Which he was attempting, was not yet quite
apparent; but that one or other was uppermost in his mind, Ben
thought was beyond dispute. As soon as the question last named was
put, however, the Indian looked cautiously around him, as if to be
certain there were no spectators. Then he carefully opened his
tobacco-pouch, and extricated from the centre of the cut weed a
letter that was rolled into the smallest compass to admit of this
mode of concealment, and which was encircled by a thread. The last
removed, the letter was unrolled, and its superscription exposed.
The address was to "Captain--Heald, U. S. Army, commanding at
Chicago." In one corner were the words "On public service, by
Pigeonswing." All this was submitted to the bee-hunter, who read it
with his own eyes.
"Dat good"-asked the Chippewa, pointedly-"dat tell trut'-b'lieve
HIM?"
Le Bourdon grasped the hand of the Indian, and gave it a hearty
squeeze. Then he said frankly, and like a man who no longer
entertained any doubts:
"I put faith in all you say, Chippewa. 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.
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