Our three white men pursued their way back to the “garrison,” conversing as they went, much in the manner they did in the dialogue we have just recorded.  Neither Parson Amen nor the corporal seemed to apprehend anything, not-withstanding the extraordinary scene in which one had been an actor, and of which the other had been a witness.  Their wonder and apprehensions, no doubt, were much mitigated by the fact, that it was understood Peter was to meet a large collection of the chiefs in the Openings, and the minds of all were, more or less, prepared to see some such assemblage as had that night got together.  The free manner in which the mysterious chief led the missionary to the circle, was, of itself, some proof that he did not desire concealment; and even le Bourdon admitted, when they came to discuss the details, that this was a circumstance that told materially in favor of the friendliness of his intentions.  Still, the bee-hunter had his doubts; and most sincerely did he wish that all in Castle Meal, Blossom in particular, were safe within the limits of civilized settlements.

On reaching the “garrison,” all was safe.  Whiskey Centre watched the gate—­a sober man, now, perforce, if not by inclination; for being in the Openings, in this respect, is like being at sea with an empty spirit-room.  He was aware that several had passed out, but was surprised to learn that Peter was of the number.  That gate Peter had not passed, of a certainty; and how else he could quit the palisades was not easily understood.  It was possible to climb over them, it is true; but the feat would be attended with so great an exertion, and would be so likely to lead to a noise which would expose the effort, that all had great difficulty in believing a man so dignified and reserved in manner as this mysterious chief would be apt to resort to such means of quitting the place.

As for the Chippewa, Gershom reported his return a few minutes before; and the bee-hunter entered, to look for that tried friend, as soon as he learned the fact.  He found Pigeonswing laying aside his accoutrements, previously to lying down to take his rest.

“So, Chippewa, you have come back, have you?” exclaimed le Bourdon.  “So many of your red-skin brethren are about, that I didn’t expect to see you again for these two or three days.”

“No want to eat, den, eh?  How you all eat, if hunter don’t do he duty?  S’pose squaw don’t cook vittles, you no like it, eh?  Juss so wid hunter—­no kill vittles, don’t like it nudder.”

“This is true enough.  Still, so many of your people are about, just now, that I thought it probable you might wish to remain outside with them for a day or two.”

“How know red man about, eh?  You see him—­you count him eh?”

“I have seen something like fifty, and may say I counted that many.  They were chiefs, however, and I take it for granted, a goodly number of common warriors are not far off.  Am I right, Pigeonswing?”