“Some Ojebway, too”—answered Pigeonswing, after a reluctant pause. “Can't all go on same path this war. Hatchets, somehow, got two handle—one strike Yankee; one strike King George.”
“But what is your business here, and where are you now going if you are friendly to the Americans? I make no secret of my feelings—I am for my own people, and I wish proof that you are a friend, and not an enemy.”
“Too many question, one time,” returned the Chippewa, a little distastefully. “No good have so long tongue. Ask one question, answer him—ask anoder, answer HIM, too.”
“Well, then, what is your business, here?”
“Go to Chicago, for gen'ral.”
“Do you mean that you bear a message from some American general to the commandant at Chicago?”
“Just so—dat my business. Guess him, right off; he, he, he!”
It is so seldom that an Indian laughs that the bee-hunter was startled.
“Where is the general who has sent you on this errand?” he demanded.
“He at Detroit—got whole army dere—warrior plenty as oak in opening.”