“Quite well, thank you.  We came down to see how the boys were getting on in camp.”

“They’ve got on very nicely sense my boy j’ined them,” retorted Mrs. Burns, still fencing.

“So I understand; the other two have become very fond of him,” returned Mrs. Raften, seeking to disarm her enemy.

This speech had its effect.  Mrs. Burns aimed only to forestall the foe, but finding to her surprise that the enemy’s wife was quite gentle, a truce was made, and by the time Mrs. Raften had petted and praised the four tow-tops and lauded Guy to the utmost the air of latent battle was replaced by one of cordiality.

The boys now had everything ready for the grand ceremony.  On the Calfskin rug at one end was the Council; Guy, seated on the skin of the Woodchuck and nearly hiding it from view, Sam on his left hand and Yan with the drum, on his right.  In the middle the Council fire blazed.  To give air, the teepee cover was raised on the shady side and the circle of visitors was partly in the teepee and partly out.

The Great War Chief first lighted the peace pipe, puffed for a minute, then blew off the four smokes to the four winds and handed it to the Second and Third War Chiefs, who did the same.

Little Beaver gave three thumps on the drum for silence, and the Great Woodpecker rose up: 

“Big Chiefs, Little Chiefs, Braves, Warriors, Councillors, Squaws, and Papooses of the Sanger Indians:  When our Tribe was at war with them—­them—­them—­other Injuns—­them Birchbarks, we took prisoner one of their warriors and tortured him to death two or three times, and he showed such unusual stuff that we took him into our Tribe—­”

Loud cries of “How—­How—­How,” led by Yan.

“We gave a sun-dance for his benefit, but he didn’t brown—­seemed too green—­so we called him Sapwood.  From that time he has fought his way up from the ranks and got to be Third War Chief—­”

“How—­How—­How.”

“The other day the hull Tribe j’ined to attack an’ capture a big Grizzly and was licked bad, when the War Chief Sapwood came to the rescue an’ settled the owld baste with one kick on the snoot.  Deeds like this is touching.  A feller that kin kick like that didn’t orter be called Sapwood nor Saphead nor Sapanything.  No, sirree!  It ain’t right.  He’s the littlest Warrior among the War Chiefs, but he kin see farder an’ do it oftener an’ better than his betters.  He kin see round a corner or through a tree.  ’Cept maybe at night, he’s the swell seer of the outfit, an’ the Council has voted to call him ‘Hawkeye.’”

“How—­How—­How—­How—­How—­”

Here Little Beaver handed the Head War Chief a flat white stick on which was written in large letters “Sapwood.”