But they dropped off at last and slept soundly till the sun was strong on the canvas and filling the teepee with a blaze of transmitted light.

“Woodpecker!  Woodpecker!  Get up!  Get up!  Hi-e-yo!  Hi-e-yo!  Double-u-double-
o-d-bang-fizz-whackety-whack-y-r-chuck-brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-Woodpecker,” shouted Yan to his sleepy chum, quoting a phrase that Sam when a child had been taught as the true spelling of his nickname.

Sam woke slowly, but knowing perfectly where he was, and drawled: 

“Get up yourself.  You’re cook to-day, an’ I’ll take my breakfast in bed.  Seems like my knee is broke out again.”

“Oh, get up, and let’s have a swim before breakfast.”

“No, thank you, I’m too busy just now; ’sides, it’s both cold and wet in that pond, this time o’ day.”

The morning was fresh and bright; many birds were singing, although it was July, a Red-eyed Vireo and a Robin were in full song; and as Yan rose to get the breakfast he wondered why he had been haunted by such strange feelings the night before.  It was incomprehensible now.  He wished that appalling wail in the tree-tops would sound again, so he might trace it home.

There still were some live coals in the ashes, and in a few minutes he had a blazing fire, with the pot boiling for coffee, and the bacon in the fryer singing sweetest music for the hungry.

Sam lay on his back watching his companion and making critical remarks.

“You may be an A1 cook—­at least, I hope you are, but you don’t know much about fire-wood,” said he.  “Now look at that,” as one huge spark after another exploded from the fire and dropped on the bed and the teepee cover.

“How can I help it?”

“I’ll bet Da’s best cow against your jack-knife you got some Ellum or Hemlock in that fire.”

“Well, I have,” Yan admitted, with an air of surrender.

“My son,” said the Great Chief Woodpecker, “no sparking allowed in the teepee.  Beech, Maple, Hickory or Ash never spark.  Pine knots an’ roots don’t, but they make smoke like—­like—­oh—­you know.  Hemlock, Ellum, Chestnut, Spruce and Cedar is public sparkers, an’ not fit for dacint teepee sassiety.  Big Injun heap hate noisy, crackling fire.  Enemy hear that, an’—­an’—­it burns his bedclothes.”

“All right, Grandpa,” and the cook made a mental note, then added in tones of deadly menace, “You get up now, do you understand!” and he picked up a bucket of water.

“That might scare the Great Chief Woodpecker if the Great Chief Cook had a separate bed, but now he smiles kind o’ scornful,” was all the satisfaction he got.  Then seeing that breakfast really was ready, Sam scrambled out a few minutes later.  The coffee acted like an elixir—­their spirits rose, and before the meal was ended it would have been hard to find two more hilarious and enthusiastic campers.  Even the vague terrors of the night were now sources of amusement.