"Do ye know what this is, Yan?"
"No, sir."
"Le's see if yer man enough to break it aff."
Yan tried. The wood was brittle enough, but the bark, thin, smooth and pliant, was as tough as leather, and even a narrow strip defied his strength.
"That's Litherwood," said Raften. "That's what the Injuns used; that's what we used ourselves in the airly days of this yer settlement."
The boys had looked for a rebuke, and here was a helping hand. It all turned on the fact that this was "play hours," Raften left with a parting word: "In wan hour an' a half the pigs is fed."
"You see Da's all right when the work ain't forgot," said Sam, with a patronizing air. "I wonder why I didn't think o' that there Leatherwood meself. I've often heard that that's what was used fur tying bags in the old days when cord was scarce, an' the Injuns used it for tying their prisoners, too. Ain't it the real stuff?"
Several strips were now used for tying four poles together at the top, then these four were raised on end and spread out at the bottom to serve as the frame of the teepee, or more properly wigwam, since it was to be made of bark.
After consulting, they now got a long, limber Willow rod an inch thick, and bending it around like a hoop, they tied it with Leatherwood to each pole at a point four feet from the ground. Next they cut four short poles to reach from the ground to this. These were lashed at their upper ends to the Willow rod, and now they were ready for the bark slabs. The boys went to the Elm logs and again Sam's able use of the axe came in. He cut the bark open along the top of one log, and by using the edge of the axe and some wooden wedges they pried off a great roll eight feet long and four feet across. It was a pleasant surprise to see what a wide piece of bark the small log gave them.
Three logs yielded three fine large slabs and others yielded pieces of various sizes. The large ones were set up against the frame so as to make the most of them. Of course they were much too big for the top, and much too narrow for the bottom; but the little pieces would do to patch if some way could be found to make them stick.
Sam suggested nailing them to the posts, and Yan was horrified at the idea of using nails. "No Indian has any nails."
"Well, what would they use?" said Sam.
"They used thongs, an'—an'—maybe wooden pegs. I don't know, but seems to me that would be all right."
"But them poles is hard wood," objected the practical Sam. "You can drive Oak pegs into Pine, but you can't drive wooden pegs into hard wood without you make some sort of a hole first. Maybe I'd better bring a gimlet."
"Now, Sam, you might just as well hire a carpenter—that wouldn't be Indian at all. Let's play it right. We'll find some way. I believe we can tie them up with Leatherwood."
So Sam made a sharp Oak pick with his axe, and Yan used it to pick holes in each piece of bark and then did a sort of rude sewing till the wigwam seemed beautifully covered in. But when they went inside to look they were unpleasantly surprised to find how many holes there were. It was impossible to close them all because the bark was cracking in so many places, but the boys plugged the worst of them and then prepared for the great sacred ceremony—the lighting of the fire in the middle.
They gathered a lot of dry fuel, then Yan produced a match.
"That don't look to me very Injun," drawled Sam critically. "I don't think Injuns has matches."
"Well, they don't," admitted Yan, humbly. "But I haven't a flint and steel, and don't know how to work rubbing-sticks, so we just got to use matches, if we want a fire."
"Why, of course we want a fire. I ain't kicking," said Sam. "Go ahead with your old leg-fire sulphur stick. A camp without a fire would be 'bout like last year's bird's nest or a house with the roof off."
Yan struck a match and put it to the wood. It went out. He struck another—same result. Yet another went out.
Sam remarked:
"Pears to me you don't know much about lightin' a fire. Lemme show you. Let the White hunter learn the Injun somethin' about the woods," said he with a leer.
Sam took the axe and cut some sticks of a dry Pine root. Then with his knife he cut long curling shavings, which he left sticking in a fuzz at the end of each stick.
"Oh, I've seen a picture of an Indian making them. They call them 'prayer-sticks,'" said Yan.
"Well, prayer-sticks is mighty good kindlin'" replied the other. He struck a match, and in a minute he had a blazing fire in the middle of the wigwam.
"Old Granny de Neuville, she's a witch—she knows all about the woods, and cracked Jimmy turns everything into poetry what she says. He says she says when you want to make a fire in the woods you take—
"Who's Granny de Neuville?"
"Oh, she's the old witch that lives down at the bend o' the creek."
"What? Has she got a granddaughter named Biddy?" said Yan, suddenly remembering that his ancient ally came from this part of Sanger.
"Oh, my! Hain't she? Ain't Biddy a peach—drinks like a fish, talks everybody to death about the time she resided in Bonnerton. Gits a letter every mail begging her to come back and 'reside' with them some more."
"Ain't this fine," said Yan, as he sat on a pile of Fir boughs in the wigwam.
"Looks like the real thing," replied Sam from his seat on the other side. "But say, Yan, don't make any more fire; it's kind o' warm here, an' there seems to be something wrong with that flue—wants sweepin', prob'ly—hain't been swep' since I kin remember."
The fire blazed up and the smoke increased. Just a little of it wandered out of the smoke-hole at the top, then it decided that this was a mistake and thereafter positively declined to use the vent. Some of it went out by chinks, and a large stream issued from the door, but by far the best part of it seemed satisfied with the interior of the wigwam, so that in a minute or less both boys scrambled out. Their eyes were streaming with smoke-tears and their discomfiture was complete.
"'Pears to me," observed Sam, "like we got them holes mixed. The dooer should 'a 'been at the top, sence the smoke has a fancy for usin' it, an' then we'd had a chance."
"The Indians make it work," said Yan; "a White hunter ought to know how."
"Now's the Injun's chance," said Sam. "Maybe it wants a dooer to close, then the smoke would have to go out."
They tried this, and of course some of the smoke was crowded out, but not till long after the boys were.
"Seems like what does get out by the chinks is sucked back agin by that there double-action flue," said Sam.
It was very disappointing. The romance of sitting by the fire in one's teepee appealed to both of the boys, but the physical torture of the smoke made it unbearable. Their dream was dispelled, and Sam suggested, "Maybe we'd better try a shanty."
"No," said Yan, with his usual doggedness. "I know it can be done, because the Indians do it. We'll find out in time."
But all their efforts were in vain. The wigwam was a failure, as far as fire was concerned. It was very small and uncomfortable, too; the wind blew through a hundred crevices, which grew larger as the Elm bark dried and cracked. A heavy shower caught them once, and they were rather glad to be driven into their cheerless lodge, but the rain came abundantly into the smoke-hole as well as through the walls, and they found it but little protection.