"
"My brother dig up hatchet too, eh?" demanded Pigeonswing.
"Why should I? I am alone here, on the Openings, and it would seem
foolish in me to wish to fight."
"Got no tribe--no Ojebway--no Pottawattamie, eh?"
"I have my tribe, as well as another, Chippewa, but can see no use I
can be to it, here. If the English and Americans fight, it must be a
long way from this wilderness, and on or near the great salt lake."
"Don't know--nebber know, 'till see. English warrior plenty in
Canada."
"That may be; but American warriors are not plenty here. This
country is a wilderness, and there are no soldiers hereabouts, to
cut each other's throats."
"What you t'ink him?" asked Pigeonswing, glancing at Gershom; who,
unable to forbear any longer, had gone to the spring to mix a cup
from a small supply that still remained of the liquor with which he
had left home. "Got pretty good scalp?"
"I suppose it is as good as another's--but he and I are countrymen,
and we cannot raise the tomahawk on one another."
"Don't t'ink so. Plenty Yankee, him!"
Le Bourdon smiled at this proof of Pigeonswings sagacity, though he
felt a good deal of uneasiness at the purport of his discourse.
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