As Pigeonswing concluded, he walked coolly away, leaving his friend to ruminate on the alternative of scalp or no scalp!  The bee-hunter now understood the Chippewa perfectly.  He was aware that this man had means of his own to ascertain what was passing around him in the Openings, and he had the utmost confidence in his integrity and good wishes.  If a red man is slow to forget an injury, he never forgets a favor.  In this he was as unlike as possible to most of the pale-faces who were supplanting his race, for these last had, and have, as extraordinary a tenacity in losing sight of benefits, as they have in remembering wrongs.

By some means or other, it was now clear that Pigeonswing foresaw that a crisis was at hand.  Had le Bourdon been as disconnected and solitary as he was when he first met the Chippewa, it is not probable that either the words or the manner of his friend would have produced much impression on him, so little accustomed was he to dwell on the hazards of his frontier position.  But the case was now altogether changed.  Margery and her claims stood foremost in his mind; and through Margery came Dolly and her husband.  There was no mistaking Pigeonswing’s intention.  It was to give warning of some immediate danger, and a danger that, in some way, was connected with the deportment of Peter.  It was easy enough to comprehend the allusions to the mysterious chief’s smiles and melancholy; and the bee-hunter understood that he was to watch that Indian’s manner, and take the alarm or bestow his confidence accordingly.

Le Bourdon was not left long in doubt.  Peter arrived about half-an-hour after Pigeonswing had gone to seek his rest; and from the instant he came in sight, our hero discerned the thoughtful eye and melancholy manner.  These signs were still more obvious when the tribeless Indian came nearer; so obvious, indeed, as to strike more than one of those who were interested observers of all that this extraordinary being said and did.  Among others, Margery was the first to see this change, and the first to let it influence her own manner.  This she did, notwithstanding le Bourdon had said nothing to her on the subject, and in defiance of the bashful feelings of a bride; which, under circumstances less marked, might have induced her to keep more in the background.  As Peter stopped at the spring to quench his thirst, Margery was, in truth, the first to approach and to speak to him.

“You seem weary, Peter,” said the young wife, somewhat timidly as to voice and air, but with a decided and honest manifestation of interest in what she was about.  Nor had Margery gone empty-handed.  She took with her a savory dish, one of those that the men of the woods love—­meat cooked in its own juices, and garnished with several little additions, that her skill in the arts of civilized life enabled her to supply.

“You seem tired, Peter, and if I did not fear to say it, I should tell you that you also seem sad,” said Margery, as she placed her dish on a rude table that was kept at the spot, for the convenience of those who seldom respected hours, or regularity of any sort in their meals.  “Here is food that you like, which I have cooked with my own hands.”