I
live by taking honey, of which you are welcome to all you can want,
and this man is a helper of the sutlers at the garrisons. He was
travelling south to join the troops at the head of the lake, and I
was going north to Mackinaw, on my way in, toward the settlements."
"Why is my brother in such haste?" demanded Peter, mildly. "Bees get
tired of making honey?"
"The times are troubled, and the red men have dug up the hatchet; a
pale-face cannot tell when his wigwam is safe."
"Where my brodder wigwam?" asked Peter, looking warily around him.
"See he an't here; where is he?"
"Over in the openings, far up the Kalamazoo. We left it last week,
and had got to the hut on the other shore, when a party of
Pottawattamies came in from the lake, and drove us over here for
safety."
On hearing this, Peter turned slowly to the missionary, raising a
finger as one makes a gesture to give emphasis to his words.
"Tole you so," said the Indian. "Know dere was Pottawattamie dere.
Can tell 'em great way off."
"We fear them, having women in our party," added the bee-hunter,
"and think they might fancy our scalps."
"Dat like enough; all Injin love scalp in war-time.
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