Guy came down quickly to join in the laugh.  “I tole you fellers not to shoot.  I just believed it was our old Hog, an’ I couldn’t help crying when I thought how mad Paw’d be when he found out.”

“I s’pose you got up on that cross pole to see if Paw was coming, didn’t you?”

“No; he got up there to show how brave he was.”

This was the huge night prowler that Guy had seen, and in the morning one more mystery was explained, for careful examination of Yan’s diary of the big Buck’s track showed that it was nothing more than the track of Burns’s old Hog.  Why had Caleb and Raften both been mistaken?  First, because it was a long time since they had seen a Buck track, and second, because this Pig happened to have a very unpiggy foot—­one as much like that of a Buck as of a Hog.

XXIV

Hawkeye Claims Another Grand Coup

“Wa wa wa wa wa!  Wa wa wa wa wa!  Wa wa wa wa wa!” Three times it echoed through the woods—­a loud, triumphant cry.

“That’s Hawkeye with a big story of bravery; let’s hide.”

So Sam and Yan scrambled quickly into the teepee, hid behind the lining and watched through an “arrow hole.”  Guy came proudly stepping, chin in air, uttering his war-whoop at intervals as he drew near, and carrying his coat bundled up under one arm.

“Coup!  Grand coup!  Wa wa wa wa!” he yelled again and again, but looked simple and foolish when he found the camp apparently deserted.

So he ceased his yells and, walking deliberately into the teepee, pulled out the sugar box and was stuffing a handful into his mouth when the other two Chiefs let off their wildest howls and, leaping from their concealment, chased him into the woods—­not far, for Yan laughed too much, and Sam had on but one boot.

This was their re-gathering after a new search for adventures.  Early in the morning, as he wiped off the breakfast knives by sticking them into the sod, the Second War Chief had suggested:  “Say, boys, in old days Warriors would sometimes set out in different directions in search of adventure, then agree to meet at a given time.  Let’s do that to-day and see what we run across.”

“Get your straws,” was Woodpecker’s reply, as he returned from putting the scraps on the Wakan Rock.

“No you don’t,” put in Hawkeye hastily; “at least, not unless you let me hold the straws.  I know you’ll fix it so I’ll have to go home.”

“All right.  You can hold the three straws; long one is Woodpecker—­that’s his head with a bit of red flannel to prevent mistakes; the middle-sized thin one is me; and the short fat one is you.  Now let them drop.  Sudden death and no try over.”

The straws fell, and the two boys gave a yell as Hawkeye’s fate pointed straight to the Burns homestead.

“Oh, get out; that’s no good.  We’ll take the other end,” he said angrily, and persisted in going the opposite way.