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 was it won the trial of grit at Garney’s grave?  Why, it was Little Beaver.”

("An’ got pretty badly scared doin’ it!” was Guy’s aside.)

“But who was it shot the Cat-Owl plumb in the heart, an’ fit the Lynx hand to hand, not to speak of the Coon?  Little Beaver every time.”

("He never killed a Woodchuck in his life, Ma!”)

“Then, again, which of us can lay all the others on his back?  Little Beaver, I s’pose.”

("Well, I can lick Char-less, any time,” was Guy’s aside.)

“Which of us has most grand coups and scalps?”

“Ye’re forgittin’ his eddication,” put in Raften to be scornfully ignored; even Little Beaver resented this as un-Indian.

“Which has most scalps?” Sam repeated with sternness.  “Here’s a scalp won in battle with the inimy,” Woodpecker held it up, and the Medicine Man fastened it on the edge of the shield that hung from the post.

“Here is one tuk from the Head Chief of the hostiles,” and Caleb fastened that to the shield.  “Here is another tuk from the Second Chief of the hostiles,” and Caleb placed it.  “Here is one tuk from the Great Head War Chief of the Sangers, and here is one from the Head Chief of the Boilers, and another tuk in battle.  Six scalps from six famous warriors.  This yere is the record for the whole Tribe, an’ Little Beaver done it; besides which, he draws pictures, writes poethry and cooks purty good, an’ I say Little Beaver is the one for Chief!  What says the rest?” and with one voice they shouted, “Hoorah for Little Beaver!”

“How—­how—­how—­how—­how—­thump, thump, thump, thump.”

“Any feller anything to say agin it?”

“I eh—­” Guy began.

—­“has got to lick the Chief,” Sam continued, and Guy did not complete his objection, though he whispered to his mother, “If it was Char-less I bet I’d show him.”