“Mr. William Corvus Brachyrhyncos doesn’t seem to be fond of bathing,” he observed.
“Is that his full name?” Jerry Utway chuckled as Billy finally made up his mind, and with a last “Go on in—aww-crk!” doused his rumpled feathers into the rippling waters. “He’s taken enough baths to wash himself white, but he still has to go through all that rigmarole first.”
“Crows are funny birds,” said Mr. Carrigan. “He certainly is a pet around here. Ellick must feed him crumbs from the kitchen.” Billy finished his brief swim-period, and fluttered across to the dock to dry and preen himself in the sun. “Here he comes, shaking water all over the place. Hello, Billy! Oh, you would, would you?”
“Hello, Billy!” mocked the bird. His bright eye had caught sight of the dangling whistle, its metal bowl twinkling as the sun’s rays caught it. A few hops took him to the councilor’s side. A sharp beak caught at the thong, tried to drag the whistle from its owner’s hand.
“Natural-born thieves, crows,” said Mr. Carrigan. “They’ll steal anything that happens to catch their eye. Here, let go, Billy!”
Billy, insulted, uttered a final scolding squawk and flew noisily to a perch on a near-by tree.
CHAPTER VI
BRAVES IN COUNCIL
First Call for supper had already sounded before Sherlock Jones returned to camp. He limped into Tent Ten weary, scratched, and footsore, and in a dejected mood. It was a thankless task for a detective to try to shadow a pair of expert woodsmen through the mountains. He had barely time to wash his face and comb his rumpled hair before the camp was called to stand Retreat at the regular sundown ceremony of lowering the flag. His thoughts, as the buglers played To the Colors, were not friendly toward the two spruce, innocent-looking brothers who stood stiffly to attention at his side. It was beginning to look as though Sherlock Jones, the great detective, was baffled.
After the evening meal, Lieutenant Eames, officer of the day, announced that Indian Council would convene that night at the usual summons. Twilight found the braves assembling for the pow-wow. Figures of boys and leaders, draped each in his blanket, trooped solemnly toward the Council Ring on the north side of the campus. A hush fell upon the circle of listening tent-tribes as they awaited the call that was always, by long tradition, the signal for the ceremony to begin.
Through the hush of the dusk came the soft, whistling call of the first whippoorwill. Answer came from a near-by thicket. Amid the liquid chorus the Chief rose from his seat, pulled his blanket about him, and spoke.