Chapter X.

by James Fenimore Cooper

　　The things that once she loved are still the same; Yet now there needs another name To give the feeling which they claim, While she the feeling gives; She cannot call it gladness or delight; And yet there seems to be a richer, lovelier light On e'en the humblest thing that lives. --WASHINGTON ALLSTON.The history given by le Bourdon lasted until the canoes reached thesouth shore. Glad enough was Dorothy to see them both safe back, forneither of her companions had yet awoke. It was then midnight, andall now retired to seek the rest which might be so needful toprepare them for the exertions of the next day. The bee-hunter sleptin his canoe, while Margery shared the buffalo-skin of her sister.

　　As perfect security, for the moment at least, was felt by thesleepers, their slumbers were sound, and reached into the morning.Then le Bourdon arose, and withdrawing to a proper distance, hethrew off his clothes and plunged into the stream, in conformitywith a daily practice of his at that genial season of the year.After bathing, the young man ascended a hill, whence he might get agood view of the opposite shore, and possibly obtain some notion ofwhat the Pottawattamies were about. In all his movements, however,the bee-hunter had an eye to the concealment of his person, it beingof the last importance that the savages should not learn hisposition. With the intention of concealment, the fire had beensuffered to go down, a smoke being a sign that no Indian would belikely to overlook. As for the canoe and the bivouac of the party,the wild rice and an intermediate hill formed a perfect cover, solong as nothing was shown above them.

　　From the height to which he ascended, the bee-hunter, aided by hisglass, got a very clear view of Whiskey Centre and the partsadjacent. The savages were already stirring, and were busy in thevarious avocations of the red man on a war-path. One party wasdisposing of the body of their dead companion. Several were cooking,or cleaning the wild-fowl shot in the bay, while a group wascollected near the spot of the wished-for spring, reluctant toabandon the hopes to which it had given birth, at the very momentthey were plotting to obtain the scalp of the "medicine-man." Thebeloved "fire-water," that seduces so many to their destruction, whohave enjoyed the advantages of moral teaching, and which has been awithering curse on the red man of this continent, still had itsinfluence; and the craving appetites of several of the drunkards ofthe party brought them to the spot, as soon as their eyes opened onthe new day. The bee-hunter could see some of this cluster kneelingon the rocks, lapping like hounds at the scattered little pools ofthe liquor, while others scented around, in the hope of yetdiscovering the bird that laid the golden egg. Le Bourdon had nowlittle expectation that his assumed character could be maintainedamong these savages any longer, did accident again throw him intheir way. The chiefs, he saw, had distrusted him all along, but hadgiven him an opportunity to prove what he could do, in order tosatisfy the more vulgar curiosity of their young men. He wiselydetermined, therefore, to keep out of the hands of his enemies.

　　Although le Bourdon could hold a conversation in the tongue of theOjebways, he was not fond of so doing. He comprehended withoutdifficulty nearly all of what was said by them, and had observed theprevious night that the warriors made many allusions to a chief whomthey styled Onoah, but who he himself knew was usually calledScalping Peter among the whites of that frontier. This savage had afearful reputation at all the garrisons, though he never showedhimself in them; and he was now spoken of by the Pottawattamiespresent, as if they expected to meet him soon, and to be governed byhis commands or his advice. The bee-hunter had paid great attentionwhenever this dreaded name was mentioned, for he was fully aware ofthe importance of keeping clear of an enemy who bore so bad areputation that it was not considered prudent for a white man toremain long in his company even in a time of peace. His Englishsobriquet had been obtained from the circumstances of its beingreputed that this chief, who seemed to belong to no tribe inparticular, while he had great influence with all, had on diversoccasions murdered the palefaces who fell in his way, and thenscalped them. It was added, that he had already forty notches on hispole, to note that number of scalps taken from the hated whites. Inshort, this Indian, a sort of chief by birth, though of what tribeno one exactly knew, appeared to live only to revenge the wrongsdone his color by the intruders, who had come from toward the risingsun to drive his people into the great salt lake on the other sideof the Rocky Mountains. Of course there was a good deal that wasquestionable in these reports; a rumor in the "openings" and on theprairies, having this general resemblance to those that circulate intown, and in drawing-rooms, and at feasts, that no one of them allcan be relied on as rigidly exact. But le Bourdon was still young,and had yet to learn how little of that which we all hear is true,and how very much is false. Nevertheless, as an Indian tradition isusually more accurate than a white man's written history, so is arumor of the forest generally entitled to more respect than theceaseless gossipings of the beings who would be affronted were theynot accounted civilized.

　　The bee-hunter was still on the elevated bit of ground, making hisobservations, when he was joined by Margery. The girl appeared freshand handsome, after a night of sleep, and coming from her dressing-room in a thicket, and over a stream of sweet running water; but shewas sad and thoughtful. No sooner had le Bourdon shaken her hand,and repeated his thanks for the succor of the past night, than thefull heart of Margery poured out its feelings, as the swollen streamoverflows its banks, and began to weep.

　　"Brother is awake," she said, as soon as her sobs were quieted by apowerful effect; "but, as is usual with him after hard drinking, sostupid, that Dolly cannot make him understand our danger. He tellsher he has seen too many Injins to be afraid of these, and that theywill never harm a family that has brought so much liquor into theircountry."

　　"His senses must be at a low ebb, truly, if he counts on Injinfriendship because he has sold fire-water to the young men!"answered le Bourdon, with a nice understanding of not only Indiannature, but of human nature. "We may like the sin, Margery, while wedetest the tempter. I have never yet met with the man, pale-face orred-skin, who did not curse, in his sober moments, the hand that fedhis appetite while intoxicated."

　　"I dare say that may be very true," returned the girl, in a lowvoice; "but one has need of his reason to understand it. What willbecome of us now, it is hard to say." "Why, now, Margery, more thanyesterday, or the day before?" "Yesterday there were no savages nearus, and Gershorn had all along told us he intended to start for thegarrison at the head of the lake, as soon as he got back from hisvisit to the openings. He is back; but not in a state to protect hiswife and sister from the red man, who will be looking for us as soonas they can build a canoe, or anything that will do to cross theriver with."

　　"Had they even a canoe," returned le Bourdon, coolly, "they wouldnot know where to look for us. Thank Heaven! that will be a job thatwould take some time; nor is a bark canoe built in a minute. But,Margery, if your brother be a little dull and heavy, after hisdebauch, I am sober, and as much awake as ever I was in my life."

　　"Oh! you have no weakness like that of poor brother's, to make youotherwise; but, Bourdon, you will naturally wish to take care ofyourself and your property, and will quit us the first goodopportunity. I'm sure that we have no right to expect you will staya minute longer than it is your interest to do so, and I do not knowthat I wish it."

　　"Not wish it, Margery!" exclaimed the bee-hunter, in the manner of adisappointed man. "I had supposed you would have wished my company.But, now I know the contrary, I shall not much care how soon I go,or into whose hands I fall."

　　It is strange how apt are those who ought to understand one anotherso readily, to misinterpret each other's thoughts. Margery had neverseen the bee-hunter twenty-four hours before, though she had oftenheard of him, and of his success in his art; for the fame of a manof good reputation and active qualities spreads far on a frontier.The very individual whose existence would be nearly overlooked in acrowded region, shall be spoken of, and known by his qualities, ahundred leagues from his place of residence, when settlements arefew and far apart. In this way, Margery had heard of Boden, or of"Bourdon," as she called him, in common with hundreds who,confounding his real name with his sobriquet, made the mistake ofusing the last under the impression that it was the trueappellation. Margery had no other knowledge of French than the fewwords gleaned in her slow progress among a frontier on which, it istrue, more of that language than of any other was heard, but heardunder circumstances that were not particularly favorable to theacquisition of a foreign tongue. Had she understood the real meaningof "Bourdon," she would have bitten off her tongue before she wouldhave once called Boden by such an appellation; though the bee-hunterhimself was so accustomed to his Canadian nickname as to carenothing at all about it. But Margery did not like to give pain toany one; and, least of all, would she desire to inflict it on thebee-hunter, though he were only an acquaintance of a day. Still,Margery could not muster sufficient courage to tell her new friendhow much he was mistaken, and that of all the youths she had evermet she would most prefer to keep him near her brother and sister intheir distress; while the young man, inspired by a pure and infantpassion, was just in the frame of mind to believe the worst ofhimself, and of his claims to the attention of her who had begun tooccupy so many of his thoughts.

　　No explanation occurring, our young people descended from the hill,misconceiving each other's meaning and wishes, and unhappy under theinfluence of an ideal source of misery, when actual circumstancescreated so many that were substantial and real. Gershom was foundawake, but, as his sister had described him, stupid and lethargic.The bee-hunter at once saw that, in his present condition, WhiskeyCentre would still be an incumbrance rather than of any service, inthe event of an occasion for extraordinary exertion. Margery hadhinted that it usually took twenty-four hours to bring her brotherentirely round, after one of his serious debauches; and within thattime it was more than probable that the fate of the family would bedecided.

　　Le Bourdon thought intently, during breakfast, of the condition ofhis party, and of the best mode of proceeding, while the pallid andanxious young creature at his side believed he was deliberatingsolely on the best means of extricating himself and his store ofhoney, from the savages on the other shore. Had the acquaintancebetween these young people been of longer date than it actually was,Margery could not have entertained a notion so injurious to the bee-hunter, for a single moment; but there was nothing either violent,or depreciating, in supposing that one so near being a totalstranger would think first of himself and his own interests, in thesituation in which this young man was now placed.

　　Little was said during the meal. Dorothy was habitually silent; theresult of grief and care. As for her husband, he was too stupid totalk, though usually somewhat garrulous; while the Indian seldom didtwo things at the same time. This was the hour for acting; when thatfor talking should arrive, he would be found equal to its duties.Pigeonswing could either abstain from food, or could indulge in itwithout measure, just as occasion offered. He had often gone fordays without tasting a mouthful, with the exception of a fewberries, perhaps; and he had lain about the camp-fire, a week at atime, gorging himself with venison, like an anaconda. It is perhapsfortunate for the American Indian, that this particular quality offood is so very easy of digestion, since his excesses on it arenotorious, and so common to his habits as almost to belong to hisnature. Death might otherwise often be the consequence.

　　When the breakfast was ended, it was time to consult about thefuture course. As yet, the Pottawattamies had made no new discovery;but the sagacity of the red man was ever to be feared, when it cameto be merely a question of finding his foe in a forest.

　　"We have obtained one advantage over the enemy," said le Bourdon,"by crossing the river. Water leaves no trail; even had Crowsfeathera canoe, he might not know where to go in it, in order to find us."

　　"Dat not so," put in the Chippewa, a little dogmatically; "know wehab canoe--know cross river in him."

　　"Why should they know this, Pigeonswing? We may have gone out uponthe lake, or we may have gone up in the oak openings again, foranything the Pottawattamies can know to the contrary."

　　"Tell you, not so. Know don't go on lake, cause wind blow. Knowdon't go up river, cause dat hard work; know come here, cause dateasy. Injin like to do what easy, and pale-face do just what Injindo. Crowsfeather make raft, pretty soon; den he come look arterscalp."

　　"Yes," said Margery, gently; "you had better load your canoe atonce, and go on the lake, while the savages cannot reach you. Thewind is fair for them that are to go north; and I have heard you saythat you are bound to Mackinaw."

　　"I shall load my canoe, and I shall load yours, too, Margery; but Ishall not go away from this family, so long as any in it stand inneed of my services."

　　"Brother will be able to help us by afternoon. He manages a canoewell, when himself; so go, Bourdon, while you can. I dare say youhave a mother at home; or a sister perhaps a wife--"

　　"Neither," interrupted the bee-hunter, with emphasis. "No oneexpects me; no one has a right to expect me."

　　The color stole into pretty Margery's cheeks as she heard thesewords, and a ray of comfort gleamed on an imagination that, for thelast hour, had been portraying the worst. Still, her generous temperdid not like the idea of the bee-hunter's sacrificing himself forthose who had so few claims on him, and she could not but againadmonish him of the necessity of losing no time.

　　"You will think better of this, Bourdon," the girl resumed. "We aregoing south, and cannot quit the river with this wind, but you couldnot have a better time to go north, unless the wind blows harderthan I think it does."

　　"The lake is a bad water for a canoe, when there is much wind," putin Gershom, yawning after he had spoken, as if the effort fatiguedhim, "I wonder what we're all doing over on this side of the river!Whiskey Centre is a good enough country for me; I'm going back tolook arter my casks, now I've breakfasted. Come, Doll; let's loadup, and be off."

　　"You are not yourself yet, Gershom," returned the sorrowful wife,"or you would not talk in this way. You had better listen to theadvice of Bourdon, who has done so much for us already, and who willtell you the way to keep out of Injin clutches. We owe our lives toBourdon, Gershom, and you should thank him for it."

　　Whiskey Centre muttered a few half intelligible words of thanks, andrelapsed into his state of drowsy indifference. The bee-hunter saw,however, that the effects of the brandy were leaving him, and hemanaged to get him on one side, where he persuaded the fellow tostrip and go into the water. The bath did wonders for the poorcreature, who soon got to be so far himself again, as to be of use,instead of being an incumbrance. When sober, and more especiallywhen sober for several consecutive days, Gershom was a man ofsufficient energy, possessing originally great personal strength andactivity, which had been essentially lessened, however, by hisexcesses in liquor. It has already been stated what a differentbeing he became, in a moral point of view, after having been soberfor any length of time.

　　On his return from the bathing, le Bourdon again joined the females.Margery had been weeping; but she smiled in a friendly way, onmeeting his eye, and appeared less anxious for his departure thanshe had been an hour before. As the day advanced, and no signs ofthe savages were seen, a sense of greater security began to stealover the females, and Margery saw less necessity for the departureof their new friend. It was true, he was losing a wind; but the lakewas rough, and after all it might be better to wait. In short, nowthat no immediate danger was apparent, Margery began to reason inconformity with her wishes, as is so apt to be the case with theyoung and inexperienced. The bee-hunter perceived this change in thedeportment of his fair friend, and was well enough disposed to hopeit would admit of a favorable construction.

　　All this time, the Chippewa had taken little visible interest in thestate of the party to which he had now attached himself. Theprevious evening had been fertile in excitement and ingratification, and he had since slept and ate to his entire content.He was ready to meet events as they might arise, and began to plotthe means of obtaining more Pottawattamie scalps. Let not therefined reader feel disdisgust at this exhibition of thepropensities of an American savage. Civilized life has had, andstill has, very many customs, little less excusable than that ofscalping. Without dragging into the account the thousand and onesins that disgrace and deform society, it will be sufficient to lookinto the single interest of civilized warfare, in order to make outour case. In the first place, the noblest strategy of the art is, toput the greatest possible force on the least of the enemy, and toslay the weaker party by the mere power of numbers. Then, everyengine that ingenuity can invent, is drawn into the conflict; androckets, revolvers, shells, and all other infernal devices, areresorted to, in order to get the better of an enemy who is notprovided with such available means of destruction. And after thebattle is over, each side commonly claims the victory; sometimes,because a partial success has been obtained in a small portion ofthe field; sometimes, because half a dozen horses have run away witha gun, carrying it into the hostile ranks; and, again, because a bitof rag has fallen from the hands of a dead man, and been picked upby one of the opposing side. How often has it happened that abelligerent, well practised in his art, has kept his own colors outof the affair, and then boasted that they were not lost! Now, anIndian practises no such shameless expedients. His point of honor isnot a bit of rag, but a bit of his skin. He shaves his head becausethe hair encumbers him; but he chivalrously leaves a scalp-lock, bythe aid of which his conquerors can the more easily carry away thecoveted trophy. The thought of cheating in such a matter neveroccurs to his unsophisticated mind; and as for leaving his "colors"in barracks, while he goes in the field himself, he would disdainit--nay, cannot practise it; for the obvious reason that his headwould have to be left with them.

　　Thus it was with Pigeonswing. He had made his toilet for the war-path, and was fierce in his paint, but honest and fair-dealing inother particulars. If he could terrify his enemies by looking like askeleton, or a demon, it was well; his enemy would terrify him, ifpossible, by similar means. But neither would dream, or did dream,of curtailing, by a single hair, that which might be termed theflag-staff of his scalp. If the enemy could seize it, he was welcometo the prize; but if he could seize that of the enemy, no scrupleson the score of refinement, or delicacy, would be apt to interferewith his movements. It was in this spirit, then, that Pigeonswingcame to the canoe, where le Bourdon was holding a little privatediscourse with Margery, and gave utterance to what was passing inhis mind.

　　"Good time, now, get more scalps, Bourdon," said the Chippewa, inhis clipping, sententious English.

　　"It is a good time, too, to keep our own, Chippewa," was the answer."Your scalp-lock is too long, to be put before Pottawattamie eyeswithout good looking after it."

　　"Nebber mind him--if go, go; if stay, stay. Always good for warriorto bring home scalp."

　　"Yes; I know your customs in this respect, Pigeonswing, but ours aredifferent. We are satisfied if we can keep out of harm's way, whenwe have our squaws and pappooses with us."

　　"No pappooses here," returned the Indian, looking around him--"datyour squaw, eh?"

　　The reader can readily imagine that this abrupt question broughtblushes into the cheeks of pretty Margery, making her appear tentimes more handsome than before; while even le Bourdon did not takethe interrogatory wholly undisturbed. Still, the latter answeredmanfully, as became his sex.

　　"I am not so fortunate as to have a squaw, and least of all to havethis" said le Bourdon.

　　"Why no hab her--she good squaw," returned the literalminded Indian--han'some 'nough for chief. You ask; she hab--now squaw well--alwayslike warrior to ask him fuss; den say, yes."

　　"Aye, that may do with your red-skin squaws," le Bourdon hastilyreplied; for he saw that Margery was not only distressed, but alittle displeased--"but not with the young women of the pale-faces.I never saw Margery before last evening; and it takes time for apale-face girl to know a youth."

　　"Just so wid red-skin--sometime don't know, till too late! Seeplenty dat, in wigwam."

　　"Then it is very much in the wigwams as it is in the houses. I haveheard this before."

　　"Why not same?--skin make no difference--pale-face spile squaw, too--make too much of her."

　　"That can never be!" exclaimed le Bourdon, earnestly. "When apretty, modest, warm-hearted young woman accepts a youth for ahusband, he can never make enough of her!"

　　On hearing sentiments so agreeable to a woman's ears, Margery lookeddown, but she looked pleased. Pigeonswing viewed the matter verydifferently; and being somewhat of a partisan in matters relating todomestic economy, he had no thought of leaving a point of so muchimportance in so bad a way. Accordingly, it is not surprising that,in pursuing the subject, he expressed opinions in several essentialsdiametrically the reverse of those of the bee-hunter.

　　'"Easy 'nough spile squaw," rejoined the Chippewa. "What she goodfor, don't make her work? Can't go on the warpath--can't take scalp--can't shoot deer--can't hunt--can't kill warrior--so muss work. Datwhat squaw good for."

　　"That may do among red men, but we pale-faces find squaws good forsomething else--we love them and take care of them--keep them fromthe cold in winter, and from the heat in summer; and try to makethem as comfortable and happy as we can."

　　"Dat good talk for young squaw's ears," returned the Chippewa, alittle contemptuously as to manner; though his real respect for thebee-hunter, of whose prowess he had so lately been a witness, kepthim a little within bounds "but it bess not take nobody in. WhatInjin say to squaw, he do--what pale-face say, he no do."

　　"Is that true, Bourdon?" demanded Margery, laughing at the Indian'searnestness.

　　"I shall be honest, and own that there may be some truth in it--forthe Injin promises nothing, or next to nothing, and it is easy tosquare accounts, in such cases. That white men undertake more thanthey always perform, is quite likely to be the fact The Injin getshis advantage in this matter, by not even thinking of treating hiswife as a woman should be treated."

　　"How should treat woman?" put in Pigeonswing with warmth. "Whenwarrior eat venison, gib her rest, eh? Dat no good--what you callgood, den? If good hunter husband, she get 'nough--if an't goodhunter, she don't get 'nough. Just so wid Injin--sometime hungry,sometime full. Dat way to live!"

　　"Aye, that may be your red man's ways, but it is not the manner inwhich we wish to treat our wives. Ask pretty Margery, here, if shewould be satisfied to wait until her husband had eaten his dinner,and then come in for the scraps. No-no-Pigeonswing; we feed ourwomen and children first^ and come in last, ourselves."

　　"Dat good for pappoose--he little; want venison--squaw tough; use towait. Do her good."

　　Margery now laughed outright, at these specimens of Indiangallantry, which only too well embody the code of the red man'shabits. Doubtless the heart has its influence among even the mostsavage people, for nature has not put into our breasts feelings andpassions to be discarded by one's own expedients, or wants. But noadvocate of the American Indian has ever yet been able to maintainthat woman fills her proper place in his estimate of claims. As forMargery, though so long subject to the whims, passions. andwaywardness of a drunkard, she had reaped many of the advantages ofhaving been born in that woman's paradise, New England. We are nogreat admirers of the legacy left by the Puritan to his descendants,taken as an inheritance in morals, manners, and customs, and as awhole; though there are parts, in the way of codicils, that there isno portion of the Christian world which might not desire to emulate.In particular, do we allude to the estimate put upon, and thetreatment received by their women. Our allusion is not to therefinements and gracefulness of polished intercourse; for of them,the Blarney Rock of Plymouth has transmitted but a meagre account inthe inventory, and perhaps the less that is said about this portionof the family property the better; but, dropping a few degrees inthe social scale, and coming down to the level where we areaccustomed to regard people merely as men and women, we greatlyquestion if any other portion of the world can furnish a parallel tothe manly, considerate, rational, and wisely discriminating care,that the New England husband, as the rule, bestows on his wife; thefather on his daughter; or the brother on his sister. Gershom was aliving, and, all things considered, a remarkable instance of thesecreditable traits. When sober, he was uniformly kind to Dorothy; andfor Margery he would at any time risk his life. The latter, indeed,had more power over him than his own wife possessed, and it was herwill and her remonstrances that most frequently led him back fromthe verge of that precipice over which he was so often disposed tocast himself. By some secret link she bound him closest to thefamily dwelling, and served most to recall the days of youth andcomparative innocence, when they dwelt together beneath the paternalroof, and were equally the objects of the affection and solicitudeof the same kind mother. His attachment to Dorothy was sincere, and,for one so often brutalized by drink, steady; but Dorothy could notcarry him as far back, in recollections, as the one only sister whohad passed the morning of life with him, in the same homely butcomfortable abode.

　　We have no disposition to exaggerate the character of those whom itis the fashion to term the American yeomen, though why such anappellation should be applied to any in a state of society to whichlegal distinctions are unknown, is what we could never understand.There are no more of esquires and yeomen in this country than thereare of knights and nobles, though the quiet manner in which thetransition from the old to the new state of things has been made,has not rendered the public mind very sensible to the changes. But,recurring to the class, which is a positive thing and consequentlyought to have a name of some sort or other, we do not belong tothose that can sound its praises without some large reservations onthe score of both principles and manners. Least of all, are wedisposed to set up these yeomen as a privileged class, like certainof the titular statesmen of the country, and fall down and worship acalf--not a golden one by the way--of our own setting up. We can seecitizens in these yeomen, but not princes, who are to be especiallyfavored by laws made to take from others to bestow on them. Butmaking allowances for human infirmities, the American freeholderbelongs to a class that may justly hold up its head among thetillers of the earth. He improves daily, under the influence ofbeneficent laws, and if he don't get spoiled, of which there is somedanger, in the eagerness of factions to secure his favor, andthrough that favor his vote--if he escape this danger, he will erelong make a reasonably near approach to that being, which the tongueof the flatterer would long since have persuaded him he had alreadymore than got to be.

　　To one accustomed to be treated kindly, as was the case withMargery, the Chippewa's theory for the management of squawscontained much to excite her mirth, as well as her resentment, asshe now made apparent by her remarks.

　　"You do not deserve to have a wife, Pigeonswing," she cried, half-laughing, yet evidently alive to the feelings of her sex--"can haveno gratitude for a wife's tenderness and care. I wonder that aChippewa girl can be found to have you?"

　　"Don't want him," coolly returned the Indian, making hispreparations to light his pipe--"got Winnebagoe squaw, already; good'nough for me. Shoot her t'other husband and take his scalp--den shecome into my wigwam."

　　"The wretch!" exclaimed Margery.

　　But this was a word the savage did not understand, and he continuedto puff at the newly lighted tobacco, with all of a smoker's zeal.When the fire was secured, he found time to continue the subject.

　　"Yes, dat good war-path--got rifle; got wife; got two scalp! Don'tdo so well, ebbery day."

　　"And that woman hoes your corn, and cooks your venison?" demandedthe bee-hunter.

　　"Sartain--capital good to hoe--no good to cook--make deer meat toodry. Want to be made to mind business. Bye'm by teach him. No l'arnall at once, like pale-face pappoose in school."

　　"Pigeonswing, have you never observed the manner in which the whiteman treats his squaw?"

　　"Sartain--see him make much of her--put her in warm corner--wrapblanket round her--give her venison 'fore he eat himself--see alldat, often--what den? Dat don't make it right."

　　"I give you up, Chippewa, and agree with Margery in thinking youought not to have a squaw, at all."

　　"T'ink alike, den--why no get marry?" asked the Indian, withoutcircumlocution.

　　Margery's face became red as fire; then her cheeks settled into thecolor of roses, and she looked down, embarrassed. The bee-hunter'sadmiration was very apparent to the Indian, though the girl did notdare to raise her eyes from the ground, and so did not take heed ofit. But this gossiping was suddenly brought to an end by a mostunexpected cause of interruption; the manner and form of which itshall be our office to relate, in the succeeding chapter.