeelings on the subject his name would have been promptly changedto "Dolly" or "Birdy," or some other equally horrible and un-Indianappellation.