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Updated: June 16, 2025
He had seen the lights in the woods, and, dreading a fire at this dry season, had dressed and come out. "Hello, Da; why ain't you in bed, where you ought to be?" Raften took no notice of his son, but said sneeringly to Caleb: "Ye ain't out trying to get another shot at me, air ye?" 'Tain't worth your while; I hain't got no cash on me to-night."
Sam came sheepishly forward, shook hands in a flabby way, and said, in drawling tones, "How-do," then retired behind the stove to gaze with melancholy soberness at Yan, whenever he could do so without being caught at it. Mr. and Mrs. Raften were attending to various matters elsewhere, and Yan was left alone and miserable.
Burns carrying the baby in one arm and a pot of jam in the other. Guy ran ahead to show the way, and four-year-old, three-year-old and two-year-old, hand in hand, formed a diagonal line in the wake of the mother. They were just a little surprised on getting to camp to find Mrs. Raften and Minnie there in holiday clothes.
A thousand dollars!!! Caleb's eyes opened, and what was next he did not then learn, for the boys came back and interrupted, but later the old Trapper was fully instructed. When Mrs. Raften heard of it she was thunderstruck. A thousand dollars in Sanger was like one hundred thousand dollars in a big city. It was untold wealth, and Mrs. Raften fairly gasped. "A thousand dollars, William!
"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.
"I believe you will," answered Sam, in a tone of mixed admiration and amusement. It was ten o'clock when they got home, and every one was in bed but Mr. Raften.
His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, came near enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets. "Red-head red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gits hol' o' you Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and others equally galling and even more exquisitely refined.
Why! isn't that a heavy strain to put on the honesty of a man who thinks still that he has some claim on you? Is it safe to risk it?" "Pooh!" said William. "Oi'm no money-lender, nor spring gosling nayther. Thayer's the money Oi'll lend him," and Raften produced a roll of counterfeit bills that he as magistrate had happened to have in temporary custody.
Slapin' on the ground's terrible dangerous, but that's all right. Now make your bed on that." Sam and Yan did so, and when it was finished Raften said: "Now, fetch that little canvas I told yer ma to put in; that's to fasten to the poles for an inner tent over the bed." Yan stood still and looked uncomfortable. "Say, Da, look at Yan. He's got that tired look that he wears when the rules is broke."
Raften went over to his old partner and said: "Caleb, air ye hurrt? It's me it's Bill Raften. Air ye hurrt?" Caleb rolled his eyes and looked around. Yan came over now and knelt down. "Are you hurt, Mr. Clark?" He shook his head and pointed to his chest. "He's got his wind knocked out," Raften explained; "he'll be all right in a minute or two. Guy, bring some wather."
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