University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Hillhouse.

It often happens in the recesses of the wilderness, that,
in the absence of men, the animals hunt each other. The
wolves, in particular, following their instincts, are often
seen in packs, pressing upon the heels of the antelope,
deer, and other creatures of that family, which depend for
safety more on their speed than on their horns. On the
present occasion, a fine buck, with a pack of fifty wolves
close after it, came bounding through the narrow gorge
that contained the rill, and entered the amphitheatre of the
bottom-land. Its headlong career was first checked by the
sight of the fire; then arose a dark circle of men, each armed
and accustomed to the chase. In much less time than it has
taken to record the fact, that little piece of bottom-land
was crowded with wolves, deer, and men. The headlong
impetuosity of the chase and flight had prevented the scent
from acting, and all were huddled together, for a single
instant, in a sort of inextricable confusion. Brief as was
this mèlèe, it sufficed to allow of a young hunter's driving
his arrow through the heart of the buck, and enabled others
among the Indians to kill several of the wolves; some with
arrows, others with knives, &c. No rifle was used, probably
from a wish not to give an alarm.

The wolves were quite as much astonished at this unexpected
rencontre, as the Indians. They were not a set
of hungry and formidable beasts, that famine might urge
to any pass of desperation; but a pack hunting, like gentlemen,
for their own amusement. Their headlong speed was
checked less by the crowd of men, than by the sight of fire.
In their impetuosity, it is probable that they would have
gone clean through five hundred men, but no wild beast
will willingly encounter fire. Three or four of the chiefs,
aware of this dread, seized brands, and throwing themselves,
without care, into the midst of the pack, the animals
went howling off, scattering in all directions. Unfortunately
for its own welfare, one went directly through the
circle, plunged into the thicket beyond, and made its way
quite up to the fallen tree, on which the bee-hunter and
the corporal had taken their stations. This was altogether
too much for the training, or for the philosophy of Hive.
Perceiving a recognized enemy rushing towards him, that
noble mastiff met him in a small cleared spot, open-mouthed,
and for a few moments a fierce combat was the consequence.
Dogs and wolves do not fight in silence, and loud were the
growls and yells on this occasion. In vain did le Bourdon
endeavour to drag his mastiff off; the animal was on the
high-road to victory, when it is ever hard to arrest the steps
of the combatant. Almost as a matter of course, some of
the chiefs rushed towards the spot, when the presence of
the two spectators first became known to them. At the
next moment the wolf lay dead at the feet of Hive; and
the parties stood gazing at each other, equally taken by
surprise, and equally at a loss to know what to do next.

It was perhaps fortunate for the bee-hunter, that neither
Crowsfeather, nor any other of the Pottawattamies, was
present at this first rencontre, or he might have fallen on
the spot, a victim to their disappointed hopes of drinking
at a Whiskey spring. The chiefs present were strangers
to le Bourdon, and they stared at him, in a way to show
that his person was equally unknown to them. But it was
necessary, now, to follow the Indians back to their circle,
where the whole party soon collected again, the wolves
having gone off on their several routes, to put up some
other animal, and run him to death.

During the whole of that excited and tumultuous scene,
which would probably now be termed a “stampede,” in the
Mexican-Americo-English of the day, Peter had not stirred.
Familiar with such occurrences, he felt the importance of
manifesting an unmoved calm, as a quality most likely to
impress the minds of his companions with a profound sense
of his dignity and self-command. While all around him
was in a tumult, he stood in his tracks, motionless as a
statue. Even the fortitude of the worthy missionary was
shaken by the wild tempest that momentarily prevailed;
and the good man forgot the Jews in his alarm at wolves,
forgot the mighty past, in his apprehensions for the uncomfortable
and ill-boding present time. All this, however,
was soon over, and order, and quiet, and a dignified calm
once more reigned in the circle. Fagots were thrown on
the fire; and the two captives, or spectators, stood as near
it, the observed of all observers, as the heat rendered
comfortable. It was just then that Crowsfeather and his
companions first recognised the magician of the Whiskey
Spring.

Peter saw the discovery of the two spectators with some
uneasiness. The time had not come when he intended to
strike his blow; and he had seen signs among those Pottawattamies,
when at the mouth of the river, which had told
him how little they were disposed to look with favour on
one who had so grievously trifled with their hopes. His
first care, therefore, was to interpose his authority and influence
between le Bourdon and any project of revenge,
which Crowsfeather's young men might be apt to devise,
as soon as they too laid eyes on the offender. This was
done in a characteristic and wily manner.

“Does my brother love honey?” asked the tribeless
chief of the leader of the Pottawattamies present, who sat
near him, gazing on le Bourdon much as the cat looks
upon the mouse, ere it makes it its prey. “Some Injins
are fond of that sweet food: if my brother is one of that
sort, I can tell him how to fill his wigwam with honey with
little trouble.”

At this suggestion, coming from such a source, Crowsfeather
could not do less than express his thanks, and his
readiness to hear what further might be in reserve for him.

Peter then alluded to le Bourdon's art, describing him as
being the most skilful bee-hunter of the West. So great
was his art in that way, that no Indian had ever yet seen
his equal. It was Peter's intention to make him exercise
his craft soon, for the benefit of the chiefs and warriors
present, who might then return to their villages, carrying
with them stores of honey to gladden the hearts of their
squaws and pappooses. This artifice succeeded; for the
Indians are not expert in taking this article of food, which
so much abounds in the forests, both on account of the
difficulty they find in felling the trees, and on account of
the “angle-ing” part of the process, which much exceeds
their skill in mathematics. On the other hand, the last is
just the sort of skill a common white American would be
likely to manifest, his readiness and ingenuity in all such
processes almost amounting to an instinct.

Having thus thrown his mantle around le Bourdon for
the moment, Peter then deemed it the better course, to
finish the historical investigation in which the Council had
been so much interested, when the strange interruption by
the wolves occurred. With this view, therefore, he rose
himself, and recalled the minds of all present to this interesting
subject, by a short speech. This he did, especially
to prevent any premature attack on the person of le Bourdon,

“Brothers,” said this mysterious chief, “it is good for
Injins to learn. When they learn a thing, they know it;
then they may learn another. It is in this way that the
pale-faces do; it makes them wise, and puts it in their
power to take away our hunting-grounds. A man that
knows nothing is only a child that has grown up too fast.
He may be big — may take long steps — may be strong
enough to carry burthens—may love venison and buffaloes'
humps; but, his size is only in the way; his steps he does
not know where to direct; his burthens he does not know
how to choose; and he has to beg food of the squaws, instead
of carrying it himself to their wigwams. He has
not learned how to take game. We must all learn. It is
right. When we have learned how to take game, and how
to strike the enemy, and how to keep the wigwam filled,
then we may learn traditions. Traditions tell us of our
fathers. We have many traditions. Some are talked of

even to the squaws. Some are told around the fires of the
tribes. Some are known only to the aged chiefs. This is
right, too. Injins ought not to say too much, nor too little.
They should say what is wise—what is best. But my brother,
the medicine-man of the pale-faces, says that our traditions
have not told us everything. Something has been
kept back. If so, it is best to learn that too. If we are
Jews, and not Injins, we ought to know it. If we are Injins,
and not Jews, our brother ought to know it, and not
call us by a wrong name. Let him speak. We listen.”

Here Peter slowly resumed his seat. As the missionary
understood all that had been said, he next arose, and proceeded
to make good, as far as he was able, and in such
language as his knowledge of Indian habits suggested, his
theory of the lost tribes.

“I wish my children to understand,” resumed the missionary,
“that it is an honour to be a Jew. I have not
come here to lessen the red men in their own eyes, but to
do them honour: I see that Bear's Meat wishes to say
something; my ears are open, and my tongue is still.”

“I thank my brother for the opportunity to say what is
on my mind,” returned the chief mentioned. “It is true,
I have something to say; it is this: I wish to ask the medicine-man
if the pale-faces honour and show respect to
Jews?”

This was rather an awkward question for the missionary,
but he was much too honest to dissemble. With a reverence
for truth that proceeded from his reverence for the
Father of all that is true, he replied honestly, though not
altogether without betraying how much he regretted the
necessity of answering at all. Both remained standing
while the dialogue proceeded; or, in parliamentary language,
each may be said to have had the floor at the same
time.

“My brother wishes to know if the pale-faces honour
the Jews,” returned the missionary. “I wish I could answer
`yes;' but the truth forces me to say `no.' The pale-faces
have traditions that make against the Jews, and the
judgments of God weigh heavy on the Children of Israel.
But all good Christians, now, look with friendly eyes on
this dispersed and persecuted people, and wish them well.

It will give the white men very great pleasure to learn that
I have found the lost tribes of Israel in the red men of
America.”

“Will my brother tell us why this will give his people
pleasure? Is it because they will be glad to find old enemies,
poor, living on narrow hunting-grounds, off which
the villages and farms of the pale-faces begin to push them
still nearer to the setting sun; and towards whom the small-pox
has found a path to go, but none to come from?”

“Nay, nay, Bear's Meat, think not so unkindly of us of
the white race! In crossing the great salt lake, and in
coming to this quarter of the world, our fathers were led
by the finger of God. We do but obey the will of the
Great Spirit, in pressing forward into this wilderness,
directed by his wisdom how to spread the knowledge of his
name among those who, as yet, have never heard it; or,
having heard, have not regarded it. In all this, the wisest
men are but babes; not being able to say whither they are
to go, or what is to be done.”

“This is strange,” returned the unmoved Indian. “It
is not so with the red men. Our squaws and pappooses do
know-the hunting-ground of one tribe from the hunting-ground
of another. When they put their feet on strange
hunting-grounds, it is because they intended to go there,
and to steal game. This is sometimes right. If it is right
to take the scalp of an enemy, it is right to get his deer
and his buffaloe, too. But we never do this without knowing
it. If we did, we should be unfit to go at large, unfit
to sit in council. This is the first time I have heard that
the pale-faces are so weak, and they have such feeble minds,
too, that they do not know where they go.”

“My brother does not understand me. No man can see
into the future—no man can say what will happen to-morrow.
The Great Spirit only can tell. It is for him then, to
guide his children in their wanderings. When our fathers
first came out of their canoes upon the land, on this side
of the great salt lake, not one among them knew anything
of this country between the great lakes of sweet water.
They did not know that red men lived here. The Great
Spirit did know, and intended then, that I should this night
stand up in this council, and speak of his power and of his

name, and do him reverence. It was the Great Spirit that
put it into my mind to come among the Indians; and it is
the Great Spirit who has led me, step by step, as warriors
move towards the graves of their fathers, to make the discovery,
that the Indians are, in truth, the Children of Israel,
a part of his own chosen and once much favoured people.
Let me ask my friends one or two questions. Do not your
traditions say that your fathers once came from a far-off
land?”

Bear's Meat now took his seat, not choosing to answer
a question of this nature, in the presence of a chief so much
respected as Peter. He preferred to let the last take up
the dialogue where he now saw fit to abandon it. As the
other very well understood the reason of this sudden movement,
he quietly assumed the office of spokesman; the
whole affair proceeding much as if there had been no
change.

“Our traditions do tell us that our fathers came from a
far-off land,” answered Peter, without rising.

“I thought so!—I thought so!” exclaimed the simple-minded
and confiding missionary. “How wonderful are
the ways of God! Yes, my brothers, Judea is a far-off land,
and your traditions say that your fathers came from such a
distance! This, then, is something proved. Do not your
traditions say, that once your tribes were more in favour
with the Great Spirit than they are now?”

“Our traditions do say this: Once our tribes did not see
the face of the Manitou looking dark upon them, as it now
does. That was before the pale-faces came in their big
canoes, across the great salt lake, to drive the Indians from their hunting-grounds. It was when the small-pox had not
found the path to their villages. When fire-water was unknown
to them, and no Indian had ever burned his throat
with it.”

“Oh, but I speak of a time much more distant than that.
Of a time when your prophets stood face to face with God,
and talked with the Creator. Since that day a great change
has come over your people. Then your colour was light,
like that of the fairest and handsomest of the Circassian
race; now, it has become red. When even the colour is
changed, it is not wonderful that men should no longer be

the same in other particulars. Yes; once all the races of
men were of the same colour and origin.”

“This is not what our traditions say. We have heard
from our fathers that the Great Spirit made men of different
colours; some he made light, like the pale-faces; some
red, like the Injins; some black, like the pale-faces' slaves.
To some he gave high noses; to some low noses; to some
flat noses. To the pale-faces he gave eyes of many colours.
This is the reason why they see so many things, and
in so many different ways. To the red men he gave eyes
of the same colour, and they always see things of the same
colour. To a red man there is no change. Our fathers
have always been red. This we know. If them Jews, of
whom my brother speaks, were ever white, they have not
been our fathers. We tell this to the medicine-man, that
he may know it, too. We do not wish to lead him on a
crooked path, or to speak to him with a forked tongue.
What we have said, is so. Now, the road is open to the
wigwam of the pale-faces, and we wish them safe on their
journey home. We Injins have a council to hold around
this fire, and will stay longer.”

At this plain intimation that their presence was no longer
desirable, it became necessary for them to depart. The missionary,
filled with zeal, was reluctant to go; for, in his
eyes, the present communications with the savages promised
him not only the conversion of pagans, but the restoration
of the Jews! Nevertheless, he was compelled to
comply; and when le Bourdon and the corporal took their
departure, he turned, and pronounced in a solemn tone the
Christian benediction on the assembly. The meaning of
this last impressive office was understood by most of the
chiefs, and they rose as one man, in acknowledgment.

The three white men, on retiring from the circle, held
their way towards Castle Meal. Hive followed his master,
having come out of the combat but little injured. As they
got to a point, where a last look could be had of the bottom-land
of the council, each turned to see what was now
in the course of proceeding. The fire glimmered just
enough to show the circle of dark faces, but not an Indian
spoke or moved. There they all sat, patiently waiting for
the moment when the “strangers” might “withdraw” to a

sufficient distance, to permit them to proceed with their
own private affairs without fear of interruption.

“This has been to me a most trying scene,” observed
the missionary, as the three pursued their way towards the
`garrison.' “How hard it is to convince men against their
wishes! Now, I am as certain as a man can be, that every
one of these Injins is in fact a Jew; and yet, you have seen
how small has been my success in persuading them to be
of the right way of thinking, on this subject.”

“I have always noticed that men stick even to their defects,
when they're nat'ral,” returned the bee-hunter.—
“Even a nigger will stand up for his colour, and why
shouldn't an Injin. You began wrong, parson. Had you
just told these chiefs that they were Jews, they might have
stood that, poor creatures, for they hardly know how mankind
looks upon a Jew; but you went to work to skin them,
in a lump, making so many poor, wishy-washy pale-faces
of all the red-skins, in a body. You and I may fancy a
white face better than one of any other colour; but nature
colours the eye when it colours the body, and there's not
a nigger in America who doesn't think black the pink of
beauty.”

“Perhaps it was proceeding too fast to say anything
about the change of colour, Bourdon. But what can a
Christian minister do, unless he tell the truth? Adam
could have been but of one colour; and all the races on
earth, one excepted, must have changed from that one
colour.”

“Ay, and my life on it, that all the races on 'arth believe
that one colour to have been just that which has fallen
to the luck of each partic'lar shade. Hang me if I should
like to be persuaded out of my colour, any more than these
Injins. In America, colour goes for a great deal; and it
may count for as much with an Injin as among us whites.
No, no, parson; you should have begun with persuading
these savages into the notion that they're Jews; if you
could get along with that, the rest might be all the easier.”

“You speak of the Jews, not as if you considered them
a chosen people of the Lord, but as a despised and hateful
race. This is not right, Bourdon. I know that Christians

are thus apt to regard them; but it does not tell well for
their charity or their knowledge.

“I know very little about them, Parson Amen; not being
certain of ever having seen a Jew in my life. Still, I will
own that I have a sort of grudge against them, though I
can hardly tell you why. Of one thing I feel certain—
no man breathing should ever persuade me into the notion
that I'm a Jew, lost or found; ten tribes or twenty. What
say you, corporal, to this idee?”

“Just as you say, Bourdon. Jews, Turks, and Infidels,
I despise: so was I brought up, and so I shall remain.”

“Can either of you tell me why you look, in this uncharitable
light, on so many of your fellow-creatures? It
cannot be Christianity, for such is not its teachings or feelings.
Nor is either of you very remarkable for his observance
of the laws of God, as they have been revealed to
Christian people. My heart yearns towards these Injins,
who are Infidels, instead of entertaining any of the feelings
that the corporal has just expressed.”

“I wish there were fewer of them, and that them few
were farther from Castle Meal,” put in le Bourdon, with
point. “I have known all along that Peter meant to have
a great council; but will own, now that I have seen something
of it, I do not find it quite as much to my mind as I
had expected it would be.”

“There's a strong force on 'em,” said the corporal, “and
a hard set be they to look at. When a man's a young
soldier, all this paint, and shaving of heads, and rings in
noses and ears, makes some impression; but a campaign or
two ag'in the fellows soon brings all down to one colour
and one uniform, if their naked hides can be so called. I
told 'em off, Bourdon, and reconn'itred 'em pretty well,
while they was a making speeches; and, in my judgment,
we can hold good the garrison ag'in 'em all, if so be we
do not run short of water. Provisions and water is what
a body may call fundamentals, in a siege.”

“I hope we shall have no need of force—nay, I feel persuaded
there will not be,” said Parson Amen. “Peter is
our friend, and his command over these savages is wonderful!
Never before, have I seen red men so completely
under the control of a chief. Your men at Fort Dearborn,

corporal, were scarcely more under the orders of their officers,
than these red-skins are under the orders of this chief!”

“I will not go to compare rig'lars with Injins, Mr.
Parson,” answered the corporal, a little stiffly. “They be
not of the same natur' at all, and ought not to be put on a
footing, in any partic'lar. These savages may obey their
orders, after a fashion of their own; but I should like to
see them manœuvre under fire. I've fit Injins fourteen
times, in my day, and have never seen a decent line, or a
good, honest, manly, stand-up charge, made by the best
among'em, in any field, far or near. Trees and covers is
necessary to their constitutions, just as sartain as a deer
chased will take to water to throw off the scent. Put 'em
up with the baggonet, and they'll not stand a minute.”

“How should they, corporal,” interrupted le Bourdon,
laughing, “when they've no baggonets of their own to
make a stand with? You put one in mind of what my
father used to say. He was a soldier in revolution times,
and sarved his seven years with Washington. The English
used to boast that the Americans wouldn't `stand up
to the rack,' if the baggonet was set to work; `but this was
before we got our own tooth-picks,' said the old man. `As
soon as they gave us baggonets, too, there was no want of
standing up to the work.' It seems to me, corporal, you
overlook the fact that Injins carry no baggonets.”

“Every army uses its own weapons. If an Injin prefers
his knife and his tomahawk to a baggonet, it is no affair
of mine. I speak of a charge as I see it; and the soldier
who relies on a tomahawk instead of a baggonet, should
stand in his tracks, and give tomahawk play. No, no,
Bourdon, seeing is believing. These red-skins can do
nothing with our people, when our people is properly regimented,
well officered, and thoroughly drilled. They're
skeary to new beginners—that I must acknowledge—but
beyond that I set them down as nothing remarkable as
military men.”

“Good or bad, I wish there were fewer of them, and
that they were farther off. This man Peter is a mystery
to me; sometimes he seems quite friendly; then, ag'in, he
appears just ready to take all our scalps. Do you know
much of his past history, Mr. Amen?”

“Not as much as I wish I did,” the missionary replied.
“No one can tell me aught concerning Peter, beyond the
fact of his being a sort of a prophet, and a chief of commanding
influence. Even his tribe is unknown; a circumstance
that points us to the ancient history of the Jews for
the explanation. It is my own opinion that Peter is of the
race of Aaron, and that he is designed by Divine Providence
to play an important part in the great events on
which we touch. All that is wanting is, to persuade him
into this belief, himself. Once persuade a man that he is
intended to be something, and your work is half done to
your hands. But the world is so full of ill-digested and
random theories, that truth has as much as it can do to
obtain a sober and patient hearing!”

Thus is it with poor human nature. Let a man get a
crotchet into his head, however improbable it may be,
however little supported by reason or fact, however ridiculous,
indeed; and he becomes indisposed to receive any
evidence but that which favours his theory; to see any
truths but such as he fancies will harmonize with his
truths; or to allow of any disturbing causes in the great
workings of his particular philosophy. This notion of
Parson Amen's concerning the origin of the North American
savage, did not originate with that simple-minded
enthusiast, by any means. In this way are notions formed
and nurtured. The missionary had read somewhat concerning
the probability that the American Indians were
the lost tribes of Israel; and, possessed with the idea,
everything he saw was tortured into evidence in support of
his theory. There is just as much reason for supposing
that any, and all, of the heathen savages that are scattered
up and down the earth have this origin, as to ascribe it to
our immediate tribes; but to this truth the good parson
was indifferent, simply becaue it did not come within the
circle of his particular belief.

Thus, too, was it with the corporal. Unless courage,
and other military qualities, were manifested precisely in
the way in which he had been trained, they were not courage
and military qualities, at all. Every virtue has its
especial and conventional accessories, according to this
school of morals; nothing of the sort remaining as it came

from above, in the simple abstract qualities of right and
wrong. On such feelings and principles as these, do men
get to be dogmatical, narrow-minded, and conceited!

Our three white men pursued their way back to the
“garrison,” conversing as they went, much in the manner
they did in the dialogue we have just recorded.
Neither Parson Amen nor the corporal seemed to apprehend
anything, notwithstanding the extraordinary scene in
which one had been an actor, and of which the other had
been a witness. Their wonder and apprehensions, no
doubt, were much mitigated by the fact, that it was understood
Peter was to meet a large collection of the chiefs in
the Openings, and the minds of all were, more or less,
prepared to see some such assemblage as had that night
got together. The free manner in which the mysterious
chief led the missionary to the circle, was, of itself, some
proof that he did not desire concealment; and even le
Bourdon admitted, when they came to discuss the details,
that this was a circumstance that told materially in favour
of the friendliness of his intentions. Still, the bee-hunter
had his doubts; and most sincerely did he wish that all in
Castle Meal, Blossom in particular, were safe within the
limits of civilized settlements.

On reaching the “garrison,” all was safe. Whiskey
Centre watched the gate, a sober man, now, perforce, if
not by inclination; for being in the Openings, in this respect,
is like being at sea with an empty spirit-room. He
was aware that several had passed out, but was surprised
to learn that Peter was of the number. That gate Peter
had not passed, of a certainty; and how else he could quit
the palisades was not easily understood. It was possible
to climb over them, it is true; but the feat would be attended
with so great an exertion, and would be so likely
to lead to a noise which would expose the effort, that all
had great difficulty in believing a man so dignified and
reserved in manner as this mysterious chief, would be apt
to resort to such means of quitting the place.

As for the Chippewa, Gershom reported his return a few
minutes before; and the bee-hunter entered, to look for
that tried friend, as soon as he learned the fact. He found

Pigeonswing laying aside his accountrements, previously to
lying down to take his rest.

“So, Chippewa, you have come back, have you!” exclaimed
le Bourdon. “So many of your red-skin brethren
are about, that I didn't expect to see you again, for these
two or three days.”

“No want to eat den, eh? How you all eat, if hunter
don't do he duty? S'pose squaw don't cook vittles, you no
like it, eh? Juss so wid hunter—no kill vittles, don't like
it nudder.”

“This is true enough. Still, so many of your people
are about, just now, that I thought it probable you might
wish to remain outside with them for a day or two.”

“How know red man about, eh? You see him — you
count him, eh?”

“I have seen something like fifty, and may say I counted
that many. They were all chiefs, however, and I take it
for granted, a goodly number of common warriors are not
far off. Am I right, Pigeonswing?”

“S'pose don't know — den, can't tell. Only tell what
he know.”

“Sometimes an Injin guesses, and comes as near the
truth as a white man who has seen the thing with his own
eyes.”

Pigeonswing made no answer; though le Bourdon faucied,
from his manner, that he had really something on his
mind, and that, too, of importance, which he wished to
communicate.”

“I think you might tell me some news that I should like
to hear, Chippewa, if you was so minded.”

“Why you stay here, eh?” demanded the Indian, abruptly.
“Got plenty honey—bess go home, now. Always
bess go home, when hunt up. Home good place, when
hunter well tired.”

“My home is here, in the Openings, Pigeonswing. When
I go into the settlements, I do little but loaf about among
the farm-houses on the Detroit river, having neither squaw
nor wigwam of my own to go to. I like this place well
enough, if your red brethren will let me keep it in peace.”

“Dis bad place for pale-face, juss now. Better go
home, dan stay in Openin'. If don't know short path to

Detroit, I show you. Bess go, soon as can; and bess go
alone. No good to be trouble wid squaw, when in hurry.”

The countenance of le Bourdon changed at this last intimation;
though the Indian might not have observed it in
the darkness. After a brief pause, the first answered in a
very determined way.

“I believe I understand you, Chippewa,” he said. “I
shall do nothing of the sort, however. If the squaws can't
go, too, I shall not quit them. Would you desert your
squaws because you thought them in trouble?”

“An't your squaw yet. Bess not have squaw, at all, when
Openin' so full of Injin. Where you t'ink is two buck I
shoot dis mornin', eh? Skin 'em, cut 'em up, hang 'em
on tree, where wolf can't get 'em. Well, go on arter
anudder; kill him, too. Dere he is, inside of palisade, but
no tudder two. He bot' gone, when I get back to tree.
Two good buck as ever see! How you like dat, eh?”

“I care very little about it, since we have food enough,
and are not likely to want. So the wolves got your venison
from the trees, after all your care; ha! Pigeonswing.”

“Wolf don't touch him—wolf can't touch him. Moccasin
been under tree. See him mark. Bess do as I tell
you; go home, soon as ever can. Short path to Detroit;
an't two hundred pale-face mile.”

“I see how it is, Pigeonswing; I see how it is, and
thank you for this hint, while I honour your good faith to
your own people. But I cannot go to Detroit, in the first
place, for that town and fort have fallen into the hands of
the British. It might be possible for a canoe to get past
in the night, and to work its way through into Lake Erie;
but I cannot quit my friends. If you can put us all in the
way of getting away from this spot, I shall be ready to enter
into the scheme. Why can't we all get into the canoe, and
go down stream, as soon as another night sets in? Before
morning we could be twenty miles on our road.”

“No do any good,” returned Pigeonswing, coldly. “If
can't go alone, can't go at all. Squaw no keep up, when
so many be on trail. No good to try canoe. Catch you
in two day—p'raps one. Well, I go to sleep — can't keep
eye open all night.”

Hereupon, Pigeonswing coolly repaired to his skins, lay

down, and was soon fast asleep. The bee-hunter was fain
to do the same, the night being now far advanced; but he
lay awake a long time, thinking of the hint he had received,
and pondering on the nature of the danger which menaced
the security of the family. At length, sleep asserted its
power over even him, and the place lay in the deep stillness
of night.