The distance between the spot where the deer had been killed, and the chiente, was about three miles; which was the reason why the bee-hunter had not brought home the entire animal the day he killed it; the American woodsman often carrying his game great distances in preference to leaving it any length of time in the forest.  In the latter case there is always danger from beasts of prey, which are drawn from afar by the scent of blood.  Le Bourdon thought it possible they might now encounter wolves; though he had left the carcass of the deer so suspended as to place it beyond the reach of most of the animals of the wilderness.  Each of the men, however, carried a rifle:  and Hive was allowed to accompany them, by an act of grace on the part of his master.

For the first half-hour, nothing occurred out of the usual course of events.  The bee-hunter had been conversing freely with his companion, who, he rejoiced to find, manifested far more common sense, not to say good sense, than he had previously shown; and from whom he was deriving information touching the number of vessels, and the other movements on the lakes, that he fancied might be of use to himself when he started for Detroit.  While thus engaged, and when distant only a hundred rods from the place where he had left the venison, le Bourdon was suddenly struck with the movements of the dog.  Instead of doubling on his own tracks, and scenting right and left, as was the animal’s wont, he was now advancing cautiously, with his head low, seemingly feeling his way with his nose, as if there was a strong taint in the wind.

“Sartain as my name is Gershom,” exclaimed Waring, just after he and Ben had come to a halt, in order to look around them—­“yonder is an Injin!  The crittur’ is seated at the foot of the large oak—­ hereaway, more to the right of the dog, and Hive has struck his scent.  The fellow is asleep, with his rifle across his lap, and can’t have much dread of wolves or bears!”

“I see him,” answered le Bourdon, “and am as much surprised as grieved to find him there.  It is a little remarkable that I should have so many visitors, just at this time, on my hunting-ground, when I never had any at all before yesterday.  It gives a body an uncomfortable feeling, Waring, to live so much in a crowd!  Well, well—­I’m about to move, and it will matter little twenty-four hours hence.”

“The chap’s a Winnebago by his paint,” added Gershom—­“but let’s go up and give him a call.”

The bee-hunter assented to this proposal, remarking, as they moved forward, that he did not think the stranger of the tribe just named; though he admitted that the use of paint was so general and loose among these warriors, as to render it difficult to decide.

“The crittur’ sleeps soundly!” exclaimed Gershom, stopping within ten yards of the Indian, to take another look at him.

“He’ll never awake,” put in the bee-hunter, solemnly—­“the man is dead.  See; there is blood on the side of his head, and a rifle-bullet has left its hole there.”