“Here we must turn, Chippewa,” he said, in a guarded voice.  “This is the spot where I must have missed my way.”

“Good place to turn ’bout,” answered the Indian—­“dog too near.”

“We must shoot the dogs if they press us too hard,” returned the bee-hunter, leading off rapidly, now secure in the right direction.  “They seem to be in trouble, just at this time; but animals like them will soon find their way across this marsh.”

“Bess shoot Pottawattamie,” coolly returned Pigeonswing.  “Pottawattamie got capital scalp—­dog’s ears no good for nutting any more.”

“Yonder, I believe, is the tree I am in search of!” exclaimed le Bourdon.  “If we can reach that tree, I think all will go well with us.”

The tree was reached, and the bee-hunter proceeded to make sure of his course from that point.  Removing from his pouch a small piece of moistened powder that he had prepared ere he liberated the Chippewa, he stuck it on a low branch of the tree he was under, and on the side next the spot where he had stationed Margery.  When this was done, he made his companion stand aside, and lighting some spunk with his flint and steel, he fired his powder.  Of course, this little preparation burned like the fireworks of a boy, making sufficient light, however, to be seen in a dark night for a mile or more.  No sooner was the wetted powder hissing and throwing off its sparks, than the bee-hunter gazed intently into the now seemingly tangible obscurity of the marsh.  A bright light appeared and vanished.  It was enough; the bee-hunter threw down his own signal and extinguished it with his foot; and, as he wished, the lantern of Margery appeared no more.  Assured now of the accuracy of his position, as well as of the course he was to pursue, le Bourdon bade his companion follow, and pressed anew across the marsh.  A tree was soon visible, and toward that particular object the fugitives steadily pressed, until it was reached.  At the next instant Margery was joined; and the bee-hunter could not refrain from kissing her, in the excess of his pleasure.

“There is a dreadful howling of dogs,” said Margery, feeling no offence at the liberty taken, in a moment like that, “and it seems to me that a whole tribe is following at their heels.  For Heaven’s sake, Bourdon, let us hasten to the canoes; brother and sister must think us lost!”

The circumstances pressed, and the bee-hunter took Margery’s arm, passing it through one of his own, with a decided and protecting manner, that caused the girl’s heart to beat with emotions not in the least connected with fear, leaving an impression of pleasure even at that perilous moment.  As the distance was not great, the three were soon on the beach and near to the canoes.  Here they met Dorothy, alone, and pacing to and fro like a person distressed.  She had doubtless heard the clamor, and was aware that the savages were out looking for their party.  As Margery met her sister, she saw that something more than common had gone wrong, and in the eagerness of her apprehensions she did not scruple about putting her questions.