the dirty little cuss, but out in the woods
like this one feels kind o' friendly, an' three's better than two.
Besides, he has been admitted to the Tribe already."

"Yes, that's what I say. Let's give him a _yell_."

So the boys uttered a long yell, produced by alternating the voice
between a high falsetto and a natural tone. This was the "yell," and
had never failed to call Guy forth to join them unless he had some
chore on hand and his "Paw" was too near to prevent his renegading to
the Indians. He soon appeared waving a branch, the established signal
that he came as a friend.

He came very slowly, however, and the boys saw that he limped
frightfully, helping himself along with a stick. He was barefoot, as
usual, but his left foot was swaddled in a bundle of rags.

"Hello, Sappy; what happened? Out to Wounded Knee River?"

"Nope. Struck luck. Paw was bound I'd ride the Horse with the scuffler
all day, but he gee'd too short an' I arranged to tumble off'n him,
an' Paw cuffled me foot some. Law! how I did holler! You should 'a'
heard me."

[Illustration: "He soon appeared, waving a branch."]

"Bet we did," said Sam. "When was it?"

"Yesterday about four."

"Exactly. We heard an awful screech and Yan says, says he, 'There's
the afternoon train at Kelly's Crossing, but ain't she late?'

"'Train!' says I. 'Pooh. I'll bet that's Guy Burns getting a new
licking.'"

"Guess I'll well up now," said War Chief Sapwood, so stripped his
foot, revealing a scratch that would not have cost a thought had he
got it playing ball. He laid the rags away carefully and with them
every trace of the limp, then entered heartily into camp life.

The vast advantage of being astir early now was seen. There were
Squirrels in every other tree, there were birds on every side, and
when they ran to the pond a wild Duck spattered over the surface and
whistled out of sight.

"What you got?" called Sam, as he saw Yan bending eagerly over
something down by the pond.

Yan did not answer, and so Sam went over and saw him studying out a
mark in the mud. He was trying to draw it in his note-book.

"What is it?" repeated Sam.

"Don't know. Too stubby for a Muskrat, too much claw for a Cat, too
small for a Coon, too many toes for a Mink."

"I'll bet it's a Whangerdoodle."

Yan merely chuckled in answer to this.

"Don't you laugh," said the Woodpecker, solemnly, "You'd be more apt
to cry if you seen one walk into the teepee blowing the wh