Two Little Savages Part 22

"Did she stir yer tea with one front claw an' put jam on yer bread with the other?" asked Raften, rather coa.r.s.ely.

"Did she b'ile her pet Blackbird fur yer soup?" said Sam.

Yan turned very red. Evidently all had a good idea of what he had experienced, but it jarred on him to hear their mockery of the good old soul.

He replied warmly, "She was just as kind and nice as she could be."

"You had better have a steak now," said Mrs. Raften, in solicitous doubt.

How tempting was the thought of that juicy brown steak! How his empty stomach did crave it! But the continued mockery had stirred him. He would stand up for the warm-hearted old woman who had ungrudgingly given him the best she had--had given her all--to make a hearty welcome for a stranger. They should never know how gladly he would have eaten now, and in loyalty to his recent hostess he added the first lie of his life:

"No, thank you very much, but really I am not in the least hungry. I had a fine dinner at Granny de Neuville's."

Then, defying the inner pangs of emptiness, he went about his evening ch.o.r.es.

XIII

The Hostile Spy

"Wonder where Caleb got that big piece of Birch bark," said Yan; "I'd like some for dishes."

"Guess I know. He was over to Burns's bush. There's none in ours. We kin git some."

"Will you ask him?"

"Naw, who cares for an old Birch tree. We'll go an' borrow it when he ain't lookin'."

Yan hesitated.

Sam took the axe. "We'll call this a war party into the enemy's country. 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 the proceeding.

Over the line they soon found a good-sized canoe Birch, and were busy whacking 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 toward them. Sam called under his breath: "It's old Burns. Let's git."

There was no time to save anything but themselves and the axe. They ran for the boundary fence, while Burns contented himself with shouting out threats and denunciations. Not that he cared a straw for the Birch tree--timber had no value in that country--but unfortunately Raften had quarrelled with all his immediate neighbours, therefore Burns did his best to make a fearful crime of the petty depredation.

His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, came near enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets.

"Red-head--red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gits hol' o' you--Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and others equally galling and even more exquisitely refined.

"War party escaped and saved their scalps," and Sam placidly laid the axe 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, always sneaking and peeking. Lies like sixty. Got the prize--a big scrubbing-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 had hardly begun operations when there was an uproar not far away, and a voice, evidently of a small boy, mouthing it largely, trying to pa.s.s itself 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 Burns changed their war-party onslaught into a rapid retreat.

(More opprobrium.)

During the days that followed the boys were often close to the boundary, but it happened that Burns was working near and Guy had the quickest of eyes and ears. The little rat seemed ever on the alert. He soon showed by his long-distance remarks that he knew all about the boys' pursuits--had doubtless visited the camp in their absence.

Several times they saw him watching them with intense interest when they were practising with bow and arrow, but he always retreated to a safe distance when discovered, and then enjoyed himself breathing out fire and slaughter.

One day the boys came to the camp at an unusual hour. On going into a near thicket Yan saw a bare foot under some foliage. "Hallo, what's this?" He stooped down and found a leg to it and at the end of that Guy Burns.

Up Guy jumped, yelling "Paw--Paw--PAW!" He ran for his life, the Indians uttering blood-curdlers on his track. But Yan was a runner, and Guy's podgy legs, even winged by fear, had no chance. He was seized 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. (Such delicacy 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 some Leatherwood."

This was at hand, and in spite of howls and scuffles, Guy was solemnly tied to a tree--a green one--because, as Yan pointed out, that would resist the fire better.

The two Warriors now squatted cross-legged by the fire. The older one lighted a peace-pipe, and they proceeded to discuss the fate of the unhappy captive.

"Brother," said Yan, with stately gestures, "it is very pleasant to hear the howls of this miserable paleface." (It was really getting to be more than they could endure.)

"Ugh--heap good," said the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r.

"Ye better let me alone. My Paw'll fix you for this, you dirty cowards," wailed the prisoner, fast losing control of his tongue.

"Ugh! Take um scalp first, burn him after," and Little Beaver made some expressive signs.

"Wah--bully--me heap wicked," rejoined the Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, expectorating on a stone and beginning to whet his jack-knife.

The keen and suggestive "_weet, weet, weet_" of the knife on the stone smote on Guy's ears and nerves with appalling effect.

"Brother Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, the spirit of our tribe calls out for the blood of the victim--all of it."

"Great Chief Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, you mean," said Sam, aside. "If you don't call me Chief, I won't call you Chief, that's all."

The Great Woodp.e.c.k.e.r and Little Beaver now entered the teepee, repainted each other's faces, adjusted their head-dresses and stepped out to the execution.