"'Moinds me o' airly days here," was the reply, with a wistful note in his voice. "Many a night me an' Caleb Clark slep' out this way on this very crick when them fields was solid bush. Do ye know how to make a bed?"
"Don't know a thing," and Sam winked at Yan. "Show us."
"I'll show ye the rale thing. Where's the axe?"
"Haven't any," said Yan. "There's a big tomahawk and a little tomahawk."
Raften grinned, took the big "tomahawk" and pointed to a small Balsam Fir. "Now there's a foine bed-tree."
"Why, that's a fire-tree, too," said Yan, as with two mighty strokes Raften sent it toppling down, then rapidly trimmed it of its flat green boughs. A few more strokes brought down a smooth young Ash and cut it into four pieces, two of them seven feet long and two of them five feet. Next he cut a White Oak sapling and made four sharp pegs each two feet long.
"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?"
[256] "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.
