"Peter, we can count on you for a friend, I hope?" said the bee-
hunter, as the two were about to part, on the bank of the river. "I
fear you were, once, our enemy!"
"Bourdon," said Peter, with dignity, and speaking in the language of
his own people, "listen. There are Good Spirits, and there are Bad
Spirits. Our traditions tell us this. Our own minds tell us this,
too. For twenty winters a Bad Spirit has been whispering in my ear.
I listened to him; and did what he told me to do. I believed what he
said. His words were--'Kill your enemies--scalp all the pale-faces--
do not leave a squaw, or a pappoose. Make all their hearts heavy.
This is what an Injin should do.' So has the Bad Spirit been
whispering to me, for twenty winters. I listened to him. What he
said, I did. It was pleasant to me to take the scalps of the pale-
faces. It was pleasant to think that no more scalps would be left
among them, to take. I was Scalping Peter.
"Bourdon, the Good Spirit has, at last, made himself heard. His
whisper is so low, that at first my ears did not hear him. They hear
him now. When he spoke loudest, it was with the tongue of the
medicine-priest of your people.
Pages:
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682