The crisis demanded both discretion and decision; qualities in which
the bee-hunter, with his forest training, was not likely to be
deficient. He looked out for the path by which he had reached the
unfortunate thicket, and having found it, commenced a retreat by the
way he had come. Nerve was needed to move almost in a line toward
the dogs and their masters; but the nerve was forthcoming, and the
two advanced like veterans expecting the fire of some concealed but
well-armed battery. Presently, le Bourdon stopped, and examined the
ground on which he stood.
"HERE we must turn, Chippewa," he said, in a guarded voice. "This is
the spot where I must have missed my way."
"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.
"Pottawattamie got capital scalp--dog's ears no good for nutting any
more."
"Yonder, I believe, is the tree I am in search of!" exclaimed le
Bourdon.
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