Little was said during the meal.  Dorothy was habitually silent; the result of grief and care.  As for her husband, he was too stupid to talk, though usually somewhat garrulous; while the Indian seldom did two things at the same time.  This was the hour for acting; when that for talking should arrive, he would be found equal to its duties.  Pigeonswing could either abstain from food, or could indulge in it without measure, just as occasion offered.  He had often gone for days without tasting a mouthful, with the exception of a few berries, perhaps; and he had lain about the camp-fire, a week at a time, gorging himself with venison, like an anaconda.  It is perhaps fortunate for the American Indian, that this particular quality of food is so very easy of digestion, since his excesses on it are notorious, and so common to his habits as almost to belong to his nature.  Death might otherwise often be the consequence.

When the breakfast was ended, it was time to consult about the future course.  As yet, the Pottawattamies had made no new discovery; but the sagacity of the red man was ever to be feared, when it came to be merely a question of finding his foe in a forest.

“We have obtained one advantage over the enemy,” said le Bourdon, “by crossing the river.  Water leaves no trail; even had Crowsfeather a canoe, he might not know where to go in it, in order to find us.”

“Dat not so,” put in the Chippewa, a little dogmatically; “know we hab canoe—­know cross river in him.”

“Why should they know this, Pigeonswing?  We may have gone out upon the lake, or we may have gone up in the oak openings again, for anything the Pottawattamies can know to the contrary.”

“Tell you, not so.  Know don’t go on lake, cause wind blow.  Know don’t go up river, cause dat hard work; know come here, cause dat easy.  Injin like to do what easy, and pale-face do just what Injin do.  Crowsfeather make raft, pretty soon; den he come look arter scalp.”

“Yes,” said Margery, gently; “you had better load your canoe at once, and go on the lake, while the savages cannot reach you.  The wind is fair for them that are to go north; and I have heard you say that you are bound to Mackinaw.”

“I shall load my canoe, and I shall load yours, too, Margery; but I shall not go away from this family, so long as any in it stand in need of my services.”

“Brother will be able to help us by afternoon.  He manages a canoe well, when himself; so go, Bourdon, while you can.  I dare say you have a mother at home; or a sister perhaps a wife—­”

“Neither,” interrupted the bee-hunter, with emphasis.  “No one expects me; no one has a right to expect me.”

The color stole into pretty Margery’s cheeks as she heard these words, and a ray of comfort gleamed on an imagination that, for the last hour, had been portraying the worst.  Still, her generous temper did not like the idea of the bee-hunter’s sacrificing himself for those who had so few claims on him, and she could not but again admonish him of the necessity of losing no time.