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.
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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.
“Braves and sagamores of the Lenape tribe, you have been gathered in council by the call of the whippoorwill. Brave Sunfish will now light the friendship fire in Indian fashion, with rubbing sticks.”
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Sunfish Linder stepped forth from his tent-group, and took his place on the windward side of the fire, laid four-square in the center of the ring to supply light rather than heat. He put one foot on the cedar hearth-stick of his outfit, twisted the thong of the bow about the spindle and placed the drilling-point into the point of the notched hearth-stick. Holding the drill steady at the top with a soaped drill-stone in his cupped hand, he began sawing the bow back and forth, at first slowly, then with increasing speed. Friction of wood upon wood caused a trickle of hot, powdery splinters to drop into the tinder-pan. A few seconds of rapid action, and the pan held a glowing coal of powder, which was dumped upon the prepared tinder. Sunfish swayed the bunch of tinder back and forth in his cupped hands, breathed upon it slightly. The glowing mass burst into a golden flame. The firemaker thrust the blaze between the logs. As it caught, climbing yellow tongues licked upward through the pile, and the friendship fire was alight. The silent campers broke the spell with a chorus of approval in Indian-talk. “How, how!”
“Good medicine! May the spirit of the Great Manitou watch over and guide our councils as we gather in peace this night,” said the Chief, and sat again upon his stone dais.
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The Utway twins never failed to enjoy the council in the woods. Something there is in the heart of every boy and man which only finds itself when a close-knit band of their brethren gather together in friendship beneath the star-sprinkled lodge of the great outdoors. The two boys sat with one blanket thrown over their sturdy shoulders, looking about the circle of faces thrown into bold relief by the ruddy glare of the fire. The tent flares were now lit, each small fire glowing in its brazier at the end of a pole marked with the tent totem. The great totem pole of Lenape towered above the huddled groups on the south side of the fireplace, its carved and painted emblems glaring forth awesomely from time to time as a shower of sparks flew upward. Opposite, on the north side, was the stone seat of the Chief, with its tall back of silvery birch trunks, shaped in the form of a gigantic “L” standing out from the blood-red blanket that curtained the majestic dais. The fine-cut head of the Chief rose above his blankets, calm, powerful, serene. At his side sat Sagamore “Happy Face” Frayne, Lenape scribe and keeper of the birch-bark scroll.
“We are now ready to hear the report of scouts of the Lenape tribe,” announced the Chief.
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This was the time for any member of the group, if he wished, to rise, bespeak the attention of the Chief and the assembled braves, and relate the discovery of anything which might be of interest to the tribe. Mr. Carrigan, now recognized under the title of “Sagamore Wise-Tongue” because of his wide knowledge of nature-lore, rose and after addressing the Chief, reported that he had seen a covey of spotted snipe, and that the braves newly come to camp would soon have the rare chance to hunt these nimble birds with bag and lantern. Brave Rolfe rose to ask the name of the constellation of stars now riding overhead, and Brave Slater of Tent Four was called upon by the Chief to give a short talk on the signs now visible in the summer sky. Small Brave Barstow reported that the kingfisher’s nest he had found by the lakeside now contained four little fledglings. The report of each scout was greeted with the approving murmur of “How!”
Again the Chief rose, to open the period of reports for the welfare of the tribe. This was the time for campers to tell of any observation which they had made which might lead to the improvement of the camp in any way—to point out steps that might be taken to keep the routine orderly and effective, or offer to help build or repair camp equipment. Instantly Steve Link was on his feet.
“O Chief!”
“Speak, Brave Link.”
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“This morning before swim I found that the Red Fox canoe was missing from the dock. I took out a boat and finally found the lost canoe far down at the end of the lake, drifting with its paddles on the bottom. I questioned the braves of Tent Eleven, who had used it when they went out after supper last night, and they said that they had left it bottom-up on the dock when they returned. Someone else must have been responsible for this carelessness. Now, every brave knows that such a canoe as the Red Fox is valuable and must be treated with care. I would like to ask that every brave who has passed his canoe-test consider himself duty bound to make sure that our boats and canoes are treated as they should be treated.”
“How, how!”
“A fine suggestion, Brave Link. Sagamore Happy Face will enter it on the birch-bark scroll. Now”—the Chief’s face was serious in the firelight—“now, I must say something which I have never, in my years as Chief of Lenape, had to say before. There is a stain on the name of the tribe. I dislike to say this, but—there is a thief among us.”
“A thief!” A babble of voices came from the ring of braves.
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“Yes,” went on the Chief grimly; “someone among us here to-night—unless I am gravely mistaken, which I hope I am—someone here has no right to share the free and honest councils of our tribe.” With an outstretched hand he silenced the rising flood of questions. “I will tell you what has happened, and you may judge for yourselves. Several days ago Brave Tompkins took off his gold ring to wash his hands, down by his tent. When he looked for it a few minutes after, it had disappeared, although he saw nobody near him at the time. When he told me about it, I thought he might have lost it himself, and advised him to wait and see if it turned up. But to-day, when Sagamore War-Canoe Munson told me that his silver wrist-watch had vanished under somewhat the same circumstances, I began to think that there must be a false brave among us, with light fingers and a spotted heart. Then, this morning our faithful Ellick came to me with the story of a robbery in the kitchen during the night.”
“Ugh, ugh!” growled disapproving voices from the darkness.
“Yes, bad medicine,” went on the speaker. “Ellick reports that the lock of the pantry window was broken and a supply of food taken away. Moreover, he says that a large hand-ax is missing from its place on the woodpile.”
The Utway twins listened breathlessly as the Chief went on. Sherlock Jones stirred eagerly within the folds of his blanket.
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“One word more, and I will not bring up this unpleasant subject again to-night. Some one of you must know or guess who is guilty of these strange disappearances. If anyone here comes to me and returns these lost articles, and makes a clean breast of his misconduct, none of the braves shall know of his trespass against the Lenape code. Are there further reports for the welfare of the tribe? If not, we will pass to the less serious part of our council.”
The ranked listeners relaxed, and there was a laughing, expectant hum of voices as “Guffy” Evans rose to challenge all comers to a talk-fest. The challenge was immediately accepted, in the name of Tent Ten, by Sagamore Avery, who therewith entered little Lefkowitz as their champion in this jabbering contest. Sagamore Happy Face announced the subject: “Give a two-minute speech on Why Polar Bears Don’t Wear Red Flannel Underwear,” and gave the contestants thirty seconds to prepare their arguments. At the command, the two opponents faced each other near the center of the ring, and began a high-pitched, nonsensical stream of chatter about nothing in particular. Lefkowitz was finally shouted into speechlessness, and the victorious Guffy took his seat amid cheers and cat-calls, while Soapy Mullins rose and called upon Lefty Reardon, the baseball captain, to stand against him in a hand-wrestling tilt.
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After a series of boisterous games of “Buzz,” the fun was concluded by a short ghost story from Sax McNulty, which sent shivers of horror chasing up and down the spines of the younger campers. At last the Chief rose and held out his arms in Benediction above the dying fire.
“May the spirit of the all-seeing Manitou go with every brave as he leaves his place at our council this night!”
Flashlights pointed out the path as the drowsy braves filed toward their tent homes. The Utway twins, although pleasantly tired from their active day in the open, were nevertheless wakeful and alert. Behind them came the low chatter of a pair of youngsters from Tent Seven.
Jerry caught a phrase dropped by one of them, a small lad named Toots. “Gee, I clean forgot to make my report of scouts. You remember, Al, that when we saw that smoke from the woods across the lake, I said I’d report it at council?”
“What’s that?” Jerry questioned him. “You saw smoke across the lake?”
“Yes,” said the boy eagerly, “me and Al here, we were out in a rowboat over that way, and saw some smoke coming up like somebody had a campfire in the woods.”
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“Hmm. Take my advice and don’t say anything about it. Not worth mentioning.” But Jerry looked at Jake, who nodded back. The expanse of heavily-wooded land across the lake was almost always deserted, so much so that deer tracks were often to be discovered within its depths. A campfire there was certainly a most unusual thing.