Here Peter stopped, nor could all Margery's questions induce him to complete the sentence. His gaze at the earnest countenance of the bride was such as to give her an indefinite sort of uneasiness, not to say a feeling of alarm.
Still no explanation passed between them. Margery remained near Peter for some time, administering to his wants, and otherwise demeaning herself much as a daughter might have done. At length le Bourdon joined them. The salutations were friendly, and the manner in which the mysterious chief regarded the equally mysterious bee-hunter, was not altogether without a certain degree of awe. Boden perceived this, and was not slow to comprehend that he owed this accession of influence to the scene which had occurred on the prairie.
“Is the great council ended, Peter?” asked the bee-hunter, when the little interval of silence had been observed.
“Yes, it over. No more council, now, on Prairie Round.”
“And the chiefs—have they all gone on their proper paths? What has become of my old acquaintance, Crowsfeather? and all the rest of them—Bear's Meat, in particular?”
“All gone. No more council now. Agree what to do and so go away.”
“But are red men always as good as their words? do they PERFORM always what they PROMISE?”
“Sartain. Ebbery man ought do what he say. Dat Injin law—no pale-face law, eh?”
“It may be the LAW, Peter, and a very good law it is; but we white men do not always MIND our own laws.”
“Dat bad—Great Spirit don't like dat,” returned Peter, looking grave, and slowly shaking his head. “Dat very bad. When Injin say he do it, den he do it, if he can. If can't, no help for it. Send squaw away now, Bourdon—bess not to let squaw hear what men say, or will always want to hear.”