Two Little Savages

by Ernest Thompson Seton

  III

  The Wigwam

  The very next day they must begin. As soon as every chore was donethey went to the woods to select a spot.

  The brook, or "creek," as they called it, ran through a meadow, thenthrough a fence into the woods. This was at first open and grassy, butfarther down the creek it was joined by a dense cedar swamp. Throughthis there was no path, but Sam said that there was a nice high placebeyond. The high ground seemed a long way off in the woods, thoughonly a hundred yards through the swamp, but it was the very place fora camp--high, dry and open hard woods, with the creek in front and thecedar swamp all around. Yan was delighted. Sam caught no little of theenthusiasm, and having brought an axe, was ready to begin the shanty.But Yan had been thinking hard all morning, and now he said: "Sam, wedon't want to be _White_ hunters. They're no good; we want to beIndians."

  "Now, that's just where you fool yourself," said Sam. "Da says thereain't nothin' an Injun can do that a White-man can't do better."

  "Oh, what are you talking about?" said Yan warmly. "A White huntercan't trail a moccasined foot across a hard granite rock. A Whitehunter can't go into the woods with nothing but a knife and makeeverything he needs. A White hunter can't hunt with bows and arrows,and catch game with snares, can he? And there never yet was a Whiteman could make a Birch canoe." Then, changing his tone, Yan went on:"Say, now, Sam, we want to be the best kind of hunters, don't we, soas to be ready for going out West. Let's be Injuns and do everythinglike Injuns."

  After all, this had the advantage of romance and picturesqueness, andSam consented to "try it for awhile, anyhow." And now came the pointof Yan's argument. "Injuns don't live in shanties; they live inteepees. Why not make a teepee instead?"

  "That would be just bully," said Sam, who had seen pictures enough toneed no description, "but what are we to make it of?"

  "Well," answered Yan, promptly assuming the leadership and rejoicingin his ability to speak as an authority, "the Plains Injuns make theirteepees of skins, but the wood Injuns generally use Birch bark."

  "Well, I bet you can't find skins or Birch bark enough in this woodsto make a teepee big enough for a Chipmunk to chaw nuts in."

  "We can use Elm bark."

  "That's a heap easier," replied Sam, "if it'll answer, coz we cut alot o' Elm logs last winter and the bark'll be about willin' to peelnow. But first let's plan it out."

  This was a good move, one Yan would have overlooked. He would probablyhave got a lot of material together and made the plan afterward, butSam had been taught to go about his work with method.

  So Yan sketched on a smooth log his remembrance of an Indian teepee."It seems to me it was about this shape, with the poles sticking uplike that, a hole for the smoke here and another for the door there."

  "Sounds like you hain't never seen one," remarked Sam, with more pointthan politeness, "but we kin try it. Now 'bout how big?"

  Eight feet high and eight feet across was decided to be about right.Four poles, each ten feet long, were cut in a few minutes, Yancarrying them to a smooth place above the creek as fast as Sam cutthem.

  "Now, what shall we tie them with?" said Yan.

  "You mean for rope?"

  "Yes, only we must get everything in the woods; real rope ain'tallowed."

  "I kin fix that," said Sam; "when Da double-staked the orchard fence,he lashed every pair of stakes at the top with Willow withes."

  "That's so--I quite forgot," said Yan. In a few minutes they wereat work trying to tie the four poles together with slippery stiffWillows, but it was no easy matter. They had to be perfectly tight orthey would slip and fall in a heap each time they were raised, and itseemed at length that the boys would be forced to the impropriety ofusing hay wire, when they heard a low grunt, and turning, saw WilliamRaften standing with his hands behind him as though he had watchedthem for hours.

  The boys were no little startled. Raften had a knack of turning up atany point when something was going on, taking in the situation fully,and then, if he disapproved, of expressing himself in a few words ofblistering mockery delivered in a rich Irish brogue. Just what viewhe would take of their pastime the boys had no idea, but awaited withuneasiness. If they had been wasting time when they should have beenworking there is no question but that they would have been sent withcontumely to more profitable pursuits, but this was within theirrightful play hours, and Raften, after regarding them with a searchinglook, said slowly: "Bhoys!" (Sam felt easier; his father would havesaid "_Bhise_" if really angry.) "Fhat's the good o' wastin' yertime" (Yan's heart sank) "wid Willow withes fur a job like that? Theycan't be made to howld. Whoi don't ye git some hay woire or coord atthe barrun?"

  The boys were greatly relieved, but still this friendly overture mightbe merely a feint to open the way for a home thrust. Sam was silent.So Yan said, presently, "We ain't allowed to use anything but what theIndians had or could get in the woods."

  "An' who don't allow yez?"

  "The rules."

  "Oh," said William, with some amusement. "Oi see! Hyar."

  He went into the woods looking this way and that, and presentlystopped at a lot of low shrubs.

  "Do ye know what this is, Yan?"

  "No, sir."

  "Le's see if yer man enough to break it aff."

  Yan tried. The wood was brittle enough, but the bark, thin, smooth andpliant, was as tough as leather, and even a narrow strip defied hisstrength.

  "That's Litherwood," said Raften. "That's what the Injuns used; that'swhat we used ourselves in the airly days of this yer settlement."

  The boys had looked for a rebuke, and here was a helping hand. It allturned on the fact that this was "play hours," Raften left with aparting word: "In wan hour an' a half the pigs is fed."

  "You see Da's all right when the work ain't forgot," said Sam, witha patronizing air. "I wonder why I didn't think o' that thereLeatherwood meself. I've often heard that that's what was used furtying bags in the old days when cord was scarce, an' the Injuns usedit for tying their prisoners, too. Ain't it the real stuff?"

  Several strips were now used for tying four poles together at the top,then these four were raised on end and spread out at the bottom toserve as the frame of the teepee, or more properly wigwam, since itwas to be made of bark.

  After consulting, they now got a long, limber Willow rod an inchthick, and bending it around like a hoop, they tied it withLeatherwood to each pole at a point four feet from the ground. Nextthey cut four short poles to reach from the ground to this. These werelashed at their upper ends to the Willow rod, and now they were readyfor the bark slabs. The boys went to the Elm logs and again Sam's ableuse of the axe came in. He cut the bark open along the top of one log,and by using the edge of the axe and some wooden wedges they pried offa great roll eight feet long and four feet across. It was a pleasantsurprise to see what a wide piece of bark the small log gave them.

  Three logs yielded three fine large slabs and others yielded pieces ofvarious sizes. The large ones were set up against the frame so as tomake the most of them. Of course they were much too big for the top,and much too narrow for the bottom; but the little pieces would do topatch if some way could be found to make them stick.

  Sam suggested nailing them to the posts, and Yan was horrified at theidea of using nails. "No Indian has any nails."

  "Well, what _would_ they use?" said Sam.

  "They used thongs, an'--an'--maybe wooden pegs. I don't know, butseems to me that would be all right."

  "But them poles is hard wood," objected the practical Sam. "You candrive Oak pegs into Pine, but you can't drive wooden pegs into hardwood without you make some sort of a hole first. Maybe I'd betterbring a gimlet."

  "Now, Sam, you might just as well hire a carpenter--_that_wouldn't be Indian at all. Let's play it right. We'll find some way. Ibelieve we can tie them up with Leatherwood."

  So Sam made a sharp Oak pick with his axe, and Yan used it to pickholes in each piece of bark and then did a sort of rude sewing tillthe wigwam s
eemed beautifully covered in. But when they went insideto look they were unpleasantly surprised to find how many holesthere were. It was impossible to close them all because the bark wascracking in so many places, but the boys plugged the worst of them andthen prepared for the great sacred ceremony--the lighting of the firein the middle.

  They gathered a lot of dry fuel, then Yan produced a match.

  "That don't look to me very Injun," drawled Sam critically. "I don'tthink Injuns has matches."

  "Well, they don't," admitted Yan, humbly. "But I haven't a flint andsteel, and don't know how to work rubbing-sticks, so we just got touse matches, _if_ we _want_ a fire."

  "Why, of course we want a fire. I ain't kicking," said Sam. "Go aheadwith your old leg-fire sulphur stick. A camp without a fire would be'bout like last year's bird's nest or a house with the roof off."

  Yan struck a match and put it to the wood. It went out. He struckanother--same result. Yet another went out.

  Sam remarked:

  "Pears to me you don't know much about lightin' a fire. Lemme showyou. Let the White hunter learn the Injun somethin' about the woods,"said he with a leer.

  Sam took the axe and cut some sticks of a dry Pine root. Then with hisknife he cut long curling shavings, which he left sticking in a fuzzat the end of each stick.

  "Oh, I've seen a picture of an Indian making them. They call them'prayer-sticks,'" said Yan.

  "Well, prayer-sticks is mighty good kindlin'" replied the other. Hestruck a match, and in a minute he had a blazing fire in the middle ofthe wigwam.

  "Old Granny de Neuville, she's a witch--she knows all about the woods,and cracked Jimmy turns everything into poetry what she says. He saysshe says when you want to make a fire in the woods you take--

  "First a curl of Birch bark as dry as it kin be, Then some twigs of soft-wood, dead, but on the tree, Last o' all some Pine knots to make the kittle foam, An' thar's a fire to make you think you're settin' right at home."

  "Who's Granny de Neuville?"

  "Oh, she's the old witch that lives down at the bend o' the creek."

  "What? Has she got a granddaughter named Biddy?" said Yan, suddenlyremembering that his ancient ally came from this part of Sanger.

  "Oh, my! Hain't she? Ain't Biddy a peach--drinks like a fish, talkseverybody to death about the time she resided in Bonnerton. Gits aletter every mail begging her to come back and 'reside' with them somemore."

  "Ain't this fine," said Yan, as he sat on a pile of Fir boughs in thewigwam.

  "Looks like the real thing," replied Sam from his seat on the otherside. "But say, Yan, don't make any more fire; it's kind o' warm here,an' there seems to be something wrong with that flue--wants sweepin',prob'ly--hain't been swep' since I kin remember."

  The fire blazed up and the smoke increased. Just a little of itwandered out of the smoke-hole at the top, then it decided that thiswas a mistake and thereafter positively declined to use the vent. Someof it went out by chinks, and a large stream issued from the door, butby far the best part of it seemed satisfied with the interior of thewigwam, so that in a minute or less both boys scrambled out. Theireyes were streaming with smoke-tears and their discomfiture wascomplete.

  "'Pears to me," observed Sam, "like we got them holes mixed. The dooershould 'a 'been at the top, sence the smoke has a fancy for usin' it,an' then _we'd_ had a chance."

  "The Indians make it work," said Yan; "a White hunter ought to knowhow."

  "Now's the Injun's chance," said Sam. "Maybe it wants a dooer toclose, then the smoke would have to go out."

  They tried this, and of course some of the smoke was crowded out, butnot till long after the boys were.

  "Seems like what does get out by the chinks is sucked back agin bythat there double-action flue," said Sam.

  It was very disappointing. The romance of sitting by the fire in one'steepee appealed to both of the boys, but the physical torture ofthe smoke made it unbearable. Their dream was dispelled, and Samsuggested, "Maybe we'd better try a shanty."

  "No," said Yan, with his usual doggedness. "I know it can be done,because the Indians do it. We'll find out in time."

  But all their efforts were in vain. The wigwam was a failure, as faras fire was concerned. It was very small and uncomfortable, too; thewind blew through a hundred crevices, which grew larger as the Elmbark dried and cracked. A heavy shower caught them once, and they wererather glad to be driven into their cheerless lodge, but the rain cameabundantly into the smoke-hole as well as through the walls, and theyfound it but little protection.

  "The wigwam was a failure."]

  "Seems to me, if anything, a _leetle_ wetter in here thanoutside," said Sam, as he led in a dash for home.

  That night a heavy storm set in, and next day the boys found theirflimsy wigwam blown down--nothing but a heap of ruins.

  Some time after, Raften asked at the table in characteristic sternstyle, "Bhoys, what's doin' down to yer camp? Is yer wigwam finished?"

  "No good," said Sam. "All blowed down."

  "How's that?"

  "I dunno'. It smoked like everything. We couldn't stay in it."

  "Couldn't a-been right made," said Raften; then with a suddeninterest, which showed how eagerly he would have joined in this fortyyears ago, he said, "Why don't ye make a rale taypay?"

  "Dunno' how, an' ain't got no stuff."

  "Wall, now, yez have been pretty good an' ain't slacked on the wurruk,yez kin have the ould wagon kiver. Cousin Bert could tache ye how tomake it, if he wuz here. Maybe Caleb Clark knows," he added, with asignificant twinkle of his eye. "Better ask him." Then he turned togive orders to the hired men, who, of course, ate at the family table.

  "Da, do you care if we go to Caleb?"

  "I don't care fwhat ye do wid him," was the reply.

  Raften was no idle talker and Sam knew that, so as soon as "the lawwas off" he and Yan got out the old wagon cover. It seemed like anacre of canvas when they spread it out. Having thus taken possession,they put it away again in the cow-house, their own domain, and Samsaid: "I've a great notion to go right to Caleb; he sho'ly knows moreabout a teepee than any one else here, which ain't sayin' much."

  "Who's Caleb?"

  "Oh, he's the old Billy Goat that shot at Da oncet, just after Da beathim at a horse trade. Let on it was a mistake: 'twas, too, as hefound out, coz Da bought up some old notes of his, got 'em cheap, andsqueezed him hard to meet them. He's had hard luck ever since.

  "He's a mortal queer old duck, that Caleb. He knows heaps about thewoods, coz he was a hunter an' trapper oncet. My! wouldn't he be downon me if he knowed who was my Da, but he don't have to know."