“Yes; stand by friend—dat honor. Nebber turn back on friend; dat my way.”
“Chippewa, who blew the blast on the horn?—can you tell me THAT?”
“Why don't you ask Peter? He wise chief—know eb-beryt'ing. Young Injin ask ole Injin when don't know—why not young pale-face ask ole man, too, eh?”
“Pigeonswing, if truth was said, I believe it would be found that you suspect Peter of having a hand in this business?”
This speech was rather too idiomatic for the comprehension of the Indian, who answered according to his own particular view of the matter.
“Don't blow horn wid hand,” he said—“Injin blow wid mout', just like pale-face.”
The bee-hunter did not reply; but his companion's remark had a tendency to revive in his breast certain unpleasant and distrustful feelings toward the mysterious savage, which the incidents and communications of the last two weeks had had a strong tendency to put to sleep.