fellow, the weight of it would break his back!

A chap who is so terribly afraid of work as some of these loafers seem to be, should keep away from camp, for it must be a harrowing experience for them. Show me a bunch of Scouts who go after a hard job just as enthusiastically as they do a dish of pork and beans, and I'll show you a bunch that will get somewhere in Scouting. And I'll bet my new hat they will put in a few extra licks for good measure when they have finished their allotted task.

"Keeping good natured." This is probably the most vital test of a real Scout. You know the genuine old wilderness men, the fellows who go back into the mountains and stay six months or a year at a time without seeing any other human being than their "partner," will overlook almost any defect in a man except a grouchy disposition. They pick their partners with the most extreme care and they will never take chances on a man whom they think might "go sour" on them, as they call it. "One swallow does not make a summer" so the old saying goes, but one grouch can spoil a camp. Just one single member with a cantankerous, ingrowing, whining, complaining disposition can cause more trouble than all the rain that ever poured, than all the skeeters that ever buzzed.

Now then, all of these things we've been talking about must be taken to heart by each one of us individually. If every single fellow will only make up his mind. to go straight on these points, we will have the finest camping season ever. Let's not worry much about the other fellow. Let's each make it a point to keep his own record clean.

Sounds easy, doesn't it? Well it is just about as easy as pulling a tom-cat by his

tail backward across a carpet. If we are going to make good on this decision we will have to watch ourselves every minute of the time.

This doesn't mean that we will lose any fun. On the contrary it ought to give us a whole lot more fun. You bet I believe in fun.

Whack der Kaiser

MR. CAVE SCOUT, I wish you'd give

us a new song to sing-something with a little zip to it that we can use at our troop meetings and around the campfire."

All right, try this one to the old familiar tune of "Yankee Doodle."

Old Kaiser Bill, one summer day,
Was feeling kind of breezy.
Says he, I guess I'll lick the world,
I think it will be easy.

(Chorus)

Wallop him with peas and beans,
Paste him with pototoes,
Hammer him with cabbages,
And soak him with tomatoes!
And then this chesty Kaiser Bill
Conceived another notion;
He built a thousand submarines
And thought he owned the ocean.
(Chorus)

Wallop him with peas and beans,
Paste him with potatoes,
Hammer him with cabbages,
And soak him with tomatoes!
"No ships with food," said Kaiser Bill,
"May come across the water;
My submarines will send them down
To Davy Jones' locker!"
(Chorus)

"Friend Bill," said Uncle Samuel, "That's going pretty strong, sir, And if you try a stunt like that, You'll surely get in wrong, sir!" (Chorus)

H

OW many of you fellows know that Old Hickory owed his life to an Indian once upon a time, in spite of the fact that he put so many of them out of business? The Creeks had General Jackson and his army surrounded and would have wiped them out had not Junaluskie, with a few thousand Cherokee braves who hated the Creeks like poison, come up and saved him. An old squaw near here, who died recently, was reputed to have one of the Creek scalps taken on that occasion. But I haven't told you where "here" is yet, have I? Well, that's part of the story.

Deep in the mountains of western North Carolina, not far from the place where that scalp was taken, there still remains a small band of the descendants of the great Cherokee Nation-a tribe that once

boasted 25,000 warriors, an army over one-fourth the size of the standing army of the United States. They do not number one-tenth that now-men, women, and children-all because Old Hickory forgot them and his debt to Junaluskie, and allowed them to be driven from their native valleys to the western reservations. The present band are descended from those who refused to go and fled to the mountains until the storm blew over. Here they have a reservation of their own-the only one east of the Mississippi. Now for the Scouts.

When the writer came down here to Cherokee, N. C., to the big school Uncle Sam has provided for his red children, he found a whole raft of boys. Like other boys they wanted something to do besides milking and multiplication, something to

get excited about. All that was needed was a suggestion of Boy Scouts, and it was all off. A little quiet meeting in the superintendent's office, a big noisy one with the boys, a letter to New York, and we were on our way.

What do you think of this picture of our first Scoutmaster? On the side, I have to confess that he borrowed the war bonnet from a Sioux at the Carlisle Indian School, where he used to play football. If you can locate him in the group pictures, you will see that he isn't always on the war path. He's three-quarters red and onequarter white on the outside, and all white on the inside. His grandfather had courage enough to defy the whole United States and remain in his own hills to make "medicine" for his neighbors. I would tell you more about these "medicine men" if I had time.

We soon found that we had as many applicants as there were eligibles in the school, so we proceeded to organize another troop. Then we got down to busi

ness.

Twenty-five-cent pieces are almost as scarce as black bears in these mountains, but there are some of both. We gave a box supper and divided the proceeds with the Campfire girls. Some of the boys worked on the new tennis court at a quarter for three hours; others chopped wood for the cottages, ran errands, made garden, and did anything and everything to get their registration fees paid. The box supper and an ice cream stand gave us funds for handbooks, axes, signal flags and subscriptions to Boys' Life, and we soon had the knots tied, the law learned, and our badges in place.

On our first hike we went nearly to the top of the Great Smoky mountains-the heart of the moonshine country. We saw a pheasant, a wild turkey, and caught a

string of speckled trout. It was on our Big Hike, though, just before school closed that we took these pictures. We hit straight for the Tennessee line, camped the first night at the edge of civilization, and next morning entered the forest primeval. What born Scouts these Indians are! They snared trout in the deep pools, dug wild onions or ramps, swam, fought rattlesnakes, and wrestled naked in the grass. Likewise they traveled at Scout's pace, signaled, built a roaring campfire, made hoe cake, and ate everything in sight.

At night we thought we heard a wildcat scream near the camp. This started Scoutmaster Owl on hunting stories, and the other Scoutmaster, together with some of the smaller redskins, drew up closer to the fire. We were in what is perhaps the best hunting region left in eastern America, and as he talked, we knew that bears, wildcats, and even panthers might at that very moment be stalking around in the shadows.

What do you think of these for Boy Scout names: Saunooke, Waidsutte, Tesateskie, Wolf, Running Wolf, Wahyahnetah, Walkingstick? Most of them talk the Cherokee language in their homes, but they can speak English, too. In spite of their names and their bronze complexions, they are just live, healthy boys, like the rest of you, with just a little stronger leaning, perhaps, toward the woods, the hills, and the great outdoors.

This year we have had to organize two new patrols to take care of all the boys. Scouting will mean much for these red lads of the mountains. With their heritage of the blood of some of the noblest Indians in history, their lives are far too meager in the good things most boys enjoy. They not only know woodcraft-they live it; but they need the help Scouting can give them in the way of preparation for life.