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Yan's heart leaped with pleasure. He had read all his life of Owls, and even had seen them alive in cages, but this was the first time he had ever heard the famous hooting of the real live wild Owl, and it was a delicious experience. The night was quite dark now, but there were plenty of sounds that told of life.
He picked on the most curious of the small birds in the window a Sawwhet Owl then grit his teeth and walked in. How frightfully the cowbell on the door did clang! Then there succeeded a still more appalling silence, then a step and the great man himself came. "How how how much is that Owl?" "Two dollars." Yan's courage broke down now. He fled.
That was true, and yet somehow Yan's ideal that he hankered after was the pre-Columbian Indian, the one who had no White-man's help or tools. "It seems to me it'd be more Injun to make these with just what we get in the woods. The Injuns didn't have jack-knives, but they had sharp flints in the old days." "Yan, you go ahead with a sharp stone.
As he entered he was seeking, somewhat incoherently, to justify himself by assuring the deities that he had almost changed his mind until he remembered the many impious acts on Yan's part in the past, to avenge which he felt himself to be their duly appointed instrument. "Behold, master!" he exclaimed suddenly, in clearly expressed words, "something lies at your feet."
It was exactly the sound that Guy had provoked on that first night when he came and tried to frighten the camp. It passed overhead, and Yan saw for a moment the form of a large slow-flying bird. Next day it was Yan's turn to cook. At sunrise, as he went for water, he saw a large Blue Heron rise from the edge of the pond and fly on heavy pinions away over the tree-tops. It was a thrilling sight.
Somehow, he never looked for a better axe. The half-formed notion that the Indians had no better was sufficient support, and he struggled away bravely, using whatever ready sized material he could find. Each piece as he brought it was put into place. Some boys would have gathered the logs first and built it all at once, but that was not Yan's way; he was too eager to see the walls rise.
He had never been allowed to use a gun, but Rad had one, and Yan's vivid account of his adventure had the desired effect. His method was characteristic. "Rad, would you go huntin' if there was lots to hunt?" "Course I would." "Well, I know a place not ten miles away where there are all kinds of wild animals hundreds of them." "Yes, you do, I don't think. Humph!"
"How's the note-book?" as Raften's eye caught sight of the open sketch-book still in Yan's hand. "Oh, that reminds me," was the reply. "But what is this?" He showed the hoof-mark be had sketched. Raften examined it curiously. "H-m, I dunno'; 'pears to me moighty loike a big Buck. But I guess not; there ain't any left."
"Yan's Bannack's like as not, er even the Shoshones, all I know, though they're usual quiet. The runners is out atween all the tribes. I must be on my way." He hurried to find his own horse, looked to its welfare, for it, too, had an arrow wound. As he passed a certain wagon he heard a voice call to him, saw a hand at the curtained front. "Miss Molly! Hit's you! Ye're not dead no ways, then?"
Had Sam told her to do that, or was it a mere repetition of her old trick? No matter, it brought a rush of warm feeling into Yan's heart. He coaxed the little cherub back and whispered, "No, Minnie, I'll never tell." He began to see how crazy he had been.
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