“How did it happen?” I inquired. “What is the application?”
With a fine smile upon his bronze face, he went to the foot of a tree, where the Squirrels were having a nutty argument, and called very softly, using a language I did not understand. Then he retired almost to the door of the cabin, and sat down, still making the same peculiar call. Presently, with a swift, searching glance from a pair of bright eyes and a soft rustle like that made by a new silk petticoat, a lady Squirrel, of the red variety, came down the tree and ran straight into his lap.
“Kitchi-Kitchi,” said Mr. Baldwin.
At this the Squirrel turned over, and the Indian, with a playful forefinger, tickled her in the ribs, again saying, “Kitchi-Kitchi.” The Squirrel shrieked with delight and ran away, returning almost immediately to have the pleasant pastime repeated.
The argument in the tree broke up, and Mr. Baldwin tickled Squirrels, each time saying, “Kitchi-Kitchi,” until his finger must have ached, strong though it was.
I was very much astonished and keenly interested. From his ancestors, all of whom belonged to the First Families of America, this young Carlisle man had inherited the wonderful lore of the woods. What could I not hope to accomplish if I had him with me!
When I broached the subject, he frowned, and said he must be going. Within four minutes he was gone, as completely as if the earth had swallowed him. I was left alone with my books, a half-eaten sardine sandwich, Kitchi-Kitchi, and my thoughts.
I devoted some days to replenishing my larder. It was only twenty miles to the nearest village and I went every day, bringing back all I could carry each time. I laid in a liberal supply of pemmican, army beef, home-made biscuits, and other condensed foods, and rolled a barrel of flour before me on one of my last trips home. On the very last trip of all, I brought a bushel of shelled corn and two bushels of nuts for the Squirrels.
For a few days there was silence in the branches, then the racket began once more and from that time on there were plenty of Squirrels. My affections, however, were principally engaged by the bright little lady Squirrel I had first seen and whom I named “Kitchi-Kitchi.” She was a beautiful creature, in her mahogany-coloured coat with its fine markings, her dancing eyes, and her magnificent tail. She had all the airs of a soubrette and continually played to the front row.
I soon identified many of the Squirrels and singled them out from among their fellows. One of the red Squirrels I named “Meeko,” because he was far from meek, and because it is an Indian word meaning “mischief-maker.” Another one, also a red Squirrel, was called “Bismarck.” These two were suitors for Kitchi-Kitchi’s hand. She had other admirers, of course, but the race soon narrowed down to these two.