CHAPTER VI.
And long shall timorous fancy see
The painted chief and pointed spear;
And reason's self shall bow the knee
To shadows and delusions here.
FRENEAU.
A bright moon reflected on the earth for about an hour the light of
the sun, as the latter luminary disappeared. By its aid the bee-
hunter, who still continued in the tree, was enabled to watch the
movements of the canoes of the Indians, though the persons they
contained soon got to be so indistinct as to render it impossible to
do more than count their numbers. The last he made out to be five
each in three of the canoes, and six in the other, making twenty-one
individuals in all. This was too great an odds to think of
resisting, in the event of the strangers turning out to be hostile;
and the knowledge of this disparity in force admonished all the
fugitives of the necessity of being wary and prudent.
The strangers landed just beneath the hut, or at the precise spot
where Whiskey Centre was in the habit of keeping his canoe, and
whence Boden had removed it only an hour or two before. The savages
had probably selected the place on account of its shores being clear
of the wild rice, and because the high ground near it promised both
a lookout and comfortable lodgings. Several of the party strolled
upward, as if searching for an eligible spot to light their fire,
and one of them soon discovered the cabin. The warrior announced his
success by a whoop, and a dozen of the Indians were shortly
collected in and about the chiente. All this proved the prudence of
the course taken by the fugitives.
Blossom stood beneath the tree, and the bee-hunter told her, as each
incident occurred, all that passed among the strangers, when the
girl communicated the same to her brother and his wife, who were
quite near at hand in one of the canoes. As there was no danger of
being overheard, conversation in an ordinary tone passed between the
parties, two of whom at least were now fond of holding this sort of
communion.
"Do they seem to suspect the neighborhood of the occupants of the
cabin?" asked Margery, when the bee-hunter had let her know the
manner in which the savages had taken possession of her late
dwelling.
"One cannot tell. Savages are always distrustful and cautious when
on a war-path; and these seem to be scenting about like so many
hounds which are nosing for a trail. They are now gathering sticks
to light a fire, which is better than burning the chiente."
"THAT they will not be likely to do until they have no further need
of it. Tell me, Bourdon, do any go near the thicket of alders where
we have hidden our goods?"
"Not as yet; though there is a sudden movement and many loud yells
among them!"
"Heaven send that it may not be at having discovered anything we
have forgotten. The sight of even a lost dipper or cup would set
them blood-hounds on our path, as sure as we are white and they are
savages!"
"As I live, they scent the whiskey! There is a rush toward, and a
pow-wow in and about the shed--yes, of a certainty they smell the
liquor! Some of it has escaped in rolling down the hill, and their
noses are too keen to pass over a fragrance that to them equals that
of roses. Well, let them SCENT as they may--even an Injin does not
get drunk through his NOSE."
"You are quite right, Bourdon: but is not this a most unhappy scent
for us, since the smell of whiskey can hardly be there without their
seeing it did not grow in the woods of itself, like an oak or a
beech?"
"I understand you, Margery, and there is good sense in what you say.
They will never think the liquor grew there. like a blackberry or a
chestnut, though the place IS called Whiskey Centre!"
"It is hard enough to know that a family has deserved such a name,
without being reminded of it by those that call themselves friends,"
answered the girl pointedly, after a pause of near a minute, though
she spoke in sorrow rather than in anger.
In an instant the bee-hunter was at pretty Margery's side, making
his peace by zealous apologies and winning protestations of respect
and concern. The mortified girl was soon appeased; and, after
consulting together for a minute, they went to the canoe to
communicate to the husband and wife what they had seen.
"The whiskey after all is likely to prove our worst enemy," said the
bee-hunter as he approached. "It would seem that in moving the
barrels some of the liquor has escaped, and the nose of an Injin is
too quick for the odor it leaves, not to scent it."
"Much good may it do them," growled Gershom--"they've lost me that
whiskey, and let them long for it without gettin' any, as a
punishment for the same. My fortun' would have been made could I
only have got them two barrels as far as Fort Dearborn before the
troops moved!"
"The BARRELS might have been got there, certainly," answered le
Bourdon, so much provoked at the man's regrets for the destroyer
which had already come so near to bringing want and ruin on himself
and family, as momentarily to forget his recent scene with pretty
Margery; "but whether anything would have been IN them is another
question. One of those I rolled to the brow of the hill was half
empty as it was."
"Gershom is so troubled with the ague, if he don't take stimulant in
this new country," put in the wife, in the apologetic manner in
which woman struggles to conceal the failings of him she loves. "As
for the whiskey, I don't grudge THAT in the least; for it's a poor
way of getting rich to be selling it to soldiers, who want all the
reason liquor has left 'em, and more too. Still, Gershom needs
bitters; and ought not to have every drop he has taken thrown into
his face."
By this time le Bourdon was again sensible of his mistake, and he
beat a retreat in the best manner he could, secretly resolving not
to place himself any more between two fires, in consequence of
further blunders on this delicate subject. He now found that it was
a very different thing to joke Whiskey Centre himself on the subject
of his great failing, from making even the most distant allusion to
it in the presence of those who felt for a husband's and a brother's
weakness, with a liveliness of feeling that brutal indulgence had
long since destroyed in the object of their solicitude. He
accordingly pointed out the risk there was that the Indians should
make the obvious inference, that human beings must have recently
been in the hut, to leave the fresh scent of the liquor in question
behind them. This truth was so apparent that all felt its force,
though to no one else did the danger seem so great as to the bee-
hunter. He had greater familiarity with the Indian character than
any of his companions, and dreaded the sagacity of the savages in a
just proportion to his greater knowledge. He did not fail,
therefore, to admonish his new friends of the necessity for
vigilance.
"I will return to the tree and take another look at the movements of
the savages," le Bourdon concluded by saying. "By this time their
fire must be lighted; and by the aid of my glass a better insight
may be had into their plans and feelings."
The bee-hunter now went back to his tree, whither he was slowly
followed by Margery; the girl yielding to a feverish desire to
accompany him, at the very time she was half restrained by maiden
bashfulness; though anxiety and the wish to learn the worst as
speedily as possible, prevailed.
"They have kindled a blazing fire, and the whole of the inside of
the house is as bright as if illuminated," said le Bourdon, who was
now carefully bestowed among the branches of his small tree. "There
are lots of the red devils moving about the chiente, inside and out;
and they seem to have fish as well as venison to cook. Aye, there
goes more dry brush on the fire to brighten up the picture, and
daylight is almost eclipsed. As I live, they have a prisoner among
'em!"
"A prisoner!" exclaimed Margery, in the gentle tones of female pity.
"Not a white person, surely?"
"No--he is a red-skin like all of them--but--wait a minute till I
can get the glass a little more steady. Yes--it is so--I was right
at first!"
"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. He has taken to the lake on his way to Fort Dearborn, and
has, with all his craft and resolution, fallen into enemies' hands.
Well will it be for him if his captors do not learn what befell the
warrior who was slain near my cabin, and left seated against a
tree!"
"Do you think these savages mean to revenge the death of their
brother on this unfortunate wretch?"
"I know that he is in the pay of our general at Detroit, while the
Pottawattamies are in the pay of the English. This of itself would
make them enemies, and has no doubt been the cause of his being
taken; but I do not well see how Injins on the lake here can know
anything of what happened some fifty miles or so up in the
Openings."
"Perhaps the savages in the canoes belong to the same party as the
warrior you call Elksfoot, and that they have had the means of
learning his death, and by whose hand he fell."
The bee-hunter was surprised at the quickness of the girl's wit, the
suggestion being as discreet as it was ingenious. The manner in
which intelligence flies through the wilderness had often surprised
him, and certainly it was possible that the party now before him
might have heard of the fate of the chief whose body he had found in
the Openings, short as was the time for the news to have gone so
far. The circumstance that the canoes had come from the northward
was against the inference, however, and after musing a minute on the
facts, le Bourdon mentioned this objection to his companion.
"Are we certain these are the same canoes as those which I saw pass
this afternoon?" asked Margery, who comprehended the difficulty in
an instant. "Of those I saw, two passed first, and one followed;
while here are FOUR that have landed."
"What you say may be true enough. We are not to suppose that the
canoes you saw pass are all that are on the lake. But let the
savages be whom they may, prudence tells us to keep clear of them if
we can; and this more so than ever, now I can see that Pigeonswing,
who I know to be an American Injin, is treated by them as an enemy."
"How are the savages employed now, Bourdon? Do they prepare to eat,
or do they torture their prisoner?"
"No fear of their attempting the last to-night. There is an
uneasiness about them, as if they still smelt the liquor; but some
are busy cooking at the fire. I would give all my honey, pretty
Margery, to be able to save Pigeonswing! He is a good fellow for a
savage, and is heart and hand with us in this new war, that he tells
me has begun between us and the English!"
"You surely would not risk your own life to save a savage, who kills
and scalps at random, as this man has done!"
"In that he has but followed the habits of his color and race. I
dare say WE do things that are quite as bad, according to Injin ways
of thinking. I DO believe, Margery, was that man to see ME in the
hands of the Pottawattamies, as I now see HIM, he would undertake
something for my relief."
"But what can you, a single man, do when there are twenty against
you?" asked Margery, a little reproachfully as to manner, speaking
like one who had more interest in the safety of the young bee-hunter
than she chose very openly to express.
"No one can say what he can do till he tries. I do not like the way
they are treating that Chippewa, for it looks as if they meant to do
him harm. He is neither fed, nor suffered to be with his masters;
but there the poor fellow is, bound hand and foot near the cabin
door, and lashed to a tree. They do not even give him the relief of
suffering him to sit down."
The gentle heart of Margery was touched by this account of the
manner in which the captive was treated, and she inquired into other
particulars concerning his situation, with a more marked interest
than she had previously manifested in his state. The bee-hunter
answered her questions as they were put; and the result was to place
the girl in possession of a minute detail of the true manner in
which Pigeonswing was treated.
Although there was probably no intention on the part of the captors
of the Chippewa to torture him before his time, tortured he must
have been by the manner in which his limbs and body were confined.
Not only were his arms fastened behind his back at the elbows, but
the hands were also tightly bound together in front. The legs had
ligatures in two places, just above the knees and just below the
ankles. Around the body was another fastening; which secured the
captive to a beech that stood about thirty feet from the door of the
cabin, and so nearly in a line with the fire within and the lookout
of le Bourdon, as to enable the last distinctly to note these
particulars, aided as he was by his glass. Relying on the manner in
which they secured their prisoner, the savages took little heed of
him; but each appeared bent on attending to his own comfort, by
means of a good supper, and by securing a dry lair in which to pass
the night. All this le Bourdon saw and noted too, ere he dropped
lightly on his feet by the side of Margery, at the root of the tree.
Without losing time that was precious, the bee-hunter went at once
to the canoes and communicated his intention to Waring. The moon had
now set, and the night was favorable to the purpose of le Bourdon.
At the first glance it might seem wisest to wait until sleep had
fallen upon the savages, ere any attempt were made to approach the
hut; but Boden reasoned differently. A general silence would succeed
as soon as the savages disposed of themselves to sleep, which would
be much more likely to allow his footsteps to be overheard, than
when tongues and bodies and teeth were all in active movement. A man
who eats after a long march, or a severe paddling, usually
concentrates his attention on his food, as le Bourdon knew by long
experience; and it is a much better moment to steal upon the hungry
and weary, to do so when they feed, than to do so when they sleep,
provided anything like a watch be kept. That the Pottawattamie would
neglect this latter caution le Bourdon did not believe; and his mind
was made up, not only to attempt the rescue of his Chippewa friend,
but to attempt it at once.
After explaining his plan in a few words, and requesting Waring's
assistance, le Bourdon took a solemn leave of the party, and
proceeded at once toward the hut. In order to understand the
movements of the bee-hunter, it may be well now briefly to explain
the position of the chiente, and the nature of the ground on which
the adventurer was required to act. The hut stood on a low and
somewhat abrupt swell, being surrounded on all sides by land so low
as to be in many places wet and swampy. There were a good many trees
on the knoll, and several thickets of alders and other bushes on the
lower ground; but on the whole, the swamps were nearly devoid of
what is termed "timber." Two sides of the knoll were abrupt; that on
which the casks had been rolled into the lake, and that opposite,
which was next to the tree where Boden had so long been watching the
proceedings of the savages. The distance between the hut and this
tree was somewhat less than a mile. The intervening ground was low,
and most of it was marshy; though it was possible to cross the marsh
by following a particular course. Fortunately this course, which was
visible to the eye by daylight, and had been taken by the fugitives
on quitting the hut, might be dimly traced at night, by one who
understood the ground, by means of certain trees and bushes, that
formed so many finger-posts for the traveller. Unless this
particular route were taken, however, a circuit of three or four
miles must be made, in order to pass from the chiente to the spot
where the family had taken refuge. As le Bourdon had crossed this
firm ground by daylight and had observed it well from his tree, he
thought himself enough of a guide to find his way through it in the
dark, aided by the marks just mentioned.
The bee-hunter had got as far as the edge of the marsh on his way
toward the hut, when, pausing an instant to examine the priming of
his rifle, he fancied that he heard a light footstep behind him.
Turning, quick as thought, he perceived that pretty Margery had
followed him thus far. Although time pressed, he could not part from
the girl without showing that he appreciated the interest she
manifested in his behalf. Taking her hand, therefore, he spoke with
a simplicity and truth, that imparted to his manner a natural grace
that one bred in courts might have envied. What was more, with a
delicacy that few in course would deem necessary under the
circumstances, he did not in his language so much impute to concern
on his own account this movement of Margery's, as to that she felt
for her brother and sister; though in his inmost heart a throbbing
hope prevailed that he had his share in it.
"Do not be troubled on account of Gershom and his wife, pretty
Margery," said the bee-hunter, "which, as I perceive, is the main
reason why you have come here; and as for myself, be certain that I
shall not forget who I have left behind, and how much her safety
depends on my prudence."
Margery was pleased, though a good deal confused. It was new to her
to hear allusions of this sort, but nature supplied the feeling to
appreciate them.
"Is it not risking too much, Bourdon?" she said. "Are you sure of
being able to find the crossing in the marsh, in a night so very
dark? I do not know but looking so long at the bright light in the
cabin may blind me, but it DOES seem as if I never saw a darker
night!"
"The darkness increases, for the star-light is gone; but I can see
where I go, and so long as I can do that there is not much fear of
losing my way. I do not like to expose you to danger, but--"
"Never mind me, Bourdon--set me to do anything in which you think I
can be of use!" exclaimed the girl, eagerly.
"Well then, Margery, you may do this: come with me to the large tree
in the centre of the marsh, and I will set you on a duty that may
possibly save my life. I will tell you my meaning when there."
Margery followed with a light, impatient step; and, as neither
stopped to speak or to look around, the two soon stood beneath the
tree in question. It was a large elm that completely overshadowed a
considerable extent of firm ground. Here a full and tolerably near
view could be had of the hut, which was still illuminated by the
blazing fire within. For a minute both stood silently gazing at the
strange scene; then le Bourdon explained to his companion the manner
in which she might assist him.
Once at the elm, it was not so difficult to find the way across the
marsh, as it was to reach that spot, coming FROM the chiente. As
there were several elms scattered about in the centre of the marsh,
the bee-hunter was fearful that he might not reach the right tree;
in which case he would be compelled to retrace his steps, and that
at the imminent hazard of being captured. He carried habitually a
small dark lantern, and had thought of so disposing of it in the
lower branches of this very elm, as to form a focus of it, but
hesitated about doing that which might prove a guide to his enemies
as well as to himself. If Margery would take charge of this lantern,
he could hope to reap its advantages without incurring the hazard of
having a light suspended in the tree for any length of time. Margery
understood the lessons she received, and promised to obey all the
injunctions by which they were accompanied.
"Now, God bless you, Margery," added the bee-hunter. "Providence has
brought me and your brother's family together in troublesome times;
should I get back safe from this adventure, I shall look upon it as
a duty to do all I can to help Gershom place his wife and sister
beyond the reach of harm."
"God bless you, Bourdon!" half whispered the agitated girl. "I know
it is worth some risk to save a human life, even though it be that
of an Injin, and I will not try to persuade you from this
undertaking; but do not attempt more than is necessary, and rely on
my using the lantern just as you have told me to use it."
Those young persons had not yet known each other a single day, yet
both felt that confidence which years alone, in the crowds of the
world, can ordinarily create in the human mind. The cause of the
sympathy which draws heart to heart, which generates friendships,
and love, and passionate attachments, is not obvious to all who
choose to talk of it. There is yet a profound mystery in our
organization, which has hitherto escaped the researches of both
classes of philosophers, and which it probably was the design of the
Creator should not be made known to us until we draw nearer to that
great end which, sooner or later, is to be accomplished in behalf of
our race, when "knowledge will abound," and we shall better
understand our being and its objects, than is permitted to us in
this our day of ignorance. But while we cannot trace the causes of a
thousand things, we know and feel their effects. Among the other
mysteries of our nature is this of sudden and strong sympathies,
which, as between men for men, and women for women, awaken
confidence and friendship; and as between those of different sexes,
excite passionate attachments that more or less color their future
lives. The great delineator of our common nature, in no one of the
many admirable pictures he has drawn of men, manifests a more
profound knowledge of his subject, than in that in which he portrays
the sudden and nearly ungovernable inclination which Romeo and
Juliet are made to display for each other; an inclination that sets
reason, habit, prejudice, and family enmities at defiance. That such
an attachment is to be commended, we do not say; that all can feel
it, we do not believe; that connections formed under its influence
can always be desirable, we are far from thinking: but that it may
exist we believe is just as certain as any of the incomprehensible
laws of our wayward and yet admirable nature. We have no Veronese
tale to relate here, however, but simply a homely legend, in which
human feeling may occasionally be made to bear an humble resemblance
to that world-renowned picture which had its scenes in the beautiful
capital of Venetian Lombardy.
When le Bourdon left his companion, now so intensely interested in
his success, to pick his way in the darkness across the remainder of
the marsh, Margery retired behind the tree, where the first thing
she did was to examine her lantern, and to see that its light was
ready to perform the very important office which might so speedily
be required of it. Satisfied on this point, she turned her eyes
anxiously in the direction of the hut. By this time every trace of
the bee-hunter was lost, the hillock in his front forming too dark a
background to admit of his being seen. But the fire still blazed in
the chiente, the savages not having yet finished their cooking,
though several had satisfied their appetites, and had already sought
places where they might stretch themselves for the night. Margery
was glad to see that these last individuals bestowed themselves
within the influence of the fire, warm as was the night. This was
done most probably to escape from the annoyance of the mosquitos,
more or less of which are usually found in the low lands of the new
countries, and near the margins of rivers.
Margery could distinctly see the Chippewa, erect and bound to his
tree. On him she principally kept her looks riveted, for near his
person did she expect first again to find the bee-hunter. Indeed,
there was no chance of seeing one who was placed beneath the light
of the fire, since the brow of the acclivity formed a complete
cover, throwing all below it into deep shade. This circumstance was
of the greatest importance to the adventurer, however, enabling him
to steal quite near to his friend, favored by a darkness that was
getting to be intense. Quitting Margery, we will now rejoin le
Bourdon, who by this time was approaching his goal.
The bee-hunter had some difficulty in finding his way across the
marsh; but floundering through the impediments, and on the whole
preserving the main direction, he got out on the firm ground quite
as soon as he had expected to do. It was necessary for him to use
extreme caution. The Indians according to their custom had dogs, two
of which had been in sight, lying about half-way between the
prisoner and the door of the hut. Boden had seen a savage feeding
these dogs; and it appeared to him at the time as if the Indian had
been telling them to be watchful of the Chippewa. He well knew the
services that the red men expected of these animals, which are kept
rather as sentinels than for any great use they put them to in the
hunts. An Indian dog is quick enough to give the alarm, and he will
keep on a trail for a long run and with considerable accuracy, but
it is seldom that he closes and has his share in the death, unless
in the case of very timid and powerless creatures.
Nevertheless, the presence of these dogs exacted extra caution in
the movements of the bee-hunter. He had ascended the hill a little
out of the stream of light which still issued from the open door of
the hut, and was soon high enough to get a good look at the state of
things on the bit of level land around the cabin. Fully one-half of
the savages were yet up and in motion; though the processes of
cooking and eating were by this time nearly ended. These men had
senses almost as acute as those of their dogs, and it was very
necessary to be on his guard against them also. By moving with the
utmost caution, le Bourdon reached the edge of the line of light,
where he was within ten yards of the captive. Here he placed his
rifle against a small tree, and drew his knife, in readiness to cut
the prisoner's thongs. Three several times, while the bee-hunter was
making these preparations, did the two dogs raise their heads and
scent the air; once, the oldest of the two gave a deep and most
ominous growl. Singular as it may seem, this last indication of
giving the alarm was of great service to le Bourdon and the
Chippewa. The latter heard the growl, and saw two of the movements
of the animals' heads, from all which he inferred that there was
some creature, or some danger behind him. This naturally enough
induced him to bestow a keen attention in that direction, and being
unable to turn body, limbs, or head, the sense of hearing was his
only means of watchfulness. It was while in this state of profound
listening that Pigeonswing fancied he heard his own name, in such a
whisper as one raises when he wishes to call from a short distance
with the least possible expenditure of voice. Presently the words
"Pigeonswing," and "Chippewa," were succeeded by those of "bee-
hunter," "Bourdon." This was enough: the quick-witted warrior made a
low ejaculation, such as might be mistaken for a half-suppressed
murmur that proceeded from pain, but which one keenly on the watch,
and who was striving to communicate with him, would be apt to
understand as a sign of attention. The whispering then ceased
altogether, and the prisoner waited the result with the stoic
patience of an American Indian. A minute later the Chippewa felt the
thongs giving way, and his arms were released at the elbows. An arm
was next passed round his body, and the fastenings at the wrist were
cut. At this instant a voice whispered in his ear--" Be of good
heart, Chippewa--your friend, Bourdon, is here. Can you stand?"
"No stand," answered the Indian in a low whisper--"too much tie."
At the next moment the feet of the Chippewa were released, as were
also his knees. Of all the fastenings none now remained but that
which bound the captive to the tree. In not cutting this, the bee-
hunter manifested his coolness and judgment; for were the stout rope
of bark severed, the Indian would have fallen like a log, from total
inability to stand. His thongs had impeded the circulation of the
blood, and the usual temporary paralysis had been the consequence.
Pigeonswing understood the reason of his friend's forbearance, and
managed to rub his hands and wrists together, while the bee-hunter
himself applied friction to his feet, by passing his own arms around
the bottom of the tree. The reader may imagine the intense anxiety
of Margery the while; for she witnessed the arrival of le Bourdon at
the tree, and could not account for the long delay which succeeded.
All this time, the dogs were far from being quiet or satisfied.
Their masters, accustomed to being surrounded at night by wolves and
foxes, or other beasts, took little heed, however, of the discontent
of these creatures, which were in the habit of growling in their
lairs. The bee-hunter, as he kept rubbing at his friend's legs, felt
now but little apprehension of the dogs, though a new source of
alarm presented itself by the time the Chippewa was barely able to
sustain his weight on his feet, and long before he could use them
with anything like his former agility. The manner in which the
savages came together in the hut, and the gestures made by their
chief, announced pretty plainly that a watch was about to be set for
the night. As it was probable that the sentinel would take his
station near the prisoner, the bee-hunter was at a loss to decide
whether it were better to commence the flight before or after the
rest of the savages were in their lairs. Placing his mouth as close
to the ear of Pigeonswing as could be done without bringing his head
into the light, the following dialogue passed between le Bourdon and
the captive.
"Do you see, Chippewa," the bee-hunter commenced, "the chief is
telling one of the young men to come and keep guard near you?"
"See him, well 'nough. Make too many sign, no to see."
"What think you--shall we wait till the warriors are asleep, or try
to be off before the sentinel comes?"
"Bess wait, if one t'ing. You got rifle--got tomahawk--got knife,
eh?"
"I have them all, though my rifle is a short distance behind me, and
a little down the hill."
"Dat bad--nebber let go rifle on war-path. Well, YOU tomahawk him--
_I_ scalp him--dat'll do."
"I shall kill no man, Chippewa, unless there is great occasion for
it. If there is no other mode of getting you off, I shall choose to
cut this last thong, and leave you to take care of yourself."
"Give him tomahawk, den--give him knife, too."
"Not for such a purpose. I do not like to shed blood without a good
reason for it."
"No call war good reason, eh? Bess reason in world Pottawattamie dig
up hatchet ag'in' Great Fadder at Wash'ton--dat no good reason why
take his scalp, eh?"
In whispering these last words the Chippewa used so much energy,
that the dogs again raised their heads from between their forepaws
and growled. Almost at that instant the chief and his few remaining
wakeful companions laid themselves down to sleep, and the young
warrior designated as the sentinel left the hut and came slowly
toward the prisoner. The circumstances admitted of no delay; le
Bourdon pressed the keen edge of his knife across the withe that
bound the Indian to the tree; first giving him notice, in order that
he might be prepared to sustain his own weight. This done, the bee-
hunter dropped on the ground, crawling away out of the light; though
the brow of the hill almost immediately formed a screen to conceal
his person from all near the hut. In another instant he had regained
his rifle, and was descending swiftly toward the crossing at the
marsh.
