“I think,” answered Yan indirectly, “we ought to take Mr. Clark into the Tribe.  Will you be our Medicine Man?” Caleb chuckled in a quiet way, apparently consenting.  “Now I have four totems to paint on the outside,” and this was the beginning of the teepee painting that Yan carried out with yellow clay, blue clay dried to a white, yellow clay burned to red, and charcoal, all ground in Coon grease and Pine gum, to be properly Indian.  He could easily have gotten bright colours in oil paint, but scorned such White-man’s truck, and doubtless the general effect was all the better for it.

“Say, Caleb,” piped Guy, “tell us about the Injuns—­about their bravery.  Bravery is what I like,” he added with emphasis, conscious of being now on his own special ground.  “Why, I mind the time that old Woodchuck was coming roaring at me—­I bet some fellers would just ‘a’ been so scared—­”

“Hssh!” said Sam.

Caleb smoked in silence.  The rain pattered on the teepee without; the wind heaved the cover.  They all sat silently.  Then sounded loud and clear a terrifying “scrrrrrr—­oouwurr.”  The boys were startled—­would have been terrified had they been outside or alone.

“That’s it—­that’s the Banshee,” whispered Sam.

Caleb looked up sharply.

“What is it?” queried Yan.  “We’ve heard it a dozen times, at least.”

Caleb shook his head, made no reply, but turned to his Dog.  Turk was lying on his side by the fire, and at this piercing screech he had merely lifted his head, looked backward over his shoulder, turned his big sad eyes on his master, then laid down again.

“Turk don’t take no stock in it.”

“Dogs never hear a Banshee,” objected Sam, “no more than they can see a ghost; anyway, that’s what Granny de Neuville says.”  So the Dog’s negative testimony was the reverse of comforting.

“Hawkeye,” said the Woodpecker, “you’re the bravest one of the crowd.  Don’t you want to go out and try a shot at the Banshee?  I’ll lend you my Witch-hazel arrow.  We’ll give you a grand coup feather if you hit him.  Go ahead, now—­you know bravery is what you like.”

“Yer nothin’ but a passel o’ blame dumb fools,” was the answer, “an’ I wouldn’t be bothered talking to ye.  Caleb, tell us something about the Indians.”

“What the Injuns love is bravery,” said the Medicine Man with a twinkle in his eye, and everybody but Guy laughed, not very loudly, for each was restrained by the thought that he would rather not be called upon to show his bravery to-night.

“I’m going to bed,” said Hawkeye with unnecessary energy.

“Don’t forget to roost under the waterspout you started when you got funny,” remarked the Woodpecker.

Yan soon followed Guy’s example, and Sam, who had already learned to smoke, sat up with Caleb.  Not a word passed between them until after Guy’s snore and Yan’s regular puffs told of sound sleep, when Sam, taking advantage of a long-awaited chance, opened out rather abruptly: