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Updated: May 10, 2025
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 recognized the magician of the whiskey-spring. Peter saw the discovery of the two spectators with some uneasiness.
"We have had a pale-face medicine-man among us, Onoah," continued Crowsfeather, "and he has so far blinded us that we know not what to think." The chief then recounted the leading events of the visit of the bee- hunter to the place, stating each occurrence fairly, as he understood it, and as fairly confessing that even the chiefs were at a loss to know what to make of the affair.
Crowsfeather was highly painted, and looked fierce and warlike, but Onoah had nothing extraordinary about him, with the exception of the decorations and dress already described, unless it might be his remarkable countenance.
It is true, Crowsfeather and one or two of his companions had taken a look through that medicine-glass, but it rather contributed to increase the conjuror's renown, than served to explain any of the marvels he performed. Peter was most struck with all that had just occurred.
Crowsfeather, in particular, troubled him; and he foresaw that his fate would be terrible, did the savages once get an inkling of the deception he was practising. As he stood there, bending over the little pools of whiskey, he glanced his eyes toward the gloom which pervaded the northern side of the hill, and calculated the chances of escape by trusting to his speed.
The name of "Onoah" passed in murmurs of admiration, from mouth to mouth; for, as it appeared, the person of this renowned Indian was recognized by many on the shore, some time ere he reached it himself. Crowsfeather, and the other chiefs, advanced to meet the visitor; the young men standing in the background, in respectful admiration.
To Crowsfeather, then on the war-path in quest of Yankee scalps, he had freely communicated his designs on his own white companions, while he did not dare to confide to the Chippewa this particular secret, since that Indian's relations with the bee-hunter were so amicable as to be visible to every observer.
Let Crowsfeather smell it smell it, Cloud let all my young men smell it, too, that they may be certain that there is nothing there."
Corporal, I put Margery in your keeping, and Parson Amen will be near you. I now go to show these chiefs what a bee can tell a man." Thus saying, le Bourdon advanced, followed by Peter, Bear's Meat, and Crowsfeather.
At length Crowsfeather arose to answer, the missionary standing the whole time, motionless, as if waiting for a reply. "My brother has told us a tradition," said the Pottawattamie. "It is a good tradition. It is a strange tradition. Red men love to hear such traditions. It is wonderful that so many as ten tribes should be LOST, at the same time, and no one know what has become of them!
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