was it won the trial of grit at Garney's grave? Why, it was
Little Beaver."

("An' got pretty badly scared doin' it!" was Guy's aside.)

"But who was it shot the Cat-Owl plumb in the heart, an' fit the Lynx
hand to hand, not to speak of the Coon? Little Beaver every time."

("He never killed a Woodchuck in his life, Ma!")

"Then, again, which of us can lay all the others on his back? Little
Beaver, I s'pose."

("Well, I can lick Char-less, any time," was Guy's aside.)

"Which of us has most _grand coups_ and scalps?"

"Ye're forgittin' his eddication," put in Raften to be scornfully
ignored; even Little Beaver resented this as un-Indian.

"Which has most scalps?" Sam repeated with sternness. "Here's a scalp
won in battle with the inimy," Woodpecker held it up, and the Medicine
Man fastened it on the edge of the shield that hung from the post.

"Here is one tuk from the Head Chief of the hostiles," and Caleb
fastened that to the shield. "Here is another tuk from the Second
Chief of the hostiles," and Caleb placed it. "Here is one tuk from the
Great Head War Chief of the Sangers, and here is one from the Head
Chief of the Boilers, and another tuk in battle. Six scalps from six
famous warriors. This yere is the record for the whole Tribe, an'
Little Beaver done it; besides which, he draws pictures, writes
poethry and cooks purty good, an' I say Little Beaver is the one for
Chief! What says the rest?" and with one voice they shouted, "Hoorah
for Little Beaver!"

"How--how--how--how--how--_thump, thump, thump, thump_."

"Any feller anything to say agin it?"

"I eh--" Guy began.

--"has got to lick the Chief," Sam continued, and Guy did not complete
his objection, though he whispered to his mother, "If it was Char-less
I bet I'd show him."

[Illustration: The shield]

Caleb now pulled the cover off the shield that he fastened the scalps
to, and it showed the white Buffalo of the Sangers with a Little
Beaver above it. Then he opened a bundle lying near and produced a
gorgeous war-shirt of buff leather, a pair of leggins and moccasins,
all fringed, beaded and painted, made by Saryann under Caleb's
guidance. They were quickly put on the new Chief; his war bonnet,
splendid with the plumes of his recent exploits, was all ready; and
proud and happy in his new-found honours, not least of which were his
wounds, he stepped forward.

[Illustration: Little Beaver, the New War Chief]

Caleb viewed him with paternal