“How far is it from here to that tree?” he would ask, and when each had written down his guess they would measure, and usually it was Woodpecker or Blackhawk that came nearest to the truth.  Guy still held the leadership “for far sight,” for which reason he suggested that game whenever a change of amusement was wanted.

Yan, following up Blackhawk’s suggestion, brought in the new game of “White-man’s Woodcraft.”

“Can you,” asked he, “tell a Dog’s height by its track?”

“No; nor you nor any one else,” was the somewhat scornful reply.

“Oh, yes, I can.  Take the length in inches of his forefoot track, multiply it by 8, and that gives his height at the shoulder.  You try it and you’ll see.  A little Dog has a 2-1/4-inch foot and stands about 18 inches, a Sheep Dog with a 3-inch track stands 24 inches, and a Mastiff or any big Dog with a 4-inch track gives 30 to 32 inches.”

“You mean every Dog is 8 feet high?” drawled Sam, doubtfully, but Yan went on.  “And you can tell his weight, too, by the track.  You multiply the width of his forefoot in inches by the length, and multiply that by 5, and that gives pretty near his weight in pounds.  I tried old Cap.  His foot is 3-1/2 by 3; that equals 10-1/2, multiplied by 5 equals 52-1/2 pounds:  just about right.”

“I’ll bet I seen a Dog at the show that that wouldn’t work on,” drawled Sam.  “He was as long as my two arms, he had feet as big as a young Bear, an’ he wasn’t any higher than a brick.  He was jest about the build of a Caterpiller, only he didn’t have but four legs at the far ends.  They was so far apart he couldn’t keep step.  He looked like he was raised under a bureau.  I think when they was cutting down so on his legs they might have give him more of them; a row in the middle would ‘a’ been ’bout right.”

“Yes, I know him.  That’s a Dachshund.  But you can’t reckon on freaks; nothing but straight Dog.  It works on wild animals, too—­that is, on Wolves and Foxes and maybe other things,” then changing the subject Beaver continued: 

“Can you tell the height of a tree by its shadow?”

“Never thought of that.  How do you do it?”

“Wait till your own shadow is the same length as yourself—­that is, about eight in the morning or four in the afternoon—­then measure the tree’s shadow.  That gives its length.”

“You’d have to wait all day to work that, and you can’t do it at all in the woods or on a dull day,” objected Blackhawk.  “I’d rather do it by guess.”

“I’ll bet my scalp against yours I can tell the height of that tree right now without climbing it, and get closer than you can by guessing,” said Little Beaver.

“No, I won’t bet scalps on that—­but I’ll bet who’s to wash the dishes.”

“All right.  To the top of that tree, how much is it?”

“Better not take the top, ’cause we can’t get there to measure it, but say that knot,” was the rejoinder.  “Here, Woodpecker, you be judge.”