“I am married to Bourdon,” returned Margery, dropping her eyes to the ground, “if that be what you wish to know. I hope you think I shall have a good husband, Peter.” “Hope so, too--nebber know till time come. All good for little while--Injin good, squaw good. Juss like weadder. Sometime rain--sometime storm--sometime sunshine. Juss so wid Injin, juss so wid pale-face. No difference. All same. You see dat cloud?--he little now; but let wind blow, he grow big, and you see nuttin' but cloud. Let him have plenty of sunshine, and he go away; den all clear over head. Dat bess way to live wid husband.” “And that is the way which Bourdon and I WILL always live together. When we get back among our own people, Peter, and are living comfortably in a pale-face wigwam, with pale-face food, and pale-face drinks, and all the other good things of pale-face housekeeping about us, then I hope you will come and see how happy we are, and pass some time with us. Every year I wish you to come and see us, and to bring us venison, and Bourdon will give you powder, and lead, and blankets, and all you may want, unless it be fire-water. Fire-water he has promised never again to give to an Injin.” “No find any more whiskey-spring, eh?” demanded Peter, greatly interested in the young woman's natural and warm-hearted manner of proposing her hospitalities. “So bess--so bess. Great curse for Injin. Plenty honey, no fire-water. All dat good. And I come, if--” Here Peter stopped, nor could all Margery's questions induce him to complete the sentence. His gaze at the earnest countenance of the bride was such as to give her an indefinite sort of uneasiness, not to say a feeling of alarm. Still no explanation passed between them. Margery remained near Peter for some time, administering to his wants, and otherwise demeaning herself much as a daughter might have done. At length le Bourdon joined them. The salutations were friendly, and the manner in which the mysterious chief regarded the equally mysterious bee-hunter, was not altogether without a certain degree of awe. Boden perceived this, and was not slow to comprehend that he owed this accession of influence to the scene which had occurred on the prairie. “Is the great council ended, Peter?” asked the bee-hunter, when the little interval of silence had been observed. “Yes, it over. No more council, now, on Prairie Round.” “And the chiefs--have they all gone on their proper paths? What has become of my old acquaintance, Crowsfeather? and all the rest of them--Bear's Meat, in particular?” “All gone. No more council now. Agree what to do and so go away.” “But are red men always as good as their words? do they PERFORM always what they PROMISE?” “Sartain. Ebbery man ought do what he say. Dat Injin law--no pale-face law, eh?” “It may be the LAW, Peter, and a very good law it is; but we white men do not always MIND our own laws.”