THE CLEVER TWINS

Some time in the night the wind changed to an on-shore breeze, and there came with it, as there was always does, a whole host of black storm clouds. Consequently, when the camp awoke next morning, every boy's mind filled with the expectancy of an all-day hike to dig Indian mounds, they were disappointed to find a dark, drizzly morning.

"Rain before seven, clear before eleven," declared Durbin, emphatically. "I never yet saw it fail."

"If there is such a thing as being able to dampen the spirits of a lot of healthy boys, this day ought to do it," observed Jimmie Vanden, as he surveyed the foggy lake, the half-filled boats, and the dripping tent-flies before him.

"Dampen their spirits nothing," blithely challenged Vincent. "This is the best fishing-day we've had yet. O you string of bass!" and he danced up and down with sheer delight.

"Can't even play ball," grumbled Leonard. "The diamond looks like a bowl of soup."

"Well, you'd think ball was the only game on earth," called Harold. "Let's have a war, or a fight, or a real rough house. Let's not stand around and just be sorry about it all day."

After breakfast a rousing fire was built in the great stone fireplace. The morning detail was quickly dispatched. Then the camp broke up into many small groups, each one occupying itself as it saw fit. The graphophone was pressed into service by those who chose to be by the fire. One group of fellows made kites according to the latest approved methods. Others played checkers, read books, or gathered in twos and threes to "swap lies."

About ten o'clock the sky darkened and the thunder rolled. Brilliant flashes of lightning lighted up the western sky. The fog cleared, and the lake became a stormy green. The little whitecaps fairly raced across the water, only to be ceaselessly dashed up on to the beach in masses of foam. In less time than it takes to tell it the storm was on full blast. The wind howled angrily. The rain fell in torrents. As the storm increased, the fellows gathered on the broad veranda to watch it, for its great power was fascinating. Every boy stood intently watching the great trees bending and the tents shivering the storm, expecting at any moment to see them torn from their moorings and blown into the lake.

Vincent stepped over to Cooper and stood by his side for some minutes without speaking, then, -

"Gee, she's got some pep, hasn't she?" he remarked, by way of opening the conversation. "That's more than we've got."

"Let's do something," added Harold. "Cooper let's start something quick, or I'll explode. I've been standing around all morning."

"Let's see the Twins wrestle," suggested Porter. The idea meant with instant approval. In another moment the big dining-room was being cleared of chairs and tables.

"It's an awfully hard floor," suggested Cooper. "Better put on your sweater coats, then you won't skin up your shoulders."

"O, rats!" exclaimed Vincent. "A little skinning isn't going to hurt us."

A large ring was quickly formed and the Twins took the center. Harold, however, didn't just like the idea. He was not afraid, or anything like that, but it seemed to him like going back on old times, for ever since they had been old enough to fight at all they had always stuck together. What was one's fight was always the other's also. Now, to be opposing each other, just for the amusement of the crowd, seemed strange to him.

"I'll bet on Vincent," called "Love,' from his place in the circle.

"And I on Harold,' promptly returned "Shrimp."

Soon each camper had chosen his champion, and under the supervision of Mr. Blaine the tussle began. The cook left his pan of potatoes and stood in the doorway to see the fun. The checker game was set hastily aside. Books were closed with a bang. Half-finished letters were slipped out of sight, and the entire camp joined the circle.

The boys were evenly matched, and were, so far as the eye could tell, exactly of a size and shape. Both wore gray sweater coats and black tennis shoes, without stockings. Both had bushy, yellow hair, and both had sparkling blue eyes that fairly danced with life and good humor.

They advanced, met each other, shook hands, and the tussle began. In the quick, catlike movements that followed, the crowd became confused. The ones that had been shouting for Vincent often shouted for Harold, not knowing the difference, and Harold's most ardent admirers clapped their approval of his tactics, when it was really Vincent that had won their favor. The match was so even that after a few moments Mr. Blaine separated them to reset, giving Harold the advantage.

"Now, which one is which?" asked Dale of "Shrimp" Warren.

"The one standing by Mr. Blaine is Vincent," said "Shrimp."

"Not on your life," objected Longley. "That's Harold,"

"Harold, nothing," shouted Porter. "That's Vincent. I sleep right over him; I can tell by his slippers. They are worn through at the toes."

"And-a he's right," said Bill. "I heard him say, Saturday, that his slippers were worn out."

"Well, gee, then I've been yelling for the wrong man," confided Studley.

"You ought to do like I do," said Stellner. "I yell one minute for one and the next minute for the other, and the one that really wins in the end is the one I thought was the bet man all the while."

So the conversation went on while the Twins rested.

The second tussle began, and the excitement rose to a high pitch when one Botting's foot suddenly slipped and over he went, flat on his shoulders, the Botting with the worn slippers on the top.

"Three cheers for Vincent!" shouted Porter. "He's the winner." The cheers followed, and they were lively ones.

"Three cheers for Harold!" shouted Longley. "He's the winner." And again the shouts rang out.

The Twins sat panting on the floor and wiped the perspiration from their faces. They had entered into the spirit of the competition, and while they would at any cost be loyal to each other and play absolutely on the square, for the sake of the prestige, however, they both wanted to win, and had gone into the match to win.

"I knew something was the matter with me," panted Harold. "Now I know what it is. You have on my slippers."

"Slippers don't make any difference," laughed Vincent.

"They don't, eh? Well, that's what made me fall just then. Yours are too big for me."

"All right," consented Vincent. "Let's both take them off for the last fall. What do you say? We each have one advantage now." Harold agreed, and the last tussle began.

"And-a which is which, anyway?" questioned Bill of his neighbor.

"You got me," replied Studley. "I can't tell now till they put on their shoes again. I'm always getting them mixed up some way."

The last match was a long and exceedingly well-contested one, but finally one Botting, by a clever feint, secured the fateful "half Nelson," and in another instant his opponent was pinned helplessly on his shoulders. The boys shouted their approval, and the Twins pulled on their slippers.

"See, I told you it was Vincent that won," said Porter, pointing to the slippers with the worn-out toes. Bill shook his head doubtfully.

"And-a I'm glad he did - aren't you? - 'cause he worked the hardest."

"Well, old boy, you certainly are some wrestler," said Cooper to Harold as the group passed out on to the porch again.

"Why - did Harold win?" asked Porter in surprise.

"Sure I did," replied Harold.

"But it was Vincent's shoes that were worn out at the toes -"

"You sap-heads!" laughed Harold. "He had on my shoes when we began, but now I have on my own." Porter looked from one to the other. "Well, I'll be jiggered," was all he said.

A small group had gathered around Durbin, and they were earnestly talking over some scheme, which, from the suppressed laughter, seemed to please them greatly.

"It's Vincent with the bad shoes," Durbin was saying.

"'Cause I heard Porter say so, and he sleeps in the bunk just above him."

"All right," called "Shrimp." "I'll get the scissors, but be careful." In a second he returned and handed them to Durbin. They all moved toward Harold, then Durbin reached and grabbed him from behind.

"Now, Vincent, old boy, we've got you, and we're going to mark you so we'll know after this who you are." Harold struggled to free himself, but to no avail.

"I'm not Vincent, I'm Harold," he cried. "You fellows are crazy."

"O, yes, you rascal, you've stuffed us long enough, and you can't fool us now. Vincent you are, and Vincent you're going to be hereafter." Declared Durbin, whereupon he began to cut big chunks from the back of Harold's yellow hair; not enough to do any harm, but enough to be plainly seen.

Vincent missed the performance, for he had gone to the pump for a drink, and returned just in time to see the job completed.

"And-a you can't fool us anymore," laughed Bill. "Vincent is the one with the hair cut, and Harold is the one without it cut," and he laughed at their clever method of branding the twins.

Harold gave Vincent a sly little wink, and just as soon as the Twins could get a word together, they arranged for a secret meeting.

The camp made the very most of its newly-acquired information by finding every occasion to call the Botting with the trimmed hair Vincent, just to prove they knew which was which at last.

When mess was called that evening, the Twins made their appearance together; a broad grin was on their faces, their arms were interlocked, and they were keeping step. Instead of falling into line, as was the custom, they slowly marched down the entire length of the line-up, a little to one side, then back to their places, without so much as a word. They evidently were on dress parade. What was the consternation of the crowd when they saw what had been done. The untrimmed Botting had become trimmed, and so cleverly was the job done that it was again impossible to tell which was which. Instinctively all eyes fell to the shoes, but the Twins were too smart for them, for each boy wore one good and one bad shoe. The deception was complete.

At last, not knowing what to say, but wishing to be equal to the occasion, Durbin stepped from the line and proposed three "dummy rahs" for the Twins. Every camper doubled up his fists and with awful faces when through the motions of three rousing cheers without so much as uttering a sound. The result was all that could be desired. Everybody laughed, and again the Twins were acknowledged the winners.

It was too wet outside for the usual evening camp-fire, so the evening was spent around the open grate discussing plans for the greatest day in Camp Eberhart - July Fourth.

"It's only a little over a week off," the "chief" was saying, "and we want to have the very best day ever. You know we have a beautiful new American flag that was presented to us on Christmas, and I just want to propose to you that we have a new flagpole to fly it from."

"That's the eye."

"You bet, we want a high one."

"I want to suggest further, fellows," continued the "chief," "that we get up early on the Fourth, dig our hole, and raise our new flag-pole before breakfast. We are planning to have Mr. Eldred with us for our Independence address, and we'll have it before breakfast, in the cool of the morning, just as soon as the new pole is up and the flag flying."

"Great!" shouted the crowd.

"Where do you think the flagstaff ought to stand?" questioned the "chief."

"That's the place," shouted half a dozen others. So it was decided, and Mr. George was authorized to secure and bring in the desired pole.

"O, Mr. Blaine! Tell us what the athletic events for that day will be," called Mr. Verne.

"Well," replied Mr. Blaine, "first of all we want to build a dozen good water pyramids. We want to get busy on them very soon. Then we will have swimming races for time and form, plain and fancy diving, all kinds of races in boats, tubs, and in the water. Then, of course, we will want to give our visitors an exhibition on the chute-the-chutes. The final stunt will be a series of tilting matches in the boats. That will take all the afternoon. We will, of course, have our baseball game in the morning, and with your minstrel show and the display of fireworks in the evening, I think we'll all be ready for bed by night."

The program as outlined created no little interest, and furnished something definite to think, talk, and speculate about for the next week.

"What day will we have our hike this week?" asked Vincent. For if there was any one thing that he loved more than another in the camp-life, it was rambling in the woods a half day, then building a fire and cooking a real camp dinner.

"If it is a nice day we will go on Thursday. We'll go to the same place we planned to go to to-day, and we'll dig up that Indian grave."

"Hurrah!" shouted the crowd.

"Say, do you really believe that's an Indian mound?" questioned "Shrimp." "I think it's a fake."

"Fake nothing," sharply answered Vincent. "This country's full of Indian mounds. There's dozens of them. Why, only last spring a fellow over at Long Lake, and that's only two miles away, plowed up a mound and found thirteen skeletons, arrow-heads, stone axes, and all kinds of things."

"Is that so?" said a dozen in the same breath, and in another moment the conversation had changed from July Fourth to Indian mounds. Many were strange tales told around the fire that evening.

"What did he do with the skeletons?" asked "Love," between chattering teeth.

"O, that was a funny thing," replied Vincent. "The thirteenth one that he plowed up had an arrow still sticking through the ribs, just where the heart had been and the old fellow dreamed it was bad luck, so he buried them all again."

"Mr. George says that he has heard there is lots of buried Indian stuff around here, though," said Harold. "The place we are going to dig is supposed to be an old battlefield."

"What battle?" eagerly inquired "Love."

"O well, I can't tell just which one," went on Harold, "but it was one the Pottawatomies had with the Iroquois. You see the Pottawatomie braves went out on a big hunt, and while they were gone the Iroquois, who were the greatest enemies of the Indians in these parts, slipped into the Pottawatomie camp and stole all the women and children. They hurried back toward the Canada line with them, so as not to be bothered with them when the big fight came. You see they were planning to get back to the Pottawatomie camp before the braves returned home from the hunt. But there was one little girl they didn't get because she was out gathering wild rice in the swamp. When she heard the war-cry she hurried home, but at the edge of the cat-tails she saw the Iroquois tying and gagging all the women of her tribe, so she slipped back into the cat-tails. The Iroquois had only been gone a few hours when the Pottawatomie braves returned unexpectedly. The girl explained what had happened. The braves hurried to their canoes and paddled up the St. Joe to Elkhart, then north on the trail to head off the flying Iroquois and to rescue their women. They reached this lake first, and, ambushing themselves, waited for their enemy. A terrific battle followed, in which the Iroquois were nearly all killed. Those that escaped were followed up by fast runners, and killed, one at a time. Now, somewhere around Harwood Lake is where all those Iroquois are buried, and we want to find them.

"Vincent, tell us that story about that old crazy Indian trader you said you read in a State History over at Mr. George's the other day," called Durbin. "Didn't it have something to do with Corey Lake?"

"Do you suppose it could possibly be the same old hermit that Mr. George told us about at the camp-fire the other evening, Chief?" asked Porter.

"To tell you the truth, fellows, I haven't had time to read that article yet myself, but I propose to do it very soon, and then talk with Mr. George about it. I've heard a number of interesting stories about that old man, and I want to know more."

"Let's read it now," urged Cooper, who had become much interested in the article from what Vincent had been telling them as they sat by the fire.

"That's a go,' called half a dozen others who had heard the matter discussed the day before. "Let's read it out loud now."

"You bet, we need a good story to sleep on," declared Harold.

The chief liked the suggestion, so went to his office to procure the big leather volume.

Soon the place was found, and all drew in close to hear the better.

"It was the day of the 'big payment,' and Sau-au-quett had made a very hurried trip up from the village of St. Joe to see to it his crafty schemes were carried out as he had planned them.

"I have sold this land! And I would sell it again for two gallons of whisky!' cried he as he rode into the midst of the Indian council. When well into the great circle of squatting figures he reined in his horse, and with a long sweep of his arm he unsheathed the ugly saber that hung at his side, waving it threateningly in the air. Then he sat staring coldly at the stolid faces about him, as if to determine whether any one would dare to oppose him in his deal. The violent throbs of his own heart were keeping time with those of his excited pony.

"He was not the thoroughbred Pottawatomie that he would have you believe him to be, for his father had been no other than that famous Pierre Morreau, the Frenchman, who many years before, by cunning strategy and by taking advantage of the superstitions of the red men, had succeeded in getting a large part of the tribe to renounce Cush-ee-wee, their hereditary sachem, and to install him as Big Chief of the Nottowas. He soon married an Indian maiden, and for many years ruled his tribe wisely and well. When Sau-au-quett, his oldest son, came into man's estate he took over the leadership of the people.

"Sau-au-quett was a striking figure as he sat on his nervous pinto pony with an ease and grace learned only from years of constant riding. Hatred and vengeance were stamped on his handsome face. A cunning and crafty twinkle was in his eye. He had dressed especially for this occasion; a blue military coat two sizes large, its polished brass buttons glistening in the sunlight; an immense chapeau with a tall, white plume fastened to the side, the sheath of his cavalry saber hung carelessly at his hi, and a pair of immense pistols in his belt.

"The general cession of Indian lands had been made at Chicago in 1821, but there had been many special reservations made to Indians at that time, the most notable of which was the Nottawa-seepe Prairie, a rich, fertile section of Southern Michigan, embracing the beautiful lake districts of St. Joseph County. Following the Black Hawk War, the Government had negotiated with the Pottawatomies for the cession of the Nottawa-seepe Reservation, along with other important Indian lands in Indiana and Illinois. But it was not until the death of the real chieftain, Cush-ee-wee, in 1883, that the Government was able to get such a treaty signed by the Indians, and then only by buying off the conquering Sau-au-quett and his band of supporters.

"The treaty plainly stated that the Indians were to have possession of the reservation undisturbed for two years following the signing. At the end of this time they were to receive the first 'big payment' of ten thousand dollars' worth of calico, beads, and trinkets, and be removed to ample hunting grounds west of the Mississippi River.

"The day of the 'big payment' came, but meanwhile the other faction of the tribe, influenced by the powerful Sac chieftain, Menomonee, had concluded that the treaty was not binding because Sau-au-quett and his followers had had no lawful right to sell the land without the consent of the whole tribe.

"For more than a week the Indians had been coming from every direction, pitching their wigwams along the St. Joe River and spending much time in admiring the gaudy finery, blankets, saddles, bridles, and antiquated guns which were displayed by the Government agents as a part of the 'big payment.' For days the council had met and parleyed from sunrise to sunset, but without success. The Indians were becoming each day more interested in the barter of their choice furs and blankets for the cheap whisky that unprincipled white men were ready and willing to trade them.

"Council after council had been held. Feast after feast had been indulged in. The Indian agents, Patrick Maranette and Pierre Navarre, had argued, debated, and even pleaded with the red men that they keep their word to the Government as indicated in the treaty. But to no avail. The more whisky they were able to secure, the more determined became the opposition, except among Sau-au-quett's followers.

"In the heat of the discussion, and on the morning set for the delivery of the 'big payment,' came Sau-au-quett in all his splendor. He rode pell-mell into the midst of the council, unsheathing his long saber and shouting as he did so:

"'I have sold this land! And I would sell it again for two gallons of whisky!

"A French interpreter, who Chief Menomonee had persuaded to aid him at the council, seeing the great influence that Sau-au-quett was sure to have upon the undecided portion of the tribe, stepped boldly forth and addressed the would-be chieftain thus:

"'You miserable half-breed, eldest son of my despised brother, who forsook his home and married a squaw -' "He got no further, for Sau-au-quett had struck him down with the long saber, nearly dismembering his extended arm. No doubt Sau-au-quett would have killed the Frenchman, had it not been for the quick action of Quau-sett - the Duck Wing, brother to the hereditary sachem. Quick as lightning he snatched on e of the heavy pistols from Sau-au-quett's belt and fired full at him. But the ancient weapon missed fire, and in another instant Sau-au-quett turned and struck Quau-sett a terrific blow just above the shoulder, doubtless aiming to sever his head. The cruel saber pierced the heavy blanket, but was turned aside from its deadly course by a huge plug of tobacco concealed in Quau-sett's blanket. Sau-au-quett was disarmed from behind, and Quau-sett was hurried away to a place of safety.

"The council was once more resumed. For the last time the opposing forces stated their cause. The mighty chieftain stood, his arms extended, there in one of the grandest woodland theaters on the earth-one that had been fashioned, finished, and furnished by the hands of the Great Spirit Himself for His children-and pleaded for his people. A great silence fell on the assembled Indians as he began to speak.

"'Members of this Council: The great White Chief does not know the truth. He, like me, has been fooled. He does not know that his messengers have made my young chiefs drunk, obtained their consent, and pretended to have mine, to give up our country. He does not know that I refused and still refuse to sell these lands. He would not by force drive me and my people from my home and from the graves of my tribe and of my children who have gone to the Great Spirit, nor allow you to tell me that your braves will take me away tied like a wolf, if he knew the truth. My brothers, your White Chief is just, but he listens to the voices of young chiefs, and they have lied. I have not sold these lands. I will not sell the land. I have not signed a treaty, and I will not sign one. I am not going away to the land beyond the Great River, and I don't want to hear anything more about it.'

"Slowly he sat down, and Sau-au-quett took his place before the council. In words of fire he described the promised hunting ground beyond the Great River and told marvelous stories of the wealth of the 'Great White Chief' and of the riches he would bestow upon them, declaring that the ten thousand dollars' worth of goods then on display was but a sample of what was to follow. He closed his heated argument with a promise that every brave who that day stood by the treaty should have not only his share of the goods and a boundless new home, but should also have his fill of the 'fire-water' that was even then on board the two great barges lying at anchor on the river. His words were so convincing that soon the great piles of guns and hatchets, blankets, calico, knives, tobacco, pipes, beads, and copper trinkets were being distributed under the supervision of Maranett and Navarre, assisted by Governor Porter himself.

"At the first signs of an agreement by the council the great barges were drawn in close to shore, and under the direction of one named Hesikia Thomson literally scores of barrels of whisky and rum were landed.

"Soon very lively trading was in progress; the whites cheating the Indians out of great quantities of their goods from the 'big payment,' giving them in return the cheapest of whisky. Quau-sett presented Sau-au-quett with a fine, large demijohn of rye. Accordingly their peace was declared and promptly celebrated by a spree. Quau-sett, who had had some previous dealings with the man Thomson, now became his Indian agent, aiding him, even in his half-drunken condition, to cheat every Indian out of as much as possible of his share of the goods. The Government had given strict orders that no 'fire-water' should be allowed on the grounds the day of the settlement. Accordingly Mr. Maranett and Pierre Navarre gathered what help they could, and swooped down on the kegs of 'fire-water,' ordering the owners to cease its sale immediately 'by order of the United States Government.' The traders refused to obey the orders, whereupon the agents attacked the kegs with axes, succeeding in knocking the heads of most of them. The whisky was pouring out in streams upon the river bank. The Indians were so wild for it that they lay upon their stomachs and lapped in up from the dirt, much to the disgust of the agents.

"Hesikia Thomson, however, while he had lost a large share of his whisky, had already secured the more valuable part of the payment goods, and had removed them to the river barges. Then with Quau-sett, his squaw, and several other Indians, he drifted down the river and was gone before the agents or the governor could get to his arrest and disposal.

"Although Sau-au-quett and Quau-sett had declared peace, Sau-au-quett's favorite squaw, who had been an eye-witness to the whole day's proceedings, swore vengeance on Quau-sett and his squaw accompanied Thomson as far as Corey Lake, and there withdrew into the wilderness. Here Thomson, who had a few months before married the daughter of a very queer old settler, homesteaded a farm on a beautiful piece of heavily timbered land, clearing just enough of it for a small garden, orchard, and room for a small log house. Quau-sett became interpreter for Thomson, and soon a trading post was opened for the Indians. For, although the treaty had been agreed upon and signed, after the entire first payment was received by the Indians they swung back to the old chief and refused to leave the land. It was seven years later when they were forcibly removed by United States soldiers, but not before many an old score on settler and Indian had been settled.

"Two years after the 'big payment' Sau-au-quett's squaw, under a pretext of friendship, visited Quau-sett at the Thomson place on Corey Lake. Her intention was to kill Duck Wing for his attempt on her husband's life, but as no occasion presented itself she took vengeance by stabbing Quau-sett's squaw to death with a sheath-knife she had secured at the 'big payment.' She then went stealthily back to her home near Coldwater and presented her husband with the bloody knife, telling him of her deed. Sau-au-quett was greatly pleased, and carried the knife until the time of his death, always declaring it was his sure luck against 'white man's evil.'

"But in 1839 Sau-au-quett himself was murdered in Coldwater, supposedly by one of his own tribe who had opposed the sale of the Nottawa-seepe lands from the very beginning. The old chief was sleeping in his wigwam when the enemy crept stealthily in to his bedside, drew from Sau-au-quett's girdle his famous sheath-knife, and drove it up to the handle into the old half-breed's bosom. The chief sprang to his feet, gave one whoop, and fell dead. In some mysterious manner Thomson, 'the crazy paleface of the lakes,' as he was afterward known among the Indians, secured Sau-au-quett's famous knife and guns. Tradition even whispered that Thomson had hired the murderer of Sau-au-quett in order to get possession of a certain packet of papers that that Indian was taking from Coldwater to the governor of the Northwest Territory. At least the papers were never again heard of after the mysterious murder. Tradition also whispered that the murderer was none other than Quau-sett himself. This supposition was afterward made more substantial by the fact that Quau-sett, the Duck Wing, soon after disappeared from the Thomson neighborhood, and was never heard of again. At about the same time Hesikia's wife left him and returned to her father, then living in the village of Mendon. The same winter Thomson was found wandering in the dense woods hopelessly insane, and remained so until his tragic death by freezing, several years later."

"I'll bet it's the same fellow," said Cooper. "Wouldn't it be funny if he was?"

The chief closed the book with a slam and turned thoughtfully away. "I wouldn't be surprised," he said, "but we'll probably never know."