“Now, boys, whayer do you want yer bed?” then stopping at a thought he added, “Maybe ye didn’t want me to help—­want to do everything yerselves?”

“Ugh, bully good squaw.  Keep it up—­wagh!” said his son and heir, as he calmly sat on a log and wore his most “Injun brave” expression of haughty approval.

The father turned with an inquiring glance to Yan, who replied: 

“We’re mighty glad of your help.  You see, we don’t know how.  It seems to me that I read once the best place in the teepee is opposite the door and a little to one side.  Let’s make it here.”  So Raften placed the four logs for the sides and ends of the bed and drove in the ground the four stakes to hold them.  Yan brought in several armfuls of branches, and Raften proceeded to lay them like shingles, beginning at the head-log of the bed and lapping them very much.  It took all the fir boughs, but when all was done there was a solid mass of soft green tips a foot thick, all the butts being at the ground.

“Thayer,” said Raften, “that’s an Injun feather bed an’ safe an’ warrum.  Slapin’ on the ground’s terrible dangerous, but that’s all right.  Now make your bed on that.”  Sam and Yan did so, and when it was finished Raften said:  “Now, fetch that little canvas I told yer ma to put in; that’s to fasten to the poles for an inner tent over the bed.”

Yan stood still and looked uncomfortable.

“Say, Da, look at Yan.  He’s got that tired look that he wears when the rules is broke.”

“What’s wrong,” asked Raften.

“Indians don’t have them that I ever heard of,” said Little Beaver.

“Yan, did ye iver hear of a teepee linin’ or a dew-cloth?”

“Yes,” was the answer, in surprise at the unexpected knowledge of the farmer.

“Do ye know what they’re like?”

“No—­at least—­no—­”

“Well, I do; that’s what it’s like.  That’s something I do know, fur I seen old Caleb use wan.”

“Oh, I remember reading about it now, and they are like that, and it’s on them that the Indians paint their records.  Isn’t that bully,” as he saw Raften add two long inner stakes which held the dew-cloth like a canopy.

“Say, Da, I never knew you and Caleb were hunting together.  Thought ye were jest natural born enemies.”

“Humph!” grunted Raften.  “We wuz chums oncet.  Never had no fault to find till we swapped horses.”

“Sorry you ain’t now, ’cause he’s sure sharp in the woods.”

“He shouldn’t a-tried to make an orphan out o’ you.”

“Are you sure he done it?”

“If ’twasn’t him I dunno who ’twas.  Yan, fetch some of them pine knots thayer.”

Yan went after the knots; it was some yards into the woods, and out there he was surprised to see a tall man behind a tree.  A second’s glance showed it to be Caleb.  The Trapper laid one finger on his lips and shook his head.  Yan nodded assent, gathered the knots, and went back to the camp, where Sam continued: