Suddenly, Pigeonswing recovered his recollection, and
resumed the conversation, by saying:
"What million mean, Bourdon? How many time so'ger at Detroit, and
so'ger on lakes?"
"A million is more than the leaves on all the trees in these
openings"--le Bourdon's notions were a little exaggerated, perhaps,
but this was what he SAID--"yes, more than the leaves on all these
oaks, far and near. A million is a countless number, and I suppose
would make a row of men as long as from this spot to the shores of
the great salt lake, if not farther."
It is probable that the bee-hunter himself had no very clear notion
of the distance of which he spoke, or of the number of men it would
actually require to fill the space he mentioned; but his answer
sufficed deeply to impress the imagination of the Indian, who now
helped le Bourdon to secure his load to his back, in silence,
receiving the same service in return. When the meat of the bear was
securely bestowed, each resumed his rifle, and the friends commenced
their march in, toward the chiente; conversing, as they went, on the
matter which still occupied their minds. When the bee-hunter again
took up the history of the creation, it was to speak of our common
mother.
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