Roger stared with much interest at the fur, stretched out to tan. A few hours before it had been a wild-cat bent on doing him mischief. Just then Johnny Green stalked out of his cabin.

"Sagoola!" he exclaimed, pleasantly, grinning expansively in recognition of Roger and Adrian.

"Sagoola!" replied Adrian. "Glad to see you, Johnny. Get home all right last night?"

"Sartin, sure. Got c.o.o.n, too."

"You did? Where?"

"Down back Bill Eaton's place. Here um hide," and he held up the pelt of a racc.o.o.n he had shot and skinned.

"Have you got any bows and arrows you don't want?" asked Adrian, with the freedom of an old acquaintance.

"Mebby so," grinned Johnny, and he went back into his cabin to return with two small but well-made hickory bows and several arrows, feather tipped, but with blunt ends. He gave the weapons to the boys, who thanked him heartily.

"Stop and get some honey when you're up our way," said Adrian, giving the invitation as a sort of payment for the gift. Then the boys kept on.

They walked to nearly the centre of the Reservation, where the Castle, as the long white Council House was called, stood. It was the most substantial building in the Indian village, being constructed of boards.

"The braves have their green corn and succotash dance here every year,"

explained Adrian. "They had one about two months ago. I wish you'd been here. They give a regular performance like a war dance, only it's to make the Great Spirit, so they think, give a good corn harvest. The Indians rattle dried corn in bladders and circle about the middle of the room, howling and shouting as if they were crazy. It's great, I tell you. Dad took me once."

"I'd like to have seen it," said Roger. "Maybe I'll stay until next year; then I can."

From the Castle the boys went to the bridge which spanned a little stream that flowed through the Indian village.

"They say a terrible battle was once fought along this creek," said Adrian, as they cast pebbles into the brook. "The early white settlers in this part of the country and the old Onondaga Indians pitched into each other right on the bank of this stream, and lots were killed on both sides. The story goes that the waters ran red with blood that day, and even to the present time the Indians here have a name for this creek which means 'b.l.o.o.d.y water.'"

"Well," said Roger, after they had been walking about for some time looking at the different sights, "I guess we'd better be getting back.

Hadn't we? It'll be pretty near dark when we reach Cardiff."

Adrian agreed with him. The sun was already dipping well over toward the western hills, and whistling to Jack, who was romping about with some Indian dogs, Adrian and Roger started homeward. They tried shooting with their bows, sending the arrows far on ahead of them and then picking them up, to give them another flight into the air. They moved on briskly, and just as the sun was sinking out of sight, they arrived at Hank Mack's store. A few minutes later the boys were at their home.

They stopped at the spouting spring for a drink of cool, sparkling water, and then entered the house.

They had no sooner reached the kitchen than they were aware that something had occurred. Mr. Kimball was standing in the middle of the floor, holding a letter in his hand. Mrs. Kimball sat in a chair, and it could be seen that she had been crying. Clara stood near her mother.

"Wh--what's the matter?" asked Adrian, in great alarm. "Has something happened?"

For a moment no one answered him.

"What is it, dad," he persisted, "bad news?"

"Yep, son, it's bad news," replied his father, brokenly.

"What is it?"

"Th' money your father invested in railroad sheers is all lost," burst out Mrs. Kimball, "'n' Nate Jackson has wrote t' say he's goin' t'

foreclose th' mortgage."

This was bad news indeed, and Adrian sank limply in a chair, while Roger looked helplessly on.

CHAPTER XI

COPPER AND OLD BONES

Though Roger and Adrian knew little of the business connected with mortgages and railroad shares, they realized nevertheless, that something serious had occurred. Adrian never recalled seeing his father look so helpless and worried but once before, and that had been when his mother was dangerously ill. Mr. Kimball's face was pale, and his blue eyes, usually so bright and snapping, were dull, and seemed to be gazing at something far away.

For a moment after Mrs. Kimball's announcement no one spoke. Then, as a man recovering from some heavy blow, the farmer straightened up, shook himself like a big dog emerging from the water, and said:

"Wa'al, boys, it's true, jest's mother here says. It's bad news, sure 'nuff, 'n' I don't know when I've bin so knocked out. It's so suddint, jest like one a' them heavy thunder claps thet comes on ye 'fore ye know there's a storm brewin'."

"Is it very bad?" asked Adrian, softly. "Is all the money gone? Can't you get any of it back?"

"Seems not, son. Leastwise ef I kin, it won't be soon 'nuff fer me, 'cause th' mortgage is agoin' t' be foreclosed, 'n' t' stave thet off I've got t' hev ready cash. Ef either a' th' calamaties hed happened one at a time, I could a' stood it, but havin' 'em both together kinder flambusts me, thet's what it does. I'm reg'lar flambusted, thet's what I be; flambusted, thet's it," and he sank down in a chair, muttering this one word over and over.

Then, by degrees, Roger and Adrian gathered enough of the matter to understand it somewhat. When Mr. Kimball purchased his farm, some years ago, he did not have enough money to pay all of the price, and he gave a mortgage for the balance, that being a paper, by the terms of which he agreed, after a certain number of years, to pay the rest of the money due or forfeit the farm.

As time went on he prospered with his crops and paid off some of the mortgage. Then his father died and left him a neat sum of money. But instead of using this to cancel the mortgage, Mr. Kimball was induced by his brother Seth to invest it in the stock of a certain railroad. Seth told him that there the money would earn good interest, and when the time came to pay off the mortgage, Mr. Kimball could sell his railroad stock and with the money settle the debt on his farm, with something left.

This would have been a good plan if matters in the financial world hadn't gone wrong just before Mr. Kimball was to draw his money from the investment in the railroad shares. The mortgage was nearly due, and he expected to pay it off. But there came a panic in the stock market, and the shares the honest farmer had put his money in dropped below par, so far, in fact, that it seemed hopeless ever to expect them to rise again. And then, with all his money gone, to be informed that unless he paid off the balance of the mortgage the farm would be taken from him was blow enough to discourage any one.

"Wa'al," said Mr. Kimball, after a long silence, and with more cheerfulness in his tones than his family had heard since he got the bad news, "wa'al, there's no use cryin' over spilt milk, 'n' what can't be cured must be endured. Th' money's gone, thet's sure. Now I'll hev t'

pitch in 'n' airn some more. I'm young yit. I guess I kin do it. Never say die, 'n' don't guv up th' ship. Them's my mottoes," and he blew his nose with a vigor that seemed to be uncalled for.

"It's turrible," spoke up Mrs. Kimball, "jest 's ye were gittin' ready t' take things a leetle easier, Bert. It's a shame, thet's what 't is, 'n' ef I could see some a' them railroad directors I'd tell 'em so, thet's what I would."

"Easy, easy," said Mr. Kimball. "It's tough luck, t' be sure, but from what th' newspapers says, I ain't th' only one. There's lots went down in the Wall Street crash. Plenty a' others lost their money. Th' thing fer me 'n' you t' do now, is t' consider what's t' be done. No use settin' down 'n' foldin' our hands. Cryin' never mended matters yit. I must go t' th' city t' see Jackson 'bout th' mortgage. Ef he'll hold off a bit mebby I kin straighten things out. Ef he won't--"

He didn't finish the sentence, but they all knew what he meant.

"I'm hungry," announced Mr. Kimball, suddenly. "Why," looking at the clock, "here 't is near seven, 'n' th' ch.o.r.es ain't done yit, 'n' no table set."

"I didn't think any 'bout eatin'," said Mrs. Kimball, "but I'll git supper right away."

She and Clara started to put the meal on, and in bustling about they forgot for a time the bad news. Roger and Adrian went out to help lock up the barn and various out-houses, to bed down the horses, and see that everything was in good shape for the night.

"It's too bad, isn't it?" ventured Roger, noting his cousin's unusual silence and guessing the cause.

"Well, as dad says, it might be worse," answered Adrian. "I'm going to pitch in and help all I can."

"And I will too, as long as I'm here," said Roger heartily, and by reason of this trouble the two boys felt more like brothers than cousins.

"I don't s'pose there's much we can do though, Ade."