"Good; I swear it! My mother shall have the great medicine of Prairie-Flower."
"My son will bring it to me at the tree of the bear, near the great lodge of the Palefaces, two hours after sunset. I will await him there, and give him my final instructions."
"Red Wolf will be there."
"Till then, my son will carefully watch every movement of the Grizzly Bear; if he learns anything new, which appears to him important, my son will form on this very spot a pyramid of seven buffalo heads, and come back two hours after to wait for me. I shall have understood his signal, and will reply to his summons."
"Oche, my mother is powerful; it shall be done as she desires."
"My son has quite understood?"
"The words of my mother have fallen on the ears of a chief; his mind has received them."
"The sky on the horizon is covered with red bands, the sun will soon appear: let my brother return to his tribe; he must not arouse the suspicions of his enemy by his absence."
"I go; but before leaving my mother, whose wisdom has discovered all the schemes of the Palefaces, has she not made a great medicine to know if our enterprise will succeed, and if we shall conquer our enemy?"
At this moment a loud noise was heard in the canebrake, and a shrill whistle traversed the air; the Indian's horse laid hack its ears, made violent efforts to break the rope that fastened it, and trembled all over. The woman seized the chiefs arm firmly, and said in a gloomy voice,—
"Let my brother look!"
Red Wolf stifled a cry of surprise, and gazed, motionless and terrified, at the strange sight before him. A few paces off, a tiger cat and a rattlesnake were preparing for a contest. Their metallic eyeballs flashed, and seemed to emit flames. The tiger cat, crouching on a branch, with hair erect, was meowing and spitting, while closely following every move of its dangerous enemy, and awaiting the moment to attack it advantageously. The Crotalus, coiled up, and forming an enormous spiral, with its hideous head thrown back, whistled, as it balanced itself to the right and left, with a movement full of suppleness and grace, apparently trying to fascinate its enemy. But the latter did not allow it a long rest; it suddenly bounded on the serpent, which, however, moved nimbly on one side, and when the cat, after missing its leap, returned to the charge, gave it a fearful sting on the face.
The tiger cat uttered a yell of rage, and buried its long and sharp claws in the eyes of the serpent, which, however, wound round its enemy with a convulsive movement. Then the two rolled on the ground, hissing and howling, but unable to loose their hold. The struggle was long; they fought with extraordinary fury; but at length, the rings of the snake became unloosened, and its flaccid body lay motionless on the ground. The tiger cat escaped, with a meow of triumph, from the monster's terrible embrace, and bounded on a tree; but its strength was unequal to its will, and it could not reach the branch on which it wished to climb, but fell back exhausted on the ground. Then the ferocious animal, struggling with death and overcoming its agony, crouched back to the body of its enemy, and stood upon it. It then uttered a final yell of triumph, and fell, itself a corpse, by the side of the snake. The Indian had followed all the moving incidents of this cruel contest with ever-increasing interest.
"Well," he asked the unknown, "what does my mother say?"
She shook her head.
"Our triumph will cost us our life," she replied.
"What matters," the Red Wolf said, "so long as we conquer our enemies?"
And, drawing his knife, he began skinning the catamount. The woman looked at his operations for a while; then making him a parting sign, she re-entered the canebrake, where she was speedily lost to view. An hour later, the Indian chief, laden with the cat's head and the snake's skin, started off toward his village at full gallop. An ironical smile played around his lips; he needed no excuse to explain his absence, for the spoils he brought with him proved that he had spent the night in hunting.
Now that the exigencies of our story compel us to enter into closer relations with the Prairie Indians, we will introduce to the reader the primitive population of that territory, generally called Blackfoot Indians. The Blackfeet formed, at the period when this history occurred, a powerful nation, divided into three tribes, speaking the same language. First, the tribe of the Siksekai, or Blackfeet proper; next, the Kenhas, or Blood Indians; and lastly, the Piékanns. This nation, when the three tribes were united, could bring under arms nearly eight thousand warriors, which enables us to estimate the population at twenty-five thousand souls. But, at the present day, smallpox has decimated these Indians, and reduced them to a very much smaller number. The Blackfeet traverse the prairies adjoining the Rocky Mountains, sometimes even scaling those mountains between the three forks of the Missouri, called Gallatin, Jefferson, and Madison rivers. The Piékanns, however, go as far as Marine river, to trade with the American Fur Company; they also barter with the Hudson's Bay Society, and even with the Mexicans of Santa Fé. This nation, continually at war with the whites, whom they attack whenever they have the chance, are very little known, but greatly feared, especially for their skill in stealing horses, and, more than that, for their notorious cruelty and bad faith. As we have to deal principally with the Kenhas, we will occupy ourselves more particularly with that tribe. The following is the origin of the name "Blood Indians," given to the Kenhas:—
Before the Blackfeet were divided, they happened one day to be encamped a short distance from seven or eight tents of the Sassi Indians. A quarrel arose between them about a woman carried off by the Sassis, in spite of the opposition of the Piékanns, and the Kenhas resolved to kill all their neighbours, a project which they carried out with extraordinary ferocity and cruelty. In the middle of the night they attacked the tents of the Sassis, and massacred them all during their sleep, without sparing even women, children, or old men; they scalped their victims, and regained their tents, after daubing their faces and hands with blood.
The Piékanns reproached them for this act of barbarity; a quarrel ensued, which speedily degenerated into a combat, in consequence of which the three Blackfoot tribes separated. The Kenhas then received the name of Blood Indians, which they still retain, and feel a pride in it, saying that no one insults them with impunity. The Kenhas are the most active and indomitable of the Blackfeet: they have always displayed more sanguinary and rapacious instincts than the other members of their nation, especially than the Piékanns, who are justly regarded as comparatively gentle and humane.
As the three Blackfoot tribes generally live far apart, Natah Otann must have acted with great skill, and displayed great patience, ere he succeeded in making them join, and consent to march under the same banner. At every moment he was constrained to employ all the resources suggested by his fertile mind, and evince great diplomacy, in order to prevent a rupture, which was always imminent between these men, whom no tie attached, and whose pride revolted at the least appearance of humiliation.
After the events which occurred at the pioneer's camp, Natah Otann resolved to lead the Count de Beaulieu and his comrades to the chief summer village of the Kenhas, situated at no great distance from Fort Mackenzie, one of the principal depôts of the American Fur Company. The Kenhas had constructed this village only a year previously, and their vicinity at first alarmed the Americans; but the conduct of the Indians had ever been so loyal—apparently, at least, in their transactions with the white men—that the latter, at length, did not trouble themselves about their Redskin neighbours, except to buy their furs, sell them whisky, and visit their village when they wanted some amusement.
After selling Black an immense territory for a dollar, Natah Otann reminded the young man of his promise to visit his tribe, and the Count, though secretly vexed at the obligation he Was under of accepting an invitation which bore a great likeness to a command, still yielded, and followed the chief, after bidding farewell to the pioneers. Black, with his hand resting on the trigger of his rifle, looked after the Kenha horsemen, who, according to their custom, galloped across the prairie, when a rider turned back, and came up to the American's camp. The pioneer recognised, with some surprise, Bright-eye, who stopped before him.
"Have you forgotten anything?" the pioneer asked him.
"Yes," the hunter answered.
"What?"
"To say a word to you."
"Ah!" the other said, in surprise. "Go ahead, then."
"I have no time to lose; answer me as plainly as I question you."
"Very good! speak."
"Are you grateful for what the Count has done for you?"
"More than I can express."
"In case of need, what would you do for him?"
"Everything."
"Hum! that is a heavy pledge."
"It is even less than I would do; my family, my servants, all I possess, are at his disposal."
"Then you are devoted to him?"
"For life and death! Under any circumstances, by day or night; whatever may happen, at a word from him I am ready."
"You swear it?"
"I swear it."
"I hold your promise."
"I will keep it."
"I expect so. Good bye."
"Are you off already?"
"I must rejoin my companions."
"Then you have some suspicions about your Red friend?"
"You must always be on your guard with Indians," the hunter said, sententiously.
"Then you are taking a precaution?"
"Perhaps."
"In any event, count on me."
"Thanks, and good bye."
"Good bye."
The two men parted; they understood each other.
"By heaven!" the pioneer muttered, as he threw his rifle over his shoulder, and returned to the camp; "I would not be the Indian to touch a hair of the head of a man to whom I owe so much."
The Indians had stopped on the bank of a stream, which they were about to ford, when Bright-eye rejoined them. Natah Otann, busy talking with the Count, threw a side glance at the hunter, but did not say a word to him.
"Yes," the latter muttered, with a crafty smile, "my absence has bothered you, my fine fellow; you would like to know why I turned back so suddenly; but, unluckily, I am not disposed to satisfy your curiosity."
When the ford was crossed, the Canadian took his post by the Frenchman's side, and, by his presence, prevented the Indian chief renewing his conversation with the Count. An hour passed, and not a word was exchanged. Natah Otann, wearied with the hunter's obstinacy, and not knowing how to make him retire, resolved at last to give up to him: and, digging his spurs into his horse's flank, galloped forward, leaving the two white men together. The hunter watched him depart, with that caustic laugh which was one of the characteristics of his face.
"Poor horse!" he said, sarcastically, "he must suffer for his master's ill temper."
"What ill temper do you mean?" the Count said, absently.
"Why, the chief's, who is flying along over there in a cloud of dust."
"You do not seem to have any sympathy for each other."
"Indeed, we are as friendly as the grizzly bear and the jaguar."
"Which means?—"
"That we have measured our claws; and, as we find them at present of the same strength and length, so we stand on the defensive."
"Do you feel any malice against him?"
"I? not the least in the world. I do not fear him more than he does me; we are only distrustful because we know each other."
"Oh, oh!" the young man said, with a laugh; "that conceals, I can see, something serious."
Bright-eye frowned, and took a scrutinizing glance around. The Indians were galloping on about twenty paces in the rear; Ivon alone, though keeping at a respectful distance, could hear the conversation between the two men. Bright-eye leant over to the Count, laid his hand on the pommel of his saddle, and said, in a low voice—"I do not like tigers covered with a fox's skin; each ought to follow the instincts of his nature, and not try to assume others that are fictitious."
"I must confess, my good fellow," the young man replied, "that you are speaking in enigmas, and I cannot understand you at all."
"Patience!" the hunter said, tossing his head; "I will be clear."
"My faith! that will delight me, Bright-eye," the young man said, with a smile; "for ever since we have again met the Indian chief, you have affected an air of mystery, which bothers me so, that I should be charmed to comprehend you for once."
"Good! What do you think of Natah Otann
"Ah! that is where you are galled still!"
"Yes."
"Well, I will reply that this man appears to me extraordinary; there is something strange about him, which I cannot understand. In the first place, is he an Indian?"
"Yes."
"But he has travelled; he has been in white society; he has been in the interior of the United States?"
The hunter shook his head. "No," he said, "he has never left his tribe."
"Yet—"
"Yet," Bright-eye quickly interrupted him, "he speaks English, French and Spanish, as well as yourself, and perhaps better than I do, eh? Before his warriors he feigns profound ignorance; like them, he trembles at the sight of one of the results of civilization—a watch, a musical box, or even a lucifer match, eh?"
"It is true."
"Then, when he finds himself with certain persons, like yourself, for instance, sir, the Indian suddenly disappears, the savage vanishes, and you find yourself in the presence of a man whose acquirements are almost equal to your own, and who confounds you by his thorough knowledge."
"That is true."
"Ah, ah! Well, as you consider that extraordinary as I do, you will take your precautions, Mr. Edward."
"What have I to fear from him?"
"I do not know yet; but be at your ease; I shall soon know. He is sharp, but I am not such a fool as he fancies, and am watching him. For a long time this man has been playing a game, about which I have hitherto troubled myself but little; now that he has drawn us into it, he must be on his guard."
"But where did he learn all he knows?"
"Ah! that is a story too long to tell you at present; but you shall hear it someday; suffice it to say, that in his tribe there is an old chief called the White Buffalo; he is a European, and he it was who educated the Grizzly Bear."
"Ah!"
"Is not that singular! a European of immense learning; a man who, in his own country, must have held a high rank, and who thus becomes, of his own accord, chief of the savages?"
"Indeed, it is most extraordinary. Do you know this man?"
"I have often seen him; he is very aged now; his beard and hair are white; he is tall and majestic; his face is fine, his look profound; there is something about him grand and imposing, which attracts you against your will. Grizzly Bear holds him in great veneration, and obeys him as if he were his son."
"Who can this man be?"
"No one knows. I am convinced that the Grizzly Bear shares the general ignorance on this head."
"But how did he join the tribe?"
"It is not known."
"He must have been long with it."
"I told you so; he educated the Grizzly Bear, and made a European of him instead of an Indian."
"All that is really strange," the Count murmured, having suddenly grown pensive.
"Is it not so? But that is not all yet; you are entering a world you do not know, accident throws you among interests you are unacquainted with; take care; weigh well your words, calculate your slightest gesture, Mr. Edward; for the Indians are very clever; the man you have to deal with is cleverer than all of them, as he combines with Redskin craft that European intelligence and corruption with which his teacher has inculcated him. Natah Otann is a man with an incalculable depth of calculation; his thoughts are an abyss; he must be revolving sinister schemes; take care; his pressing you to promise a visit to his village; his generosity to the American squatter, the secret protection with which he surrounds you, while being the first to pretend to take you for a superior being; all this makes me believe that he wishes to lead you unconsciously into some dark enterprise, which will prove your destruction. Believe me, Mr. Edward, beware of this man."
"Thanks, my friend, I will watch," the Count said, pressing the Canadian's honest hand.
"You will watch," the latter said; "but do you know the way to do it?"
"I confess—"
"Listen to me," the hunter interrupted him; "you must first—"
"Here is the chief," the young man exclaimed.
"Confusion!" Bright-eye growled. "Why could he not stop a few minutes longer? I am sure that red devil has some familiar spirit to warn him; but no matter, I have told you enough to prevent your being trapped by false friendliness; besides, I shall be there to support you."
"Thanks. When the time comes—"
"I will warn you; but it is urgent that you should now compose your countenance, and pretend to know nothing."
"Good; that's settled; here is our man. Silence."
"On the contrary, let us talk; silence is ever interpreted either well or ill, but generally in the latter sense. Be careful to reply in the sense of my questions."
"I will try."
"Here is our man. Let us cheat the cheater."
After casting a cunning glance at the chief, who was only a few paces off at the moment, he continued aloud, and changing his tone,—
"What you ask, Mr. Edward, is most simple. I am certain that the chief will be happy to procure you that pleasure."
"Do you think so?" the young man asked, not knowing what the hunter was alluding to.
Bright-eye turned to Natah Otann, who arrived at the moment, and rode silently by their side, though he had heard the two men's last remarks.
"My companion," he said to the chief, "has heard a great deal of, and longs to see, a caribou hunt. I have offered him in your name, chief, one of those magnificent battues, of which you Redskins have reserved the scent."
"Natah Otann will be happy to satisfy his guest," the sachem replied, bowing with Indian gravity.
The Count thanked him.
"We are approaching the village of my tribe," the chief continued; "we shall be there in an hour; the Palefaces will see how I receive my friends."
The Blackfeet, who had hitherto galloped without order, gradually grew together, and formed a compact squadron round their chief. The little party continued to advance, approaching more and more the Missouri, which rolled on majestically between two high banks, covered with osier beds, whence, on the approach of the horsemen, startled flocks of pink flamingoes rose in alarm. On reaching a spot where the path formed a bend, the Indians stopped, and prepared their weapons as if for a fight; some taking their guns out of their leathern cases, and loading them; others preparing their bows and javelins.
"Are the fellows afraid of an attack?" the Count asked Bright-eye.
"Not the least in the world," the latter answered; "they are only a few minutes' ride from their village, into which they wish to enter in triumph, in order to do you honour."
"Come, come!" the young man said; "all this is charming; I did not expect, on coming to the prairies, to be present at such singular scenes."
"You have seen nothing yet," the hunter said, ironically: "wait, we are only at the beginning."
"All the better," the Count answered, joyfully.
Natah Otann made a sign, and the warriors closed up again at the same moment; although no one was visible, a noise of conchs, drums, and chichikouès was heard a short distance off. The warriors uttered their war yell, and replied by raising to their lips their war whistles. Natah Otann then placed himself at the head of the party, having the Count on his right, the hunter and Ivon on his left; and, turning towards his men, he brandished his weapon several times over his head, uttering two or three shrill whistles. At this signal the whole troop rushed forward, and turned the corner like an avalanche.
The Frenchman then witnessed a strange scene, which was not without a certain amount of savage grandeur, A troop of warriors from the village came up, like a tornado, to meet the newcomers, shouting, howling, brandishing their arms, and firing their guns. The two parties charged each other with extraordinary fury and at full speed; but when scarce ten yards apart, the horses stopped, as if of their own impulse, and began dancing, curvetting, and performing all the most difficult tricks of the riding school. After these manoeuvres had lasted a few moments, the two bands formed a semicircle opposite each other, leaving a free space between them, in which the chiefs collected. The presentations then began. Natah Otann made a long harangue to the chiefs, in which he gave them an account of his expedition, and the result he had obtained. The sachems listened to it with thorough Indian decorum. When he spoke to them of his meeting with the white men, and what had occurred, they bowed silently, without replying; but one chief, of venerable aspect, who seemed older than the rest, and appeared to be treated with great consideration by his companions, turned a profound and inquiring glance at the Count, when Natah Otann spoke of him. The young man, troubled, in spite of himself, by the fixed glance, stooped down to Bright-eye's ear, and asked him, in a low voice, who the man was.
"That is White Buffalo," the hunter answered, "the European I spoke to you about."
"Ah, ah!" the Count said, regarding him, in his turn, attentively; "I do not know why, but I believe I shall have a serious row with that gentleman before I have done."
The White Buffalo then took the word.
"My brothers are welcome," he said; "their return to the tribe is a festival; they are intrepid warriors; we are happy at hearing the way in which they have performed the duties entrusted to them." Then he turned to the white men, and, after bowing to them, continued,—"The Kenhas are poor, but strangers are always well received by them: the Palefaces are our guests, all we possess belongs to them."
The Count and his companions thanked the chief, who so gracefully did the honours of his tribe; then the two parties joined, and galloped toward the village, which was built some five hundred paces from the spot where they were, and at the entrance of which a multitude of women and children could be seen assembled.
Like all the centres of Indian population near the American clearings, the Kenha village was more like a fort than an open town. As we said before, the Kenhas had only a short time previously established themselves there, by the advice of Natah Otann. The spot was magnificently selected, and owing to the precautions taken, the hill was completely protected from a sudden attack. The wigwams were built without any order, on both sides a stream, and the fortifications consisted of a sort of intrenchment formed of dead trees. These fortifications formed an inclosure, having several angles, and the gorge or open part rested on the spot where the stream fell into the Missouri. A parapet of tree stems and piled up branches, built up on the edge of a deep ditch, completed a very respectable defensive system, which few would have expected to find in the heart of the prairies.
In the centre of the village, a wide, vacant spot served as the meeting place for the chiefs. In the centre there was a wigwam of wood, in the shape of a sugar loaf. On either side of the building, maize, wheat, and other cereals kept for winter consumption were drying. A little in advance of the village were two block houses, formed of arrow-shaped intrenchments, covered with wickerwork, provided with loopholes, and surrounded by an enclosure of palisades. They were intended for the defence of the village, with which they communicated by a covered way, and to command the river and the plain. To leeward of these block houses, and about a mile to the east, might be seen a number ofMachotlé, or scaffoldings, on which the Blood Indians lay their dead. At regular distances on the road leading to the village, long poles were planted in the ground, from which hung skins, scalps, and other objects offered by the Indians to the Master of Life and the first man.
The Indians made their entrance into the village amid the cheers of the women and children, the barking of dogs, and the deafening clamour of drums, shells, chichikouès, and war whistles. On reaching the square, at a signal from Natah Otann, the band halted, and the noise ceased. An immense fire had been prepared, before which stood an aged chief, still robust and upright. A shade of melancholy was spread over his face. He was in mourning, as was easily to be seen by the ragged clothes that covered him, and his hair cut short and mingled with clay. He held in his hand a Dacotah pipe, the stem of which was long and adorned with yellow glistening beads. This man was Cloven Foot, the first and most renowned sachem of the Kenhas. So soon as the band had halted, he advanced two paces, and with a majestic gesture invited the chiefs to dismount.
"My sons are at home," he said, "let them take their seats on the buffalo robes around the council fire."
Each obeyed silently, and sat down, after bowing respectfully to the sachem. Cloven Foot then allowed each to take a few puffs from his pipe, still holding it in his hand. When it was returned to him, he emptied the burning ash into the fire, and turning with a kind of smile to the strangers, said:—
"The Palefaces are our guests. There are fire and water here."
After these words, which ended the ceremony, all rose and retired without uttering a word, according to the Indian custom. Natah Otann then went up to the Count.
"Let my brother follow me," he said.
"Where to?" the young man asked.
"To the cabin I have had prepared for him."
"And my companions?"
"Other wigwams await them."
Bright-eye made a sign, immediately checked by the Count.
"Pardon, chief," he said, "but with your permission my comrades will live with me."
The hunter smiled, as a shade of dissatisfaction crossed the Indian's face.
"The young Pale chief will be uncomfortable, for he is accustomed to the immense huts of the whites."
"That is possible; but I shall be more uncomfortable if my comrades do not remain with me, in order to keep me company."
"The hospitality of the Kenhas is great. They are rich, and could give each a private cabin, even if their guests were more numerous."
"I am convinced of it, and thank them for their attention, by which, however, I decline to profit. Solitude frightens me. I should be worried to death had I not with me someone to talk with."
"Be it then as the young Pale chief desires. Guests have a right to command. Their requests are orders."
"I thank you for your condescension, and am ready to follow you."
"Come."
With that rapidity of resolution which the Indians possess in so eminent a degree, Natah Otann shut up his vexation in his heart, and not a trace of emotion again appeared on his stoical countenance. The three men followed him, after exchanging a meaning glance. A handsome, lofty cabin had been built in the square itself, near the hut of the first man, a species of cylinder formed in the earth, and surrounded with creeping plants. To this cabin the chief now led his guests. A woman was standing silently in the doorway, fixing on the newcomers a glance in which admiration and astonishment were blended. But was it a woman? this angelic creature, with her vague outline, whose delicious face, blushing with modesty and simple curiosity, turned towards the Count with anxious timidity. The young man asked himself this very question on contemplating this charming apparition, which resembled one of those divine virgins in the mythology of the ancient Sclavons. On seeing her, Natah Otann paused.
"What is my sister doing here?" he asked her, roughly.
The girl, startled from her silent contemplation by this brusque address, shuddered, and let her eyes fall.
"Prairie-Flower wishes to welcome her adopted father," she replied gently, in a sweet melodious voice.
"Prairie-Flower's place is not here, I will speak with her presently: let her go and rejoin her companions, the young maidens of the tribe."
Prairie-Flower blushed still deeper, her rosy lips pouted, and after shaking her head petulantly twice, she flew away like a bird, casting at the Count, as she fled, a parting glance, which caused him an incomprehensible emotion.
The young man laid his hand on his heart, to suppress its beating, and followed the girl with his eyes till she disappeared behind a cabin.
"Oh!" the chief muttered aside, "can she have suddenly recognized a being of that accursed race to which she belongs?"
Then turning to the white men, whose eyes he felt instinctively were fixed on him,—
"Enter," he said, raising the buffalo skin, which served as a door to the cabin.
They went in. By Natah Otann's care the cabin had been cleaned, and every comfort it was possible to find placed in it, that is to say—piles of furs to serve as a bed, a rickety table, some wooden clumsy benches, and a species of reed easy chair, with a large back.
"The Paleface will excuse the poor Indians if they have not done more to welcome him as he deserves," the chief said, with a mixture of irony and humility.
"It is all famous," the young man answered with a smile; "I certainly did not expect so much; besides, I have been on the prairie long enough to satisfy myself with what is strictly necessary."
"Now I ask the Pale chiefs permission to retire."
"Yes, go, my worthy host; do so: do not put yourself out of the way. Attend to your business. For my part I intend taking that rest I need so sadly."
Natah Otann bowed in reply, and withdrew. So soon as he was gone, Bright-eye made his comrades a sign to remain motionless, and began inspecting the place, peering into every corner. When he had ended this inspection, which produced no farther result than proving to him they were really alone, and that no spy was on the watch, he returned to the centre of the hut, and calling the Count and Ivon toward him, said in a low voice:—
"Listen: we are now in the wolfs throat by our own fault, and we must be prudent; in the prairies the leaves have eyes and the trees ears. Natah Otann is a demon, who is planning some treachery, of which he intends to make us the victims."
"Bah!" the Count said, lightly. "How do you know it, Bright-eye?"
"I do not know it, yet I feel sure of it; my instinct never deceives me, Mr. Edward. I have known the Kenhas a long time; we must get out of this as adroitly as we can."
"Eh! what use are such suspicions, my friend? The poor devils, I am convinced, only think of treating us properly; all this appears to me admirable."
The Canadian shook his head.
"I should like to know the cause of the strange respect the Indians pay you; that conceals something, I repeat."
"Bah! they are afraid of me; that's all."
"Hum! Natah Otann does not fear much in this world."
"Why, Bright-eye, I never saw you in this state before. Did I not know you so thoroughly, I should say you were afraid."
"Hang me! if I'll try to conceal it," the hunter replied, quickly. "I am afraid, and terribly so."
"You?"
"Yes; but not for myself; you know that during the time I have journeyed on the prairies, if the Redskins could have killed me, they would have done so. Hence, I am perfectly calm on my own account, and were there only myself—"
"Well?"
"I should not be at all embarrassed."
"Whom are you afraid for, then?"
"For you."
"Me!" the Count exclaimed, as he reclined carelessly in the easy chair. "You do these scamps a deal of honour. With my whip I would put all these hideous people to flight."
The hunter shook his head.
"You will not, Mr. Edward, persuade yourself thoroughly of one thing."
"What?"
"That the Indians are different men from the Europeans with whom you have hitherto had dealings."
"Nonsense, were a man to listen to you wood rangers, he would be, at every two steps, in danger of death, and it would be impossible to move, except by crawling on all fours, like the wild beasts; that is all trash, my good fellow. I fancy I have already twenty times proved to you that such precautions are useless, and that a man, who boldly meets danger, will always get the best of the most warlike Redskins."
"It is exactly the reason that makes them act toward you in that way, I wish to discover."
"You would do better to try and discover something else."
"What is it?"
"Who that charming girl is, of whom I only had a glance, and whom the chief sent away so brutally."
"Good! then I suppose you have fallen in love now; that's the last thing wanting."
"Why not? She is a charming girl."
"Yes; she is charming, sir; but, believe me, do not trouble yourself about her."
"And why so, if you please?"
"Because she is not what she seems to be."
"Why, it's a perfect romance of the Anne Radcliffe school; we have been advancing from mystery to mystery during the last few days."
"Yes, and the further we go, the more gloomy matters will become around us."
"Bah, bah! I do not believe a word. Ivon, take off my boots."
The man-servant obeyed. Since his entry into the village, the worthy Breton had been in one continued trance, and trembled in all his limbs. All he saw seemed to him so extraordinary and horrible, that he expected every moment to be massacred.
"Well," the Count asked him, "what do you think of it all, Ivon?"
"Your lordship knows that I am a great coward," the Breton stammered.
"Yes, yes, that is agreed; go on."
"I am terribly afraid."
"Naturally."
"And if your lordship will allow me, I will carry my furs over there, and sleep across the doorway."
"Why so?"
"Because, as I am very frightened, I shall not sleep soundly; and if anyone comes in the night, with ill intentions, he will be obliged to step over me; I shall hear him, and, in that way, be able to warn you, which will give you time to defend yourself."
The young man threw himself back, and burst into a Homeric laugh, in which Bright-eye joined, in spite of his thoughtfulness.
"By Jove!" the Count exclaimed, looking at his servant, who was in amazement at this gaiety, which seemed to him unsuitable at so grave a moment—"I must confess, Ivon, that you are the most extraordinary poltroon I ever saw."
"Ah, sir," he answered with contrition, "it is not my fault; for I do all I can to gain courage, but it is impossible."
"Good, good!" the young man went on, still laughing. "I am not angry with you, my poor fellow; as it is stronger than yourself, you must put up with it."
"Alas!" the Breton said, uttering an enormous sigh.
"Well, you can sleep how and where you like, Ivon; I leave it entirely to you."
The Breton, without further reply, began transferring the furs to the place he had selected, while the Count went on talking with the hunter.
"As for you, Bright-eye," he said, "I leave you at liberty to watch over our safety as you may think proper, promising not to disarrange your plans in any way, and even to promote them, if necessary—but on one condition."
"What?"
"That you will arrange so that I may meet again that charming creature, of whom I have already spoken to you."
"Take care, Mr. Edward!"
"I want to see her again, I tell you, even if I am obliged to go and look for her myself."
"You will not do so, Mr. Edward."
"I will do so, on my soul! and at once, if you continue in that tone."
"You will reflect."
"I now reflect, and find it the best plan."
"But do you know who that girl is?"
"By Jove! you have just said it; she is a girl, and a charming one in the bargain."
"Granted; but I repeat, she is loved by Natah Otann."
"What do I care?"
"Take care!"
"I will not: I must see her again."
"At any risk?"
"At all."
"Well, listen to me, then."
"I will, but be brief."
"I will tell you this girl's history."
"You know her then?"
"I do."
"Go on; I am all attention."
Bright-eye drew up a bench, eat down with an air of dissatisfaction, and, after a moment's reflection, began.
"Just fifteen years ago, Natah Otann, who was hardly twenty years of age, but already a renowned warrior, left his tribe, at the head of some fifty picked warriors, to attempt acoup de mainon the Whites. At that period, the Kenhas did not live where they now are; the Fur Company had not advanced so far on the Missouri, and Fort Mackenzie did not exist. The Blood Indians hunted freely on the vast territories from which the Americans have since expelled them. Up to that moment, Natah Otann had never been the commander in chief of an expedition; like all young men of his age and circumstances, his brow shone with pride; he burned to distinguish himself, and prove to the sachems of his nation that he was worthy to command brave warriors. So soon as he entered on the war trail, he scattered his spies in every direction, and even forbade his men smoking, lest the light of their pipes might betray his presence. In short, he took, with extreme wisdom, all the precautions employed in similar cases. His expedition was brilliant; he surprised several caravans, and plundered and burned the clearings; his men returned laden with booty, and the bits of their horses garnished with scalps. Natah Otann only brought back, as his share, a weak creature of two or three years of age at the most, whom he bore tenderly in his arms, or laid on the front of his saddle. That child was the tall and lovely girl you saw today."
"Ah! Is she white or red, American or Spanish?"
"No one knows; no one will ever know. You are aware that many Indians are born white, thus colour is of no avail in finding her relations again. In short, the chief adopted her; but, strange to say, as she grew up, she gained such an ascendency over Natah Otann's mind, that the chief of the tribe grew alarmed; besides, the life led by Prairie-Flower—that is her name—"
"I knew it," the Count interrupted him.
"Good," the hunter continued, "I say, then, that this girl's life is extraordinary; instead of being sportive and laughing, like girls of her age, she is gloomy, dreamy, and wild, wandering ever alone on the prairie, flying over the dew-laden grass like a gazelle; or else, at night, dreaming in the moonlight, and muttering words no one hears. At times, from a distance (for no one ventures to approach her), another shadow may be traced by the side of her's, and moving for hours at her side: then she returns alone to the village; if questioned, only shakes her head, and begins crying."
"That is really strange."
"Is it not? so much so, that the chiefs assembled in council, and agreed that Prairie-Flower had cast a charm over her adopted father."
"The asses!" the Count muttered.
"Perhaps so," the hunter went on, turning his head; "at any rate, they agreed that she should be left alone to perish in the desert."
"Poor child! Well, what happened then?"
"Natah Otann and White Buffalo, who were not summoned to the council, went there on learning this decision, and succeeded by their deceitful words in so thoroughly altering the chiefs' sentiments, that they not only gave up all idea of deserting her, but she has since been regarded as the tutelary genius of the tribe."
"And Natah Otann?"
"His condition is still the same."
"Is that all?"
"It is."
"Well, then, Bright-eye, within two days I shall know whether that girl is the enchantress you fancy her, and what I am to think on the subject."
The hunter only answered by an unintelligible grunt, and, saying no more, lay down on his furs.
So soon as Natah Otann emerged from the cabin into which he had conducted the Count, he proceeded towards the hut inhabited by White Buffalo. The night was beginning to fall; the Kenhas, collected round fires kindled at the door of each wigwam, were conversing gaily while smoking their long calumets. The chief replied by a nod of the head, as a friendly sign to the affectionate salutations the warriors made him whom he met; but he did not stop to talk with anyone, and continued his walk with greater rapidity as the darkness grew denser. He at length reached a cabin, situated at the extremity of the village, on the banks of the Missouri. The chief, after taking a scrutinizing glance around, stopped before this hut, and prepared to enter. Still in the act of raising the buffalo curtain that served as a doorway, he hesitated for a few seconds, and appeared to be collecting his courage.
This dwelling, externally, had nothing to distinguish it from the others forming the village; it was round, with a roof shaped like a beehive, made of intertwined branches, with clay stuffed between them, and covered with matting. Still, after a moment's reflection, Natah Otann raised the curtain, walked in, and stopped at the threshold, saying in French—
"Good evening, my father."
"Good evening, child, I was awaiting you impatiently: come, sit down by my side, we have to talk."
These words were uttered in the same language, and in a gentle voice.
Natah Otann took a few steps forward, and let the curtain fall behind him. If, externally, the hut the Chief had just entered was not distinguished from the others, that was not the case with the interior. All that human industry can imagine, when reduced to its simplest expressions, that is to say, when deprived of tools and matters of primary necessity to express its thoughts, had been as it were invented by the master of this house. Hence the interior of this hut was a sort of strange pandemonium, in which were collected the most discordant articles, apparently least suited to be side by side. Differing from the other wigwams, this cabin had two windows, in which oiled paper was substituted for glass; in one corner was a bed, in the centre a table, a few scattered chairs, and armchair by the table, but all these articles carved with an axe, and clumsily. Such was the furniture of this singular room.
On shelves, some forty volumes, for the most part out of their binding; stuffed animals hanging by cords, insects, &c.; in a word, an infinite number of things without name, but classified, arranged, and labelled, completed this singular abode, which more resembled the cell of an anchorite, or the secret den of a mediaeval alchemist, than the abode of an Indian chief; and yet this hut belonged to White Buffalo, one of the first Kenha chiefs. But, as we have said, this chief was a European, and had, doubtlessly, kept up some reminiscences of his past life, the last rays of a lost existence.
At the moment when Natah Otann entered the hut, White Buffalo, seated in the easy chair at the table, with his head resting on his hands, was reading by the light of a lamp, whose smoky wick only spread a flickering and uncertain light around, from a large folio, with yellow and worn leaves. He raised his head, took off his spectacles, which he placed in the book, and, turning the chair half round, the old man smiled, and, pointing to a chair in a kindly way, said—
"Come, my child, sit down there."
The Chief took a chair, drew it to the table, and sat down, without any reply. The old man looked at him attentively for a few moments, and then said:—
"Hem! you appear to me very thoughtful for a man who, as I suppose, has just obtained a grand result so long expected. What can render you so gloomy? Would you hesitate, now you are on the point of success? or are you beginning to understand that the work which, in spite of me, you wished to undertake, is beyond the strength of a man left to himself, and who has only an old man to support him?"
"Perhaps so," the Chief answered, in a hollow voice. "Oh why, my father, did you let me taste the bitter fruit of that accursed civilization, which was not made for me? Why have your lessons made of me a man differing from those who surround me, and with whom I am compelled to live and die?"
"Blind man! when I showed you the sun, you allowed yourself to be dazzled by the beams; your weak eyes could not endure the light; in the place of that ignorance and brutalization in which you would have vegetated all the days of your life, I developed in you the only feeling which elevates man above the brute. I taught you to think, to judge, and this is the way in which you recompense me. This is the reward you give me for the pains I have taken, and the cares I have never ceased to bestow on you."
"My father!"
"Do not attempt to exculpate yourself, child," the old man said, with a shade of bitterness. "I should have expected what now happens, ingratitude and egotism are deposited in man's heart by Providence, as his safeguard. Without those two supreme virtues of humanity, no society would be possible. I am not angry with you; I have no right to be so; and, as the sage says, you are a man, and no human feeling must be alien to you."
"I make neither plaint nor recrimination, my father; I know that you have acted towards me with good intentions," the Chief replied, "but, unfortunately, your lessons have produced a very different result from what you awaited: in developing my ideas, you have, without your knowledge or mine, increased my wants; the life I lead preys upon me: the men who surround me are a burden to me, because they cannot understand me, and I can no longer understand them. As respects myself, my mind rushes towards an unknown horizon. I dream wide awake of strange and impossible things. I suffer from an incurable malady, and cannot define it. I hopelessly love a woman, of whom I am jealous, and who can never be mine, save by a crime. Oh, my father, I am very wretched!"
"Child!" the old man exclaimed, shrugging his shoulders in pity. "What, you are unhappy! Your grief inclines me to laughter. Man has in himself the germ of good and evil; if you suffer, you have only yourself to blame. You are young, intelligent, powerful, the first of your nation: what do you want for happiness? Nothing. If you wish to be so permanently, stifle in your heart that insensate passion which devours it, and follow, without looking to the right or left, the glorious mission you have traced for yourself. What can be more noble or grander than the deliverance and regeneration of a people?"
"Alas! can I do it?"
"What! you doubt?" the old man shouted, striking the table with his fist and looking him in the face; "then you are lost: renounce your plans, you will not succeed; on a road like that you follow, hesitation or stoppage is ruin."
"Father!"
"Silence," he said, with redoubled energy, "and listen to me; when you first revealed your plans to me, I tried by all arguments possible to make you abandon them. I proved to you that your resolves were premature. That the Indians, brutalized by a lengthened slavery, were only the shadow of their former selves; and that to attempt to arouse in them any noble or generous feeling was like galvanizing a corpse. You resisted; you would hear nothing; you went Headlong into intrigues and plots of every description—is it not so?"
"It is true."
"Well! now it is too late to return; you must go on at all risks. You may fall, but you will do so with honour; and your name, cherished by all, will swell the martyrology of the chosen men who have devoted themselves to their country."
"Things are not yet sufficiently advanced, I think, for me——"
"Not to be able to withdraw—you mean?" he interrupted him.
"Yes."
"You are mistaken; while you were engaged in collecting your partisans, and preparing to take up arms, do you fancy I remained inactive?" "What do you mean?"
"I mean that your enemies suspect your plans; are watching you; and if you do not prevent them, will lay a trap, into, which you will fall."
"I?" the chief said, violently. "We shall see."
"Then redouble your activity; do not let yourself be taken unawares; and, above all, be prudent, for you are closely watched, I repeat."
"How do you know it?"
"That I know it, is sufficient, I imagine; trust to my prudence. I am on the watch. Let the spies and traitors fall asleep in a doubtful security; were we to unmask them, others would take their place, and we are better off with those we know; in that way none of their movements escape us, we know what they are doing and what they want, and while they flatter themselves with the idea of knowing our plans, and divulging them to their paymasters, we are their masters, and amuse them with false information, which conceals our real plans. Believe me, their confidence produces our security."
"You are always right, my father. I trust entirely to you. But may I not be permitted to know the names of the traitors?"
"For what end, since I know them? When the time arrives, I will tell you all."
"Be it so."
There was a lengthened silence; the two men, absorbed in thought, did not notice a grinning head over the curtain in the doorway, and which had for a long time been listening to their conversation. But the man, whoever he might be, who indulged in this espial, every now and then gave signs of ill temper and disappointment. In fact, while listening to the two chiefs, he had forgotten one thing, that he could not understand a word of what they said, for they spoke in French, and that was a sad disappointment to the spy. Still he did not despair, but continued to listen, in the hope that they might at any moment revert to his idiom.
"And now," the old man continued, "give me an account of your trip. When you went away, you were happy, and hoped, as you told me, to bring back with you the man you wanted to play the principal part in your conspiracy."
"Well, you saw him here today, my father. He is here. This evening he entered the village by my side."
"Oh! oh! explain that to me, my child," the old man said, with a gentle smile, and settling himself in the easy chair to listen at his ease. By an imperceptible movement, and while seeming to listen with the greatest attention, he drew towards him the heavy pistol that lay before him.
"Go on," he said; "I am listening."
"About six months ago, I do not know if I told you of it then, I succeeded in capturing a Canadian hunter, to whom I owe an old grudge."
"Wait a minute. I fancy I have a confused remembrance of it. A certain Bright-eye, I think, eh?"
"The very man. Well! I was furious with him, because he had mocked us so long, and killed my warriors with extraordinary skill. So soon as he was in my power I resolved he should die by violence."
"Although, as you know, I do not approve of that barbarous custom, you were in the right, and I cannot offer any opposition to it."
"He, too, made no objection; on the contrary, he derided us; in a word, he rendered us so mad with him, that I gave the order for the punishment. At the moment that he was about to die, a man, or rather a demon, appeared all at once, rushed among us, and careless as it seemed of the risk he ran, unfastened the prisoner."
"Hum! he was a brave man, do you know?"
"Yes, but his daring action would have cost him dear; when suddenly, at a signal from myself, all my warriors fell at his feet, with marks of the most profound respect."
"Oh! what are you telling me now?"
"The strictest truth: on looking this man in the face, I perceived on his face two extraordinary signs."
"What?"
"A scar over the right eyebrow, and a black mark under the eye, on the same side of the face."
"That is strange," the old man muttered, pensively.
"But what is still more so, this man exactly resembles the portrait which you drew, and which is in that book."
"What did you do then?"
"You know my coolness and rapidity of resolution. I let the man depart with the prisoner."
"Well! and afterwards?"
"I pretended as if I did not wish to meet him."
"Better and better still," the old man said, with a nod of his head, and with a movement swift as thought, he cocked the pistol he held in his hand, and fired. A cry of pain was heard from the door, and the head disappeared suddenly under the curtain. The two men jumped up, and rushed out, but saw nothing, except that a rather large pool of blood clearly indicated that the shot had told.
"What have you done, my father?" Natah Otann exclaimed, in astonishment.
"Nothing. I have merely given a lesson, rather a rough one, to one of those spies I mentioned to you just now."
And he went back coolly, and eat down again. Natah Otann wished to follow the bloody trail left by the fugitive, but the old man checked him.
"Stay! what I have done is sufficient; continue your story, which is deeply interesting. Still you can see you have no time to lose, if you wish to succeed."
"I will lose none, father, you may be assured," the Chief exclaimed, wrathfully, "but I swear that I will know the scoundrel."
"You would do wrong to seek him. Come, proceed with your narrative."
Natah Otann then described in full detail his meeting with the Count, and in what way he had made him consent to follow him to his village. This time no incident interrupted his story, and it seemed as if the lesson read by White Buffalo to the listener was sufficient for the present. The old man laughed heartily at the experiment with the matches, and the Count's surprise when he perceived that the man he had hitherto taken for a coarse and half-idiot savage was, on the contrary, a man endowed with an intellect and education at least equal to his own.
"And what shall I do now?" Natah Otann added, in conclusion. "He is here; but with him is Bright-eye, in whom he places the greatest confidence."
"Hum!" the old man answered, "all this is very serious. In the first place, my son, you did wrong to let him know you as you really are: you were much stronger than he, so long as he merely fancied you a stupid savage: you allowed your pride to carry you away through the desire to shine in the eyes of a European. It is a great fault, for now he doubts you, and keeps on his guard."
The young man looked down, and made no reply.
"However," the old man went on, "I will try to arrange matters; but I must first see this Bright-eye and have a talk with him."
"You will obtain nothing, my father; he is devoted to the Count."
"The greater reason, child. In which hut have you lodged them?"
"In the old council lodge."
"Good! they will be convenient there, and it will be easy to hear all they say."
"That is what I thought."
"Now, one last remark."
"What is it?"
"Why did you not kill the She-wolf of the Prairies?"
"I did not see her. I was not in the camp; but I would not have done so."
The old man laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Natah Otann, my son," he said to him, in a stern voice, "when a man like yourself is intrusted with the fortunes of a people, he must recoil before nothing. A dead enemy makes the living sleep quietly. The She-wolf of the Prairies is your enemy. You know it; and her influence is immense over the superstitious minds of the Redskins. Remember these words, uttered by an old, experienced man:—As you would not kill her, she will kill you."
Natah Otann smiled contemptuously.
"Oh!" he said, "a wretched, half-mad woman."
"Ah!" White Buffalo replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, "are you ignorant that a woman lurks behind every great event? They kill men of genius for futile interests, and paltry passions cause the finest and boldest prospects to fail."
"Yes; you are, perhaps, right," Natah Otann said; "but I feel I cannot stain my hands with that woman's blood."
"Scruples, poor child," White Buffalo said, with disdain; "well, I do not insist; but be assured that scruples will ruin you. The man who wishes to govern others must be made of marble, and have no feelings of humanity, else his prospects will be nipped in the bud, and his foes will ridicule him. That which has ever ruined the greatest geniuses is, that they would not comprehend this fact; but worked for their successors and not for themselves."
In speaking thus, the old man had involuntarily let himself be carried away by the tumultuous feelings that still agitated his mind. His eye sparkled; his brow was unwrinkled; his glance had an irresistible majesty; he had returned, in thought, to his old days of struggling and triumph. Natah Otann listened to him, yielding to the dominating ascendency of this prostrated giant, who was so great even after his fall.
"What am I saying? I am mad! pardon me, child," the old man continued, sinking in his chair despondingly. "Go, leave me; tomorrow, at sunrise, I may, perhaps, have some news for you."
And he dismissed the Chief with a sign. The latter, accustomed to these outbursts, bowed, and departed.
The pistol shot fired by the White Buffalo had not quite produced the result the latter expected from it. The man was wounded; but the haste with which the chief had been obliged to fire, injured the precision of his aim, and the listener escaped with a slight wound; the bullet grazed his skull, and only produced a copious hemorrhage. Still this hurt had been enough for the spy, who saw that he was unmasked, and that a longer stay at the spot would inevitably produce a catastrophe; hence he ran off at full speed. After running for several minutes, feeling certain that he had thrown off any persons inclined to follow him, he stopped to draw breath, and attend to his wound, which still bled profusely. In consequence, he looked anxiously around him; but all was silent and solitary. A dense snowstorm, which had been falling for many an hour, had compelled the Indians to seek shelter in their lodges The firing of the pistol had caused no panic, for the Redskins, accustomed to nocturnal disputes in their villages, had not stirred. No other noise could be heard but the barking of a few straying dogs, and the hoarse cries of the wild beasts that wandered over the prairie in search of prey. The spy, reassured by the calm prevailing in the village, set about bandaging the wound, in his heart thanking the snow for falling, as it effaced the traces of blood left in his flight.
"Come," he muttered, in a low voice, "I shall know nothing this night; the genius of evil protects those men; I will go into the cabin."
He turned a parting glance around, and prepared to start; but, at the same moment, a white shadow, gliding over the snow like a phantom, passed a short distance from him.
"What is that?" the Indian muttered, suddenly assailed by a superstitious terror. "Is the 'Virgin of the dark hours' wandering about the village? What terrible misfortune is menacing us then?"
The Indian bent forward, and, as if attracted by a superior power, followed with his eyes the strange apparition, whose white outline was already blending with the distant gloom.
"That creature is not walking," he said to himself, with terror; "she leaves no footfall on the snow. Is she a Genius hostile to the Blackfeet? There is a mystery about this which I must fathom."
The instinct of the spy heightening the curiosity of the Indian, the latter soon forgot his terror for a moment, and rushed boldly in pursuit of the phantom. After an interval of a few minutes, the shadow or spectre stopped, and looked around with evident indecision. The Indian, lest he might be discovered, had just time to hide himself behind the wall of a cabin; but a pale gleam of moonlight, emerging between two clouds, had, for a second, lighted up the face of the person he was pursuing.
"Prairie-Flower!" he muttered, suppressing with difficulty a cry of surprise.
In fact, that was the person thus wandering about in the darkness. After some hesitation, the maiden raised her head, and walked resolutely toward a cabin, the buffalo skin of which she lifted with a firm hand. She entered, and let the curtain fall behind her. The Indian bounded up to the cabin, walked round it, thrust his knife up to the hilt in the wall, turned it round twice or thrice, to enlarge the hole, and, placing his ear to it, listened. The most complete quiet continued to prevail in the village.
At the first step the young girl took in the lodge, a shadow suddenly rose before her, and a hand fell upon her shoulder; instinctively she recoiled.
"What do you want?" a menacing voice asked. This question was asked in French, which rendered it doubly unintelligible by the Indian girl.
"Answer! or I'll blow out your brains," the voice continued.
And the sharp sound produced by cocking a pistol could be heard.
"Wah!" the girl replied in her gentle, melodious voice, "I am a friend."
"It is evidently a woman," the first speaker growled, "but no matter, we must be prudent. What on earth does she want here?"
"Halloh!" Bright-eye suddenly shouted, aroused by this short altercation, "what's the matter there, what have you caught, Ivon?"
"My faith, I don't know; I believe it is a woman."
"Eh, eh," the hunter said, with a laugh, "let us have a look at that: don't let her escape."
"Don't be alarmed," the Breton replied, "I have hold of her."
Prairie-Flower remained motionless, not making the slightest effort to escape from the clutch of the man who held her. Bright-eye rose, felt his way to the fire, and began blowing it up. In a few minutes a bright flame burst forth, and illumined the interior of the lodge.
"Stay, stay," the hunter said, with surprise, "you are welcome, girl; what do you want here?"
The Indian maid blushed, and replied:—
"Prairie-Flower has come to visit her friends, the Palefaces."
"The hour is a strange one for a visit, my child," the Canadian continued, with an ironical smile; "but no matter," he added, turning to the Breton, "let her loose, Ivon; this enemy, if she is one, is not very dangerous."
The other obeyed with ill grace.
"Come to the fire, girl," the hunter said, "your limbs are frozen; when you have warmed yourself, you can tell us the cause of your presence here at this late hour."
Prairie-Flower smiled sadly, and sat down by the fire, Bright-eye taking a place by her side. The girl had with one glance surveyed the interior of the lodge, and perceived the Count sleeping tranquilly on a pile of furs. Bright-eye's whole life had been spent in the desert; he was thoroughly acquainted with the character of the Redskins, and knew that circumspection and prudence are their two guiding principles. That an Indian never attempts anything without having first calculated all the consequences, and that he never decides on doing a thing contrary to Indian habits, except from some pressing motive. The hunter, therefore, suspected that the object of the young girl's visit was important, though unable to read, beneath the mask of impassibility that covered her face, the motive that caused her to act.
The Redskins are not, like other men, easy to question; cunning and finesse obtain no advantage over these doubtful natives. The most skilful Old Bailey practitioner would get nothing out of them, but confess himself vanquished, after making an Indian undergo the closest cross-examination. If one of these shades of character were unknown to the hunter; hence he was careful not to let the girl suppose that he took any interest in her explanation.
With a nod of the head, Bright-eye soon gave Ivon the order to go to sleep again, which he did immediately. The girl was sitting by the fire, warming herself mechanically, while every now and then taking a side glance at the hunter. But the latter had lit his pipe, and, nearly concealed by the dense cloud of smoke that surrounded him, appeared completely absorbed in his agreeable occupation. The two remained thus face to face nearly half an hour, and did not exchange a word; at length Bright-eye shook out the ash on his left thumbnail, put his pipe in his belt, and rose. Prairie-Flower followed his every movement, without appearing to attach any importance to it; she saw him collect furs, carry them to a dark corner of the lodge, where he spread them so as to form a species of bed; then, when he fancied it was soft enough, he threw a coverlid over it, and returned to the fire.
"My Pale brother has prepared a bed," Prairie-Flower said, laying her hand on his arm, just as he was about to draw out his pipe again.
"Yes," he replied.
"Why four beds for three persons?"
Bright-eye looked at her with a perfectly natural amazement.