For three days and nights did le Bourdon and his friends remain on that dry land of the swamp, without hearing or seeing anything of either Peter or Pigeonswing.  The time was growing long, and the party anxious; though the sense of security was much increased by this apparent exemption from danger.  Still, uncertainty, and the wish to ascertain the precise state of things in the Openings, were gradually getting to be painful, and it was with great satisfaction that the bee-hunter met his young wife as she came running toward him, on the morning of the fourth day, to announce that an Indian was approaching, by wading in the margin of the river, keeping always in the water so as to leave no trail.  Hurrying to a point whence their visitor might be seen, le Bourdon soon perceived it was no other than Pigeonswing.  In a few minutes this Indian arrived, and was gladly received by all four of the fugitives, who gathered around him, eager to hear the news.

“You are welcome, Chippewa,” cried le Bourdon, shaking his friend cordially by the hand.  “We were half afraid we might never see you again.  Do you bring us good or evil tidings?”

“Mustn’t be squaw, and ask too much question, Bourdon,” returned the red-skin, carefully examining the priming of his rifle, in order to make sure it was not wet.  “Got plenty venison, eh?”

“Not much venison is left, but we have caught a good many fish, which have helped us along.  I have killed a dozen large squirrels, too, with your bow and arrows, which I find you left in your canoe.  But—­”

“Yes, he good bow, dat—­might kill hummin’-bird wid dat bow.  Fish good here, eh?” “They are eatable, when a body can get no better.  But now, I should think, Pigeonswing, you might give us some of the news.”

“Mustn’t be squaw, Bourdon—­bad for warrior be squaw.  Alway bess be man, and be patient, like man.  What you t’ink, Bourdon?  Got him at last!”

“Got what my good fellow?  I see nothing about you, but your arms and ammunition.”

“Got scalp of dat Weasel!  Wasn’t dat well done?  Nebber no young warrior take more scalp home dan Pigeonswing carry dis time!  Got t’ree; all hid, where Bear’s Meat nebber know.  Take ’em away, when he get ready to march.”

“Well, well, Chippewa—­I suppose it will not be easy to reason you out of this feelin’—­but what has become of the red-skins who burned my cabin, and who killed the missionary and the corporal?”

“All about—­dough must go down river.  Look here, Bourdon, some of dem chief fool enough to t’ink bee carry you off on his wing!”