"I thank you, Elksfoot--and should you pass this way, ag'in, soon, I
hope you'll just step into this chiente and help yourself it I
should happen to be off on a hunt. Good luck to you, and a happy
sight of home."

The Pottawatamie then turned and thrust out a hand to each of the
others, who met his offered leave-taking with apparent friendship.
The bee-hunter observed that neither of the Indians said anything to
the other touching the path he was about to travel, but that each
seemed ready to pursue his own way as if entirely independent, and
without the expectation of having a companion.

Elksfoot left the spot the first. After completing his adieus, the
Pottawattamie threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm, felt at
his belt, as if to settle it into its place, made some little
disposition of his light summer covering, and moved off in a
southwesterly direction, passing through the open glades, and almost
equally unobstructed groves, as steady in his movements as if led by
an instinct.

"There he goes, on a bee-line," said le Bourdon, as the straight
form of the old savage disappeared at length, behind a thicket of
trees. "On a bee-line for the St. Joseph's river, where he will
shortly be, among friends and neighbors, I do not doubt. What,
Chippewa! are you in motion too?"

"Must go, now," returned Pigeonswing, in a friendly way. "Bye'm by
come back and eat more honey-bring sweet news, hope-no Canada here,"
placing a finger on his heart-"all Yankee."