agents, who attended their master in order to do his bidding.  In a word, Peter was fast getting into that frame of mind, when all that is seen is pressed into the support of the theory we have adopted.  The bee-hunter had some mysterious connection with, and control over the bees, and this was one among the many other signs of the existence of his power.  All this, however, Boden himself disregarded.  His mind was bent on throwing dust into the eyes of the Indians; and he was cogitating the means of so doing, on a much larger scale than any yet attempted.

“Why dem bee fly ’round young squaw?” demanded Peter—­“and fly round you, too?”

“They know us, and go with us to their hive; just as Injins would come out of their villages to meet and honor visitors.”

This was a ready reply, but it scarcely satisfied the wily savage to whom it was given.  Just then Crowsfeather led Peter a little aside, and began talking earnestly to that chief, both continuing on with the crowd.  Le Bourdon felt persuaded that the subject of this private conference was some of his own former backslidings in the character of conjuror, and that the Pottawattamie would not deal very tenderly with his character.  Nevertheless, it was too late to retrace his steps, and he saw the necessity of going on.

“I wish you had not come out with us,” the bee-hunter found an occasion to say to Margery.  “I do not half like the state of things, and this conjuration about the bees may all fall through.”

“It is better that I should be here, Bourdon,” returned the spirited girl.  “My being here may make them less unfriendly to you.  When I am by, Peter always seems more human, and less of a savage, they all tell me, than when I am not by.”

“No one can be more willing to own your power, Margery, than I; but Injins hold the squaws too cheap, to give you much influence over this old fellow.”

“You do not know—­he may have had a daughter of about my age, or size, or appearance; or with my laugh, or voice, or something else that reminds him of her, when he sees me.  One thing I am sure of—­ Peter is no enemy of mine”

“I hope this may prove to be true!  I do not see, after all, why an Injin should not have the feelin’s you name.  He is a man, and must feel for his wife and children, the same as other—­”

“Bourdon, what ails the dog?  Look at the manner in which Hive is behaving!”

Sure enough, the appearance of Hive was sufficiently obvious to attract his master’s attention.  By this time the crowd had got within twenty rods of the little island-like copse of wood, the mastiff being nearly half that distance in advance.  Instead of preceding the party, however, Hive had raised his form in a menacing manner, and moved cautiously from side to side, like one of his kind that scents a foe.  There was no mistaking these movements; and all the principal chiefs soon had their attention also drawn to the behavior of the dog.