going to it, and grinned with delight when he found it was accurate.

"Luk at that for eddication, Sam!" he roared. "When will ye be able to
do the like? Arrah, but ye're good stuff, Yan, an' I've got something
here'll plase ye."

Raften now pulled out his purse and as magistrate paid over with
evident joy the $5 bounty due for killing the Lynx. Then he added:
"An' if it turns out as ye all claim" [and it did] "that this yer
beast is the Sheep-killer instid av old Turk, I'll add that other
tin."

Thus Yan came into the largest sum be had ever owned in his life.

Then the Indians went into their teepees. Caleb set up a stake in the
ground and on that a new shield of wood covered with rawhide; over the
rawhide was lightly fastened a piece of sacking.

The guests were in a circle around this; at one side were some
skins--Yan's Lynx and Coon--and the two stuffed Owls.

Then the drum was heard, "Tum-tum--tum-tum--tum-tum--tum-tum----"
There was a volley of war-whoops, and out of the teepees dashed the
Sanger Indians in full war paint.

"Ki ki--ki yi--ki yi yi yi
Ki yi--ki yi--ki yi yi yi!"

They danced in exact time to the two-measure of the drum that was
pounded by Blackhawk. Three times round the central post with the
shield they danced, then the drum stopped, and they joined in a grand
final war-whoop and squatted in a circle within that of the guests.

The Great Woodpecker now arose--his mother had to be told who it
was--and made a characteristic speech:

"Big Chiefs, Little Chiefs, and Squapooses of the Sanger Indians: A
number of things has happened to rob this yer nation of its noble Head
Chief; they kin never again expect to have his equal, but this yer
assembly is for to pick out a new one. We had a kind of whack at it
the other day, but couldn't agree. Since then we had a hard trip, and
things has cleared up some, same as puttin' Kittens in a pond will
tell which one is the swimmer, an' we're here to-day to settle it."

Loud cries of "How--how--how--how--" while Blackhawk pounded the drum
vigorously.

"O' course different ones has different gifts. Now who in all this
Tribe is the best runner? That's Little Beaver."

("How--how--how--how--how--" and drum.)

"That's my drum, Ma!" said Guy aside, forgetting to applaud.

"Who is the best trailer and climber? Little Beaver, again, I reckon."

("How--how--how--how--" and drum.)

("He can't see worth a cent!" whispered Guy to his mother.)

"Who