"Sartain--no Pottawattamie come here. Too wet. Don't like wet. An't
duck, or goose--like dry land, juss like squaw. Dis good 'baccy,
Bourdon--hope you got more for friend."
"I have enough for us all, Pigeonswing, and you shall have a full
share. Now, tell me; what will be your next move, and where do you
intend to pass the morrow?"
"Juss like diss. Plenty of swamp, Bourdon, on Kekalamazoo.
[Footnote: This is the true Indian word, though the whites have seen
fit to omit the first syllable.] Run canoe in swamp; den safe
'nough. Injins won't look 'ere, 'cause he don't know whereabout
look. Don't like swamp. Great danger down at mouth of river."
"So it has seemed to me, Chippewa. The Injins must be there in a
strong force, and we shall find it no easy matter to get through
them. How do you propose to do it?" "Go by in night. No udder way.
When can't see, can't see. Dere plenty of rush dere; dat good t'ing,
and, p'raps, dat help us. Rush good cover for canoe. Expec', when we
get down 'ere, to get some scalp, too. Plenty of Pottawattamie about
dat lodge, sartain; and it very hard if don't get some on him scalp.
You mean stop, and dig up cache; eh, Bourdon?"
The cool, quiet manner in which Pigeonswing revealed his own plans,
and inquired into those of his friend, had, at least, the effect to
revive the confidence of le Bourdon.
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