The bee-hunter had come on his hazardous expedition in his own canoe. Previously to quitting the south shore, however, he had lightened the little craft, by landing everything that was not essential to his present purpose. As nearly half of his effects were in the canoe of Whiskey Centre, the task was soon performed, and lucky it was for our hero that he had bethought him of the prudence of the measure. His sole object had been to render the canoe swifter and lighter, in the event of a chase; but, as things turned out, he saved no small portion of his property by using the precaution. The Indians found nothing in the canoe, but one rifle, with a horn and pouch, a few light articles belonging to the bee-hunter's domestic economy, and which he had not thought it necessary to remove, and the paddles. All the honey, and the skins and stores, and spare powder, and lead, and, in short, everything else that belonged to le Bourdon, was still safe on the other side of the river. The greatest advantage gained by the Pottawattamies was in the possession of the canoe itself, by means of which they would now be enabled to cross the Kalamazoo, or make any other similar expedition, by water. But, as yet, not a sign of hostility was betrayed by either party. The bee-hunter seemed to pay no attention to his rifle and ammunition, or even to his canoe, while the savages, after having warily examined the last, together with its contents, returned to their visitor, to re-examine him, with a curiosity as lively as it was full of distrust. At this stage in the proceeding, something like a connected and intelligible conversation commenced between the chief who spoke English, and who was known in most of the north-western garrisons of the Americans by the name of Thundercloud, or Cloud, by way of abbreviation, on account of his sinister looks, though the man actually sustained a tolerably fair reputation for one of those who, having been wronged, was so certain to be calumniated. No man was ever yet injured, that he has not been slandered. “Who kill and scalp my young man?” asked Cloud, a little abruptly. “Has my brother lost a warrior?” was the calm reply. “Yes, I see that he has. A medicine-man can see that, though it is dark.” “Who kill him, if can see?-who scalp him, too?” “An enemy did both,” answered le Bourdon, oracularly. “Yes; 'twas an enemy that killed him; and an enemy that took his scalp.” “Why do it, eh? Why come here to take Pottawattamia scalp, when no war-path open, eh?” “Pottawattamie, the truth must always be said to a medicine-man. There is no use in trying to hide truth from HIM. There IS a war-path open; and a long and a tangled path it is. My Great Father at Washington has dug up the hatchet against my Great Father at Quebec. Enemies always take scalps when they can get them.” “Dat true--dat right, too--nobody grumble at DAT--but who enemy? pale-face or red-skin?”