Oak Openings

by James Fenimore Cooper

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  Why is that graceful female here With yon red hunter of the deer? Of gentle mien and shape, she seems For civil halls design'd; Yet with the stately savage walks, As she were of his kind. --Pinkney.

  The family at Castle Meal saw nothing of any Indian until the day thatsucceeded the council. Gershom and Dorothy received the tidings oftheir sister's marriage with very little emotion. It was an event theyexpected; and as for bride-cake and ceremonies, of one there was none atall, and of the other no more than has been mentioned. The relatives ofMargery did not break their hearts on account of the neglect with whichthey had been treated, but received the young couple as if one had givenher away, and the other "had pulled off her glove," as young ladies nowexpress it, in deference to the act that generally gives the coup degrace to youthful female friendships. On the Openings, neither time norbreath is wasted in useless compliments; and all was held to be welldone on this occasion, because it was done legally. A question mighthave been raised, indeed, whether that marriage had taken placeunder the American, or under the English flag; for General Hull, insurrendering Detroit, had included the entire territory of Michigan, aswell as troops present, troops absent, and troops on the march to joinhim. Had he been in possession of Peter's ruthless secret, which wehappen to know he was not, he could not have been more anxious to throwthe mantle of British authority around all of his race on that remotefrontier, than he proved himself to be. Still, it is to be presumed thatthe marriage would have been regarded as legal; conquered territoriesusually preserving their laws and usages for a time, at least. A littlejoking passed, as a matter of course; for this is de rigueur in allmarriages, except in the cases of the most cultivated; and certainlyneither the corporal nor Gershom belonged to the elite of human society.

  About the hour of breakfast Pigeonswing came in, as if returning fromone of his ordinary hunts. He brought with him venison, as well asseveral wild ducks that he had killed in the Kalamazoo, and three orfour prairie hens. The Chippewa never betrayed exultation at the successof his exertions, but on this occasion he actually appeared sad. Dorothyreceived his game, and as she took the ducks and other fowls, she spoketo him.

  "Thank you, Pigeonswing," said the young matron. "No pale-face could bea better provider, and many are not one-half as good."

  "What provider mean, eh?" demanded the literal-minded savage. "Meangood; mean bad, eh?"

  "Oh! it means good, of course. I could say nothing against a hunter whotakes so good care of us all."

  "What he mean, den?"

  "It means a man who keeps his wife and children well supplied withfood."

  "You get 'nough, eh?"

  "I get enough, Pigeonswing, thanks to your industry, such as it is.Injin diet, however, is not always the best for Christian folk, thougha body may live on it. I miss many things, out here in the Openings, towhich I have been used all the early part of my life."

  "What squaw miss, eh? P'raps Injin find him sometime."

  "I thank you, Pigeonswing, with all my heart, and am just as gratefulfor your good intentions, as I should be was you to do all you wish. Itis the mind that makes the marcy, and not always the deed. But you cannever find the food of a pale-face kitchen out here in the Openings ofMichigan. When a body comes to reckon up all the good things of Ameriky,she don't know where to begin, or where to stop. I miss tea as much asanything. And milk comes next. Then there's buckwheat and coffee--thoughthings may be found in the woods to make coffee of, but tea has nosubstitute. Then, I like wheaten bread, and butter, and potatoes, andmany other such articles, that I was used to all my life, until I cameout here, close to sunset. As for pies and custards, I can't bear tothink of 'em now!"

  Pigeonswing looked intently at the woman, as she carefully enumeratedher favorites among the dishes of her home-kitchen. When she had ended,he raised a finger, looked still more significantly at her, and said:

  "Why don't go back, get all dem good t'ings? Better for pale-face to eatpale-face food, and leave Injin Injin food."

  "For my part, Pigeonswing, I wish such had ever been the law. Venison,and prairie-fowls, and wild ducks, and trout, and bear's meat, and wildpigeons, and the fish that are to be found in these western rivers, areall good for them that was brought up on 'em, but they tire an easternpalate dreadfully. Give me roast beef any day before buffalo's hump, anda good barn-yard fowl before all the game-birds that ever flew."

  "Yes; dat de way pale-face squaw feel. Bess go back, and get what shelike. Bess go quick as she can--go today."

  "I'm in no such hurry, Pigeonswing, and I like these Openings wellenough to stay a while longer, and see what all these Injins, that theytell me are about 'em, mean to do. Now we are fairly among your people,and on good terms with them, it is wisest to stay where we are. Theseare war-times, and travelling is dangerous, they tell me. When Gershomand Bourdon are ready to start, I shall be ready."

  "Bess get ready, now," rejoined Pigeonswing; who, having given thisadvice with point, as to manner, proceeded to the spring, where he kneltand slaked his thirst. The manner of the Chippewa was such as to attractthe attention of the missionary, who, full of his theory, imaginedthat this desire to get rid of the whites was, in some way or other,connected with a reluctance in the Indians to confess themselves Jews.He had been quite as much surprised as he was disappointed, with thebackwardness of the chiefs in accepting this tradition, and was now ina state of mind that predisposed him to impute everything to this onecause.

  "I hope, Pigeonswing," he said to the Chippewa, whom he had followed tothe spring--"I hope, Pigeonswing, that no offence has been taken by thechiefs on account of what I told them yesterday, concerning their beingJews. It is what I think, and it is an honor to belong to God's chosenpeople, and in no sense a disgrace. I hope no offence has been taken onaccount of my telling the chief they are Jews."

  "Don't care any t'ing 'bout it," answered the literal Indian, risingfrom his kneeling position, and wiping his mouth with the back of hishand. "Don't care wedder Jew, or wedder Indian."

  "For my own part, gladly would I have it to say that I am descended fromIsrael."

  "Why don't say him, if he make you grad? Good to be grad. All Injin loveto be grad."

  "Because I cannot say it with truth. No; I come of the Gentiles, and notof the Hebrews, else would I glory in saying I am a Jew, in the senseof extraction, though not now in the sense of faith. I trust the chiefswill not take offence at my telling them just what I think."

  "Tell you he don't care," returned Pigeonswing, a little crustily."Don't care if Jew--don't care if Injin. Know dat make no difference.Hunting-ground just same--game just same--scalps just same. Make nodifference, and don't care."

  "I am glad of this--but why did you advise Dorothy to quit the Openingsin the hasty manner you did, if all is right with the chiefs? It is notgood to start on a journey without preparation and prayer. Why, then,did you give this advice to Dorothy to quit the Openings so soon?"

  "Bess for squaw to go home, when Injin dig up hatchet. Openin' full ofwarrior--prairie full of warrior--wood full of warrior. When dat so,bess for squaw to go home."

  "This would be true, were the Indians our enemies. Heaven be praised,they are our friends, and will not harm us. Peter is a great chief, andcan make his young men do what he tells them; and Peter is our friend.With Peter to stand by us, and a merciful Providence to direct us where,when, and how to go, we can have nothing to fear. I trust in DivineProvidence."

  "Who he be?" asked Pigeonswing, innocently, for his knowledge of Englishdid not extend far enough to comprehend a phrase so complicated, thoughso familiar to ourselves. "He know all paths, eh?"

  "Yes; and directs us on all paths--more especially such as are for ourgood."

  "Bess get him to tell you path into Detroit. Dat good path, now, for allpale-faces."

  On uttering this advice, which he did also somewhat pointedly, theChippewa left the spring, and walked toward the kennel o
f Hive, wherethe bee-hunter was busy feeding his old companion.

  "You're welcome back, Pigeonswing," the last cordially remarked, withoutpausing in his occupation, however. "I saw that you came in loaded, asusual. Have you left any dead game in the Openings, for me to go andback in with you?"

  "You open ear, Bourdon--you know what Injin say," returned the Chippewa,earnestly. "When dog get 'nough come wid me. Got somet'ing to tell. Besshear it, when he CAN hear it."

  "You'll find me ready enough in a minute. There, Hive, my good fellow,that ought to satisfy any reasonable dog, and I've never foundyou unreasonable yet. Well, Chippewa, here I am, with my ears wideopen--stop, I've a bit of news, first, for your ears. Do you know,Pigeonswing, my good fellow, that I am married?"

  "Marry, eh? Got squaw, eh? Where you get him?"

  "Here, to be sure--where else should I get her? There is but one girl inthese Openings that I would ask to be my wife, and she has been asked,and answered, yes. Parson Amen married us, yesterday, on our way infrom Prairie Round; so that puts me on a footing with yourself. When youboast of your squaw that you've left in your wigwam, I can boast of minethat I have here. Margery is a girl to boast of, too!"

  "Yes; good squaw, dat. Like dat squaw pretty well. Nebber see better.Bess keep squaw alway in his own wigwam."

  "Well, mine is in my own wigwam. Castle Meal is my property, and shedoes it honor."

  "Dat an't what Injin mean. Mean dis. Bess have wigwam at home, dere,where pale-face lives, and bess keep squaw in DAT wigwam. Where mysquaw, eh? She home, in my wigwam--take care of pappoose, hoe corn, andkeep ground good. So bess wid white squaw--bess home, at work."

  "I believe I understand what you mean, Pigeon. Well, home we mean to go,before the winter sets in, and when matters have a little settled downbetween the English and Yankees. It isn't safe travelling, just now, inMichigan--you must own that, yourself, my good fellow."

  The Indian appeared at a loss, now, how to express himself further.On one side was his faith to his color, and his dread of Peter and thegreat chiefs; on the other, his strong regard for the bee-hunter. Hepondered a moment, and then took his own manner of communicating thatwhich he wished to say. The fact that his friend was married made nogreat difference in his advice, for the Indian was much too shrewd anobserver not to have detected the bee-hunter's attachment. He had notsupposed it possible to separate his friend from the family of Gershom,though he did suppose there would be less difficulty in getting him togo on a path different from that which the missionary and corporal mighttake. His own great purpose was to serve le Bourdon, and how many or howfew might incidentally profit by it he did not care. The truth compelsus to own, that even Margery's charms, and nature, and warm-heartedinterest in all around her, had failed to make any impression on hismarble-like feelings; while the bee-hunter's habits, skill in his craft,and close connection with himself at the mouth of the river, and moreespecially in liberating him from his enemies, had united him in acomrade's friendship with her husband. It was a little singular thatthis Chippewa did not fall into Peter's superstitious dread of thebee-hunter's necromancy, though he was aware of all that had passedthe previous day on the prairie. Either on account of his greaterfamiliarity with le Bourdon's habits, or because he was in the secret ofthe trick of the whiskey-spring, or from a closer knowledge of white menand their ways, this young Indian was freer from apprehensions of thisnature, perhaps, than any one of the same color and origin within manymiles of the spot. In a word, Pigeons-wing regarded the bee-hunter ashis friend, while he looked upon the other pale-faces as so many personsthrown by accident in his company. Now that Margery had actually becomehis friend's squaw, his interest in her was somewhat increased; thoughshe had never obtained that interest in his feelings that she hadawakened in the breast of Peter, by her attentions to him, hergentleness, light-hearted gayety, and womanly care, and all without theleast design on her own part.

  "No," answered the Chippewa, after a moment's reflection, "no very safefor Yankee, or Yankee Injin. Don't t'ink my scalp very safe, ifchief know'd I'm Yankee runner. Bess alway to keep scalp safe. DemPottawattamie I take care not to see. Know all about 'em, too. Know whathe SAY--know what he DO--b'lieve I know what he T'INK."

  "I did not see you, Pigeon, among the red young men, yesterday, out onPrairie Round."

  "Know too much to go dere. Crowsfeather and Pottawattamie out dere. Bessnot go near dem when dey have eye open. Take 'em asleep. Dat bess waywid sich Injin. Catch 'em some time! But your ear open, Bourdon?"

  "Wide open, my good friend--what have you to whisper in it?"

  "You look hard at Peter when he come in. If he t'ink good deal, anddon't say much, when he DO speak, mind what he say. If he smile, andvery much friend, must hab his scalp."

  "Chippewa, Peter is my friend, lives in my cabin, and eats of my bread!The hand that touches him, touches me."

  "Which bess, eh--HIS scalp, or your'n? If he VERY much friend when hecomes in, his scalp muss come off, or your'n. Yes, juss so. Dat de way.Know Injin better dan you know him, Bourdon. You good bee-hunter, butpoor Injin. Ebbery body hab his way--Injin got his. Peter laugh and verymuch friend, when he come home, den he mean to hab YOUR scalp. If don'tsmile, and don't seem very much friend, but look down, and t'ink, t'ink,t'ink, den he no mean to hurt you, but try to get you out of hand ofchiefs. Dat all."

  As Pigeonswing concluded, he walked coolly away, leaving his friend toruminate on the alternative of scalp or no scalp! The bee-hunter nowunderstood the Chippewa perfectly. He was aware that this man had meansof his own to ascertain what was passing around him in the Openings, andhe had the utmost confidence in his integrity and good wishes. If a redman is slow to forget an injury, he never forgets a favor. In this hewas as unlike as possible to most of the pale-faces who were supplantinghis race, for these last had, and have, as extraordinary a tenacity inlosing sight of benefits, as they have in remembering wrongs.

  By some means or other, it was now clear that Pigeonswing foresaw that acrisis was at hand. Had le Bourdon been as disconnected and solitary ashe was when he first met the Chippewa, it is not probable thateither the words or the manner of his friend would have produced muchimpression on him, so little accustomed was he to dwell on the hazardsof his frontier position. But the case was now altogether changed.Margery and her claims stood foremost in his mind; and through Margerycame Dolly and her husband. There was no mistaking Pigeonswing'sintention. It was to give warning of some immediate danger, and a dangerthat, in some way, was connected with the deportment of Peter. It waseasy enough to comprehend the allusions to the mysterious chief's smilesand melancholy; and the bee-hunter understood that he was to watchthat Indian's manner, and take the alarm or bestow his confidenceaccordingly.

  Le Bourdon was not left long in doubt. Peter arrived about half-an-hourafter Pigeonswing had gone to seek his rest; and from the instant hecame in sight, our hero discerned the thoughtful eye and melancholymanner. These signs were still more obvious when the tribeless Indiancame nearer; so obvious, indeed, as to strike more than one of those whowere interested observers of all that this extraordinary being said anddid. Among others, Margery was the first to see this change, and thefirst to let it influence her own manner. This she did, notwithstandingle Bourdon had said nothing to her on the subject, and in defiance ofthe bashful feelings of a bride; which, under circumstances less marked,might have induced her to keep more in the background. As Peter stoppedat the spring to quench his thirst, Margery was, in truth, the first toapproach and to speak to him.

  "You seem weary, Peter," said the young wife, somewhat timidly as tovoice and air, but with a decided and honest manifestation of interestin what she was about. Nor had Margery gone empty-handed. She took withher a savory dish, one of those that the men of the woods love--meatcooked in its own juices, and garnished with several little additions,that her skill in the arts of civilized life enabled her to supply.

  "You seem tired, Peter, and if I did not fear to say it, I should tellyou that you also
seem sad," said Margery, as she placed her dish on arude table that was kept at the spot, for the convenience of those whoseldom respected hours, or regularity of any sort in their meals. "Hereis food that you like, which I have cooked with my own hands."

  The Indian looked intently at the timid and charming young creature,who came forward thus to contribute to his comforts, and the saddenedexpression of his countenance deepened. He was fatigued and hungry,and he ate for some time without speaking, beyond uttering a briefexpression of his thanks. When his appetite was appeased, however, andshe who had so sedulously attended to his wants was about to remove theremains of the dish, he signed with his finger for her to draw nearer,intimating that he had something to say. Margery obeyed withouthesitation, though the color flitted in her face like the changes inan evening sky. But so much good will and confidence had been awakenedbetween these two, that a daughter would not have drawn near to a fatherwith more confidence than Margery stood before Peter.

  "Medicine-man do what I tell him, young squaw, eh?" demanded Peter,smiling slightly, and for the first time since they had met.

  "By medicine-man do you mean Mr. Amen, or Bourdon?" the bride asked inher turn, her whole face reflecting the confusion she felt, scarcelyknowing why.

  "Bot'. One medicine-man say his prayer; t'odder medicine-man take youngsquaw's hand, and lead her into his wigwam. Dat what I mean."

  "I am married to Bourdon," returned Margery, dropping her eyes to theground, "if that be what you wish to know. I hope you think I shall havea good husband, Peter."

  "Hope so, too--nebber know till time come. All good for littlewhile--Injin good, squaw good. Juss like weadder. Sometimerain--sometime storm--sometime sunshine. Juss so wid Injin, juss so widpale-face. No difference. All same. You see dat cloud?--he little now;but let wind blow, he grow big, and you see nuttin' but cloud. Let himhave plenty of sunshine, and he go away; den all clear over head. Datbess way to live wid husband."

  "And that is the way which Bourdon and I WILL always live together. Whenwe get back among our own people, Peter, and are living comfortably in apale-face wigwam, with pale-face food, and pale-face drinks, and all theother good things of pale-face housekeeping about us, then I hope youwill come and see how happy we are, and pass some time with us. Everyyear I wish you to come and see us, and to bring us venison, and Bourdonwill give you powder, and lead, and blankets, and all you may want,unless it be fire-water. Fire-water he has promised never again to giveto an Injin."

  "No find any more whiskey-spring, eh?" demanded Peter, greatlyinterested in the young woman's natural and warm-hearted manner ofproposing her hospitalities. "So bess--so bess. Great curse for Injin.Plenty honey, no fire-water. All dat good. And I come, if--"

  Here Peter stopped, nor could all Margery's questions induce him tocomplete the sentence. His gaze at the earnest countenance of the bridewas such as to give her an indefinite sort of uneasiness, not to say afeeling of alarm.

  Still no explanation passed between them. Margery remained near Peterfor some time, administering to his wants, and otherwise demeaningherself much as a daughter might have done. At length le Bourdonjoined them. The salutations were friendly, and the manner in which themysterious chief regarded the equally mysterious bee-hunter, was notaltogether without a certain degree of awe. Boden perceived this, andwas not slow to comprehend that he owed this accession of influence tothe scene which had occurred on the prairie.

  "Is the great council ended, Peter?" asked the bee-hunter, when thelittle interval of silence had been observed.

  "Yes, it over. No more council, now, on Prairie Round."

  "And the chiefs--have they all gone on their proper paths? What hasbecome of my old acquaintance, Crowsfeather? and all the rest ofthem--Bear's Meat, in particular?"

  "All gone. No more council now. Agree what to do and so go away."

  "But are red men always as good as their words? do they PERFORM alwayswhat they PROMISE?"

  "Sartain. Ebbery man ought do what he say. Dat Injin law--no pale-facelaw, eh?"

  "It may be the LAW, Peter, and a very good law it is; but we white mendo not always MIND our own laws."

  "Dat bad--Great Spirit don't like dat," returned Peter, looking grave,and slowly shaking his head. "Dat very bad. When Injin say he do it,den he do it, if he can. If can't, no help for it. Send squaw away now,Bourdon--bess not to let squaw hear what men say, or will always want tohear."

  Le Bourdon laughed, as he turned to Margery and repeated these words.The young wife colored, but she took it in good part, and ran up towardthe palisaded lodge, like one who was glad to be rid of her companions.Peter waited a few moments, then turning his head slowly in alldirections, to make sure of not being overheard, he began to lay openhis mind.

  "You been on Prairie Round, Bourdon--you see Injin dere--chief, warrior,young men, hunter, all dere."

  "I saw them all, Peter, and a goodly sight it was--what between paint,and medals, and bows and arrows and tomahawks, and all your bravery!"

  "You like to see him, eh? Yes; he fine t'ing to look at. Well, datcouncil call togedder by ME--you know dat, too, Bourdon?"

  "I have heard you say that such was your intention, and I suppose youdid it, chief. They tell me you have great power among your own people,and that they do very much as you tell them to do."

  Peter looked graver than ever at this remark; and one of his startlinggleams of ferocity passed over his dark countenance. Then he answeredwith his customary self-command.

  "Sometime so," he said; "sometime not so. Yesterday, not so. Dere ischief dat want to put Peter under his foot! He try, but he no do it! Iknow Peter well, and know dat chief, too."

  "This is news to me, Peter, and I am surprised to hear it. I did thinkthat even the great Tecumthe was scarcely as big a chief as you areyourself."

  "Yes, pretty big chief; dat true. But, among Injin, ebbery man canspeak, and nebber know which way council go. Sometime he go one way;sometime he go tudder. You hear Bough of Oak speak, eh? Tell me dat?"

  "You will remember that I heard none of your speakers on Prairie Round,Peter. I do not remember any such orator as this Bough of Oak."

  "He great rascal," said Peter, who had picked up some of the garrisonexpressions among those from whom he acquired the knowledge of Englishhe possessed, such as it was. "Listen, Bourdon. Nebber bess stand toomuch in Peter's way."

  The bee-hunter laughed freely at this remark; for his own success theprevious day, and the impression he had evidently made on that occasion,emboldened him to take greater liberties with the mysterious chief thanhad been his wont.

  "I should think that, Peter," cried the young man, gayly--"I shouldthink all that. For one, I should choose to get out of it. The path youtravel is your own, and all wise men will leave you to journey along itin your own fashion."

  "Yes; dat bess way," answered the great chief, with admirablesimplicity. "Don't like, when he says yes, to hear anudder chief say no.Dat an't good way to do business."

  These were expressions caught from the trading whites, and were oftenused by those who got their English from them. "I tell you one t'ing,Bourdon--dat Bough of Oak very foolish Injin if he put foot on my path."

  "This is plain enough, Peter," rejoined le Bourdon, who wasunconcernedly repairing some of the tools of his ordinary craft. "Bythe way, I am greatly in your debt, I learn, for one thing. They tell meI've got my squaw in my wigwam a good deal sooner, by your advice, thanI might have otherwise done. Margery is now my wife, I suppose you know;and I thank you heartily, for helping me to get married so much soonerthan I expected to be."

  Here Peter grasped Bourdon by the hand, and poured out his whole soul,secret hopes, fears, and wishes. On this occasion he spoke in the Indiandialect--one of those that he knew the bee-hunter understood. And wetranslate what he said freely into English, preserving as much of theoriginal idiom as the change of language will permit.

  "Listen, hunter of the bee, the great medicine of the pale-faces, andhear what a chief that knows the red
men is about to tell you. Let mywords go into your ears; let them stay in your mind. They are words thatwill do you good. It is not wise to let such words come out again by thehole through which they have just entered.

  "My young friend knows our traditions. They do not tell us that theInjins were Jews; they tell us that the Manitou created them red men.They tell us that our fathers used these hunting-grounds ever since theearth was placed on the back of the big tortoise which upholds it. Thepale-faces say the earth moves. If this be true, it moves as slowlyas the tortoise walks. It cannot have gone far since the Great Spiritlifted his hand off it. If it move, the hunting-grounds move with it,and the tribes move with their own hunting-grounds. It may be that someof the pale-faces are lost, but no Injin is lost--the medicine-priest ismistaken. He has looked so often in his book, that he sees nothing butwhat is there. He does not see what is before his eyes, at his side,behind his back, all around him. I have known such Injins. They see butone thing; even the deer jump across their paths, and are not seen.

  "Such are our traditions. They tell us that this land was given to thered men, and not to pale-faces. That none but red men have any right tohunt here. The Great Spirit has laws. He has told us these laws. Theyteach us to love our friends, and to hate our enemies. You don't believethis, Bourdon?" observing the bee-hunter to wince a little, as if hefound the doctrine bad.

  "This is not what our priests tell US," answered le Bourdon. "They tellus that the white man's God commands us to love all alike--to do GOOD toour enemies, to LOVE them that wish us HARM, and to treat all men aswe would wish men to treat us." Peter was a good deal surprised at thisdoctrine, and it was nearly a minute before he resumed the discourse. Hehad recently heard it several times, and it was slowly working its wayinto his mind.

  "Such are our traditions, and such are our laws. Look at me. Fiftywinters have tried to turn my hair white. Time can do that. The hair isthe only part of an Injin that ever turns white; all the rest of him isred. That is his color. The game knows an Injin by his color. The tribesknow him. Everything knows him by his color. He knows the things whichthe Great Spirit has given him, in the same way. He gets used to them,and they are his acquaintances. He does not like strange things. He doesnot like strangers. White men are strangers, and he does not like tosee them on his hunting-ground. If they come singly, to kill a fewbuffaloes, or to look for honey, or to catch beaver, the Injins wouldnot complain. They love to give of their abundance. The pale-facesdo not come in this fashion. They do not come as guests; they come asmasters. They come and they stay. Each year of my fifty have I heard ofnew tribes that have been driven by them toward the setting sun.

  "Bourdon, for many seasons I have thought of this. I have tried to finda way to stop them. There is but one. That way must the Injins try, orgive up their hunting-grounds to the strangers. No nation likes to giveup its hunting-grounds. They come from the Manitou, and one day he mayask to have them back again. What could the red men say, if they let thepale-faces take them away? No; this we cannot do. We will first try theone thing that is to be done."

  "I believe I understand you, Peter," observed le Bourdon, findingthat his companion paused. "You mean war. War, in the Injin mode ofredressing all wrongs; war against man, woman, and child!"

  Peter nodded in acquiescence, fixing his glowing eyes on thebee-hunter's face, as if to read his soul.

  "Am I to understand, then, that you and your friends, the chiefs andtheir followers, that I saw on Prairie Round, mean to begin with US,half-a-dozen whites, of whom two are women, who happen to be here inyour power--that OUR scalps are to be the first taken?"

  "First!--no, Bourdon. Peter's hand has taken a great many, years since.He has got a name for his deeds, and no longer dare go to the whitemen's forts. He does not look for Yankees, he looks for pale-faces. Whenhe meets a pale-face on the prairies, or in the woods, he tries to gethis scalp. This has he done for years, and many has he taken."

  "This is a bloody account you are giving of yourself, Peter, and Iwould rather you should not have told it. Some such account I have heardbefore; but living with you, and eating, and drinking, and sleeping, andtravelling in your company, I had not only hoped, but begun to think, itwas not true."

  "It is true. My wish is to cut off the pale-faces. This must be done, orthe pale-faces will cut off the Injins. There is no choice. One nationor the other must be destroyed. I am a red man; my heart tells me thatthe pale-faces should die. They are on strange hunting-grounds, notthe red men. They are wrong, we are right. But, Bourdon, I have friendsamong the pale-faces, and it is not natural to scalp our friends. I donot understand a religion that tells us to love our enemies, and to dogood to them that do harm to us--it is a strange religion. I am a poorInjin, and do not know what to think! I shall not believe that any dothis, till I see it. I understand that we ought to love our friends.Your squaw is my daughter. I have called her daughter--she knows it, andmy tongue is not forked, like a snake's. What it says, I mean. Once Imeant to scalp your young squaw, because she was a pale-face squaw, andmight be the mother of more. Now I do not mean to scalp her; my handshall never harm her. My wisdom shall tell her to escape from the handsof red men who seek her scalp. You, too; now you are her husband,and are a great medicine-man of the bees, my hand shall not hurt you,either. Open your ears wide, for big truths must go into them."

  Peter then related in full his attempt to procure a safe passage forle Bourdon and Margery into the settlements, and its total failure. Heowned that by his previous combinations he had awakened a spirit amongthe Indians that his present efforts could not quell. In a word, he toldthe whole story as it must have been made apparent to the reader, and henow came with his plans to defeat the very schemes that he had himselfpreviously projected. One thing, however, that he did not conceal,filled the mind of his listener with horror, and created so strong anaversion to acting in concert with one who could even allude to it socoolly, that there was danger of breaking off all communications betweenthe parties, and placing the result purely on force; a course that musthave proved totally destructive to all the whites. The difficulty arosefrom a naive confession of Peter's, that he did not even wish to saveany but le Bourdon and Margery, and that he still desired the deaths ofall the others, himself!