By this time, all or nearly all of the Pottawattamies had collected
on this spot, on the side of the hill. The hut was deserted, its
fire got to be low, and darkness reigned around the place. On the
other hand, the Indians kept piling brush on their new fire, until
the whole of that hill-side, the stream at its foot, and the ravine
through which the latter ran, were fairly illuminated. Of course,
all within the influence of this light was to be distinctly seen,
and the bee-hunter was soon absorbed in gazing at the movements of
savage enemies, under circumstances so peculiar.
The savages seemed to be entranced by the singular, and to most of
them unaccountable circumstance of the earth's giving forth the
scent of fresh whiskey, in a place so retired and unknown. While two
or three of their number had certain inklings of the truth, as has
been stated, to much the greater portion of their body it appeared
to be a profound mystery; and one that, in some inexplicable manner,
was connected with the recent digging up of the hatchet. Ignorance
and superstition ever go hand in hand, and it was natural that many,
perhaps most of these uninstructed beings should thus consider so
unusual a fragrance, on such a spot.
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