19.  Bufflehead or Butterball (Charitonetta albeola).

    20.  Old-Squaw or Longtail (Harelda hyemalis).  This is its
    winter plumage, in which it is mostly seen.

    21.  Black Scoter (Oidemia americana).  A jet-black Duck with
    orange bill; no white on it anywhere.

    22.  White-winged Scoter (O. deglandi).  A black Duck with
    white on cheek and wing; feet and bill orange; much white on wing
    shows as they fly, sometimes none as they swim.

    23.  Surf Duck or Sea Coot (O. perspicillata).  A black Duck
    with white on head, but none on wings:  bill and feet orange.

    24.  Ruddy Duck or Stiff-tailed Duck (Erismatura
    jamaicensis).  Bill and feet bluish; male is in general a dull
    red with white face.

* * * * *

When they got back to camp at dusk they found a surprise.  On the trail was a white thing, which on investigation proved to be a ghost, evidently made by Guy.  The head was a large puff-ball carved like a skull, and the body a newspaper.

But the teepee was empty.  Guy probably felt too much reaction after the setting up of the ghost to sit there alone in the still night.

XVII

Sam’s Woodcraft Exploit

Sam’s “long suit,” as he put it, was axemanship.  He was remarkable even in this land of the axe, and, of course, among the “Injuns” he was a marvel.  Yan might pound away for half an hour at some block that he was trying to split and make no headway, till Sam would say, “Yan, hit it right there,” or perhaps take the axe and do it for him; then at one tap the block would fly apart.  There was no rule for this happy hit.  Sometimes it was above the binding knot, sometimes beside it, sometimes right in the middle of it, and sometimes in the end of the wood away from the binder altogether—­often at the unlikeliest places.  Sometimes it was done by a simple stroke, sometimes a glancing stroke, sometimes with the grain or again angling, and sometimes a compound of one or more of each kind of blow; but whatever was the right stroke, Sam seemed to know it instinctively and applied it to exactly the right spot, the only spot where the hard, tough log was open to attack, and rarely failed to make it tumble apart as though it were a trick got ready beforehand.  He did not brag about it.  He simply took it for granted that he was the master of the art, and as such the others accepted him.

On one occasion Yan, who began to think he now had some skill, was whacking away at a big, tough stick till he had tried, as he thought, every possible combination and still could make no sign of a crack.  Then Guy insisted on “showing him how,” without any better result.

“Here, Sam,” cried Yan, “I’ll bet this is a baffler for you.”

Sam turned the stick over, selected a hopeless-looking spot, one as yet not touched by the axe, set the stick on end, poured a cup of water on the place, then, when that had soaked in, he struck with all his force a single straight blow at the line where the grain spread to embrace the knot.  The aim was true to a hair and the block flew open.