ing he saw Sam poring over his private note-book and then
beginning to read aloud:
"Kingbird, fearless crested Kingbird
Thou art----"
But Yan snatched it out of his hands.
"I'll bet the rest was something about 'Singbird,'" said Sam.
Yan's face was burning with shame and anger. He had a poetic streak,
and was morbidly sensitive about any one seeing its product. The
Kingbird episode of their long evening walk was but one of many
similar. He had learned to delight in these daring attacks of the
intrepid little bird on the Hawks and Crows, and so magnified them
into high heroics until he must try to record them in rhyme. It was
very serious to him, and to have his sentiments afford sport to
the others was more than he could bear. Of course Guy came out and
grinned, taking his cue from Sam. Then he remarked in colourless
tones, as though announcing an item of general news, "They say there
was a fearless-crested Injun shot in the woods to-day."
The morning's desertion left Yan in no mood for chaffing. He rightly
attributed the discourtesy to Guy. Turning savagely toward him he
said, meaningly:
"Now, no more of your sass, you dirty little sneak."
"I ain't talkin' to you," Guy snickered, and followed Sam into the
teepee. There were low voices within for a time. Yan went over toward
the dam and began to plug mud into some possible holes. Presently
there was more snickering in the teepee, then Guy came out alone,
struck a theatrical attitude and began to recite to a tree above Yan's
head:
"Kingbird, fearless crested Kingbird,
Thou art but a blooming sing bird--"
But the mud was very handy and Yan hurled a mass that spattered Guy
thoroughly and sent him giggling into the teepee.
"Them's the bow-kays," Sam was heard to say. "Go out an' git some
more; dead sure you deserve 'em. Let _me_ know when the calls for
'author' begin?" Then there was more giggling. Yan was fast losing all
control of himself. He seized a big stick and strode into the teepee,
but Sam lifted the cover of the far side and slipped out. Guy tried to
do the same, but Yan caught him.
"Here, I ain't doin' nothin'."
The answer was a sounding whack which made him wriggle.
"You let me alone, you big coward. I ain't doin' nothin' to you. You
better let me alone. Sam! S-A-M! S-A-A-A-M!!!" as the stick came down
again and again.
"Don't bother me," shouted Sam outside. "I'm writin' poethry--terrible
partic'lar job, poethry. He
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