“Yes—he chief—know he voice—hear him too often—he mean to put Pigeonswing to torture. Well, let him catch Pigeonswing fust—swift bird do that, eh?”
“But what says he?—it may be of importance to learn what the chief says, just now.”
“Who care what he say—can't do nuttin'—if get good chance, take HIS scalp, too.”
“Aye, that I dare say—but he is speaking earnestly and in a low voice; listen, and let us know what he says. I do not well understand at this distance.”
The Chippewa complied, and maintained an attentive silence until the chief ceased to speak. Then he rendered what had been said into such English as he could command, accompanying the translation by the explanations that naturally suggested themselves to one like himself.
“Chief talk to young men,” said the Chippewa—“all chief talk to young men—tell him dat Pigeonswing must get off in canoe—don't see canoe, nudder—but, muss be canoe, else he swim. T'ink more than one Injin here—don't know, dough—maybe, maybe not—can't tell, till see trail, morrow morning—”
“Well, well; but what does he tell his young men to DO?” demanded the bee-hunter, impatiently.
“Don't be squaw, Bourdon—tell all by'em bye. Tell young men s'pose he get canoe, den he may get OUR canoe, and carry 'em off—s'pose he swim; dat Chippewa devil swim down stream and get OUR canoe dat fashion—bess go back, some of you, and see arter OUR canoe—dat what he tell young men most.”
“That is a lucky thought!” exclaimed le Bourdon—“let us paddle down, at once, and seize all their canoes before they can get there. The distance by water, owing to this bend in the river, is not half as great as that by land, and the marsh will double the distance to them.”
“Dat good counsel,” said Pigeonswing—“you go—I follow.”