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"Good place to turn 'bout," answered the Indian "dog too near." "We must shoot the dogs if they press us too hard," returned the bee-hunter, leading off rapidly, now secure in the right direction. "They seem to be in trouble, just at this time; but animals like them will soon find their way across this marsh." "Bess shoot Pottawattamie," coolly returned Pigeonswing.
"My father, then, intends to lead his pale-faces on a crooked path, and take their scalps when he has done with them," said Crowsfeather, who had been gravely listening to Peter's plans of future proceeding; "but who is to get the scalp of the Chippewa?" "One of my Pottawattamie young men; but not until I have made use of him.
Meantime there filed through Miss Slopham's flowing sentences, like a procession of children with banners, the mild and faithful Modoc, the unsophisticated Sioux, the exemplary Pi-Ute, the large-eyed and pensive Pottawattamie, the polished Nez-Percé, the amiable Pawnee, the meek and unobtrusive Ogallala, and the playful Apache.
"What is so, Bourdon and in what are you right?" "You may remember, Blossom, that your brother and I spoke of the two Injins who visited me in the Openings. One was a Pottawattamie and the other a Chippewa. The first we found dead and scalped, after he had left us; and the last is now in yonder hut, bound and a prisoner.
That is an officer's letter, and I now see that you are on the right side. You play'd so deep a game, at first, hows'ever, that I didn't know exactly what to make of you. Now, as for the Pottawattamie do you set him down as friend or foe, in reality?" "Enemy take your scalp take my scalp, in minute only can't catch him. He got belt from Montreal, and it look handsome in his eye."
The bee-hunter shuddered, as he gazed at this fearful memorial of the violence against which even a wilderness could afford no sufficient protection. That Pigeonswing had slain his late fellow- guest, le Bourdon had no doubt, and he sickened at the thought. Although he had himself dreaded a good deal from the hostility of the Pottawattamie, he could have wished this deed undone.
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!
"Friendly Pottawattamies! no, sare," returned the Canadian seriously, and shrugging up his shoulders. "Dey no dress, no paint like de Pottawattamie, and I not like der black look no, sare, dey Winnebago." He laid a strong emphasis on the last word, and as he expected, a general "ugh" among the party attested that he had correctly named their tribe.
As everything passed almost as swiftly as the electric spark is known to travel, it was but a moment after the Pottawattamie fell ere his conqueror was through with his bloody task.
Of the Indians, one, an elderly, wary, experienced warrior, was a Pottawattamie, named Elksfoot, who was well known at all the trading-houses and "garrisons" of the northwestern territory, including Michigan as low down as Detroit itself. The other red man was a young Chippewa, or O-jeb-way, as the civilized natives of that nation now tell us the word should be spelled.
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