"His intentions are evidently honourable Let's take him in on
sufferance," said Yan.

"All right," replied the head Chief, "he kin come in, but that don't
spile my claim to that left half of his scalp down to that tuft of
yellow moss on the scruff of his neck where the collar has wore off
the dirt. I'm liable to call for it any time, an' the ear goes with
it."

Guy wanted to treat this as a joke, but Sam's glittering eyes and
inscrutable face were centered hungrily on that "yaller tuft" in a way
that gave him the "creeps" again.

"Say, Yan--I mean Great Little Beaver--you know all about it, what
kind 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 Fire
Test 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 and
shoulders.

"Quite sure?" said the older Chief in a tone of doubt.

"Yes, sir; and I bore it so well that every one there agreed that
I was the best one in the Tribe," said Little Beaver, omitting to
mention the fact that he was the only one in it. "I was unanimously
named '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 Yaller
Mossback."

"Come, Mossy, which will you do?"

Guy's choice was to be sunburnt to the waist. He was burnt and
freckled already to the shoulders, on arms as well as on neck, and his
miserable cotton shirt so barely turned the sun's rays that he was
elsewhere of a deep yellow tinge with an occasional constellation of
freckles. Accordingly he danced about camp all one day with nothing on
but 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 and
said emphatically: "Too green to burn. Your name is Sapwood."

Protest was in vain. "Sappy," he was and had to be until he won a
better name. The peace pipe was smoked all round and he was proclaimed
third War Chief of the Sanger Indians (the word _War_ inserted by
special request).

He was quite the most harmless member of the band and therefore took
unusual pleasure in posing as the possessor of a perennial thirst for
human heart-blood. War-paint was his delight, and with its aid he was
singularly