Nor did le Bourdon now deem it necessary to resort to his usual means of carrying on his trade. These were not necessary to one who knew already where the hive was to be found, while it opened the way to certain mummeries that might be made to tell well in support of his assumed character. Catching a bee, then, and keeping it confined within his tumbler, Ben held the last to his ear, as if listening to what the fluttering insect had to say. Having seemingly satisfied himself on this point, he desired the chiefs once more to follow him, having first let the bee go, with a good deal of ceremony. This set all in motion again; the party being now increased by the whole band of savages who had been “put up” from their cover. By this time, Margery began to tremble for the consequences. She had held several short conferences with le Bourdon, as they walked together, and had penetrated far enough into his purposes to see that he was playing a ticklish game. It might succeed for a time, but she feared it must fail in the end; and there was always the risk of incurring the summary vengeance of savages. Perhaps she did not fully appreciate the power of superstition, and the sluggishness of the mind that once submits to its influence; while her woman's heart made her keenly alive to all those frightful consequences that must attend an exposure. Nevertheless, nothing could now be done to avert the consequences. It was too late to recede, and things must take their course, even at all the hazards of the case. That she might not be wholly useless, when her lover was risking so much for herself--Margery well understanding that her escape was the only serious difficulty the bee-hunter apprehended--the girl turned all her attention to Peter, in whose favor she felt that she had been daily growing, and on whose pleasure so much must depend. Changing her position a little, she now came closer to the chief than she had hitherto done. “Squaw like medicine-man?” asked Peter, with a significance of expression that raised a blush in Margery's cheek. “You mean to ask me if I like to SEE medicine-men perform,” answered Margery, with the readiness of her sex. “White women are always curious, they say--how is it with the women of the red men?” “Juss so--full of cur'osity. Squaw is squaw--no matter what color.” “I am sorry, Peter, you do not think better of squaws. Perhaps you never had a squaw--no wife, or daughter?” A gleam of powerful feeling shot athwart the dark countenance of the Indian, resembling the glare of the electric fluid flashing on a cloud at midnight; but it passed away as quickly as it appeared, leaving in its stead the hard, condensed expression, which the intensity of a purpose so long entertained and cultivated, had imprinted there, as indelibly as if cut in stone. “All chief have squaw--all chief have pappoose--” was the answer that came at last. “What he good for, eh?”