It is better to kill the
bee-hunter and his squaw while we can, that there may be no more
such medicine bee-hunters to frighten us Injins. If one bee-hunter
can do so much harm, what would a tribe of bee-hunters do? I do not
want to see any more. It is a dangerous thing to know how to talk
with bees. It is best that no one should have that power. I would
rather never taste honey again, than live among pale-faces that can
talk with bees.
"Brothers, it is not enough that the pale-faces know so much more
than the red men, but they must get the bees to tell them where to
find honey, to find bears, to find warriors. No; let us take the
scalp of the bee-talker, and of his squaw, that there may never be
such a medicine again. I have spoken."
Peter did not rise again. He felt that his dignity was involved in
maintaining silence. Various chiefs now uttered their opinions, in
brief, sententious language. For the first time since he began to
preach his crusade, the current was setting against the mysterious
chief. The Weasel said no more, but the hints he had thrown out were
improved on by others. It is with savages as with civilized men; a
torrent must find vent.
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