"At once; the sun has risen, we must make haste."
"And what are you going to do?"
"I told you we were going to Black's clearing, where we shall wait for you."
The Breton reflected for a minute.
"Listen, in your turn," he said; "I am not in the habit of discussing orders, when I think those given us are just; I do not think that you intend, under such grave circumstances, to mock a poor devil, whom grief renders half mad, and who would joyfully sacrifice his life to save his master's."
"You are right."
"I am therefore going to obey you."
"You should have done so already."
"Maybe; but I have a last word to say."
"I am listening."
"If you deceive me, if you do not really help me, as you pledge yourself, in saving my master—I am, a coward, that is notorious; but on my word as a man, I will blow out your brains: even were you hidden in the bowels of the earth, I would go and seek you to fulfil my oath. You hear me?"
"Perfectly! and now have you finished?"
"Yes."
"Then be off."
"I am doing so."
"Good-bye, till we meet again."
The Breton bowed once more, pulled the boat into the water, jumped in, and hurried off at a rate which showed he would soon reach his destination. His ex-companions looked after him till he was hidden by a bend in the river.
"And now what are we going to do?" Prairie-Flower asked.
"Go to the clearing, to arrange with John Black."
Margaret mounted Ivon's horse, Prairie-Flower and Red Wolf each took their own, and the three started at a gallop. By a fortunate coincidence, it was a day chosen by the squatter to give his family a rest, and, as we have said, he had gone out with William to take a look at his property. After a long ride, during which the squatter had burst into ecstasies only known to landed proprietors, they were preparing to return to their fortress, when William pointed out to his father the three mounted persons coming towards them at full gallop.
"Hum!" Black said, "Indians, that is an unpleasant meeting! let us hide behind this clump, and try to find out what they want."
"Stay, father," the young man said, "I believe that precaution unnecessary."
"Why so, boy?"
"Because of the party two are women."
"That is no reason," the squatter said, who, since the attack, had become excessively prudent; "you know that in these bad tribes the women fight as well as the men."
"That is true; but stay, they are unfolding a buffalo robe in sign of peace."
In fact, one of the riders at this moment fluttered a robe in the breeze.
"You are right, boy," the squatter observed, presently; "let us await them; the more so, as, if I am not mistaken, I can recognize an old acquaintance among them."
"The woman who saved us, I believe."
"Right; by Jove! the meeting is a strange one. Poor woman, I am delighted to see her again."
Ten minutes later the parties joined; after the first salutations, the She-wolf took the word.
"Do you recognize me, John Black?"
"Of course I do, my worthy woman," he replied, with emotion; "although I only saw you for a few moments, and under terrible circumstances, the remembrance of you has never left my heart and mind; I have only one wish, and that is, that you will give me the opportunity to prove it."
A flash of joy shot from the She-wolfs eye.
"Are you speaking seriously?" she asked, quickly.
"Try me."
"Good; I was not deceived in you. I am glad of what I did. I see that the service I rendered you has not fallen on ungrateful soil."
"Speak."
"Not here: what I have to tell you is too lengthy and serious for us to be able to discuss it properly at this place."
"Will you come to my house? There you need not be afraid of being disturbed."
"If you permit it."
"What, my good creature, permit it? Why, the house, all it contains, and the owner in the bargain, all are yours, and you know it."
Margaret smiled sadly.
"Thanks!" she said, offering him her hand, which Black pressed gladly.
"Come," he said, "as we have nothing more to do here, let us be off."
They started in the direction of the house; but the return was silent; each, absorbed in thought, rode on without thinking of addressing a word to the other. They were but a short distance from the house, when they suddenly saw some twenty horsemen debouch from a wood on the right, dressed, as far as could be distinguished, as wood rangers.
"What is this?" Black said, with astonishment, as he pulled his horse up.
"Eh!" the She-wolf said, not replying to the squatter. "The Frenchman has been diligent."
"What do you mean?"
"I will explain all that presently; for the present you need only offer your hospitality to these good people."
"Hum!" Black said, doubtingly. "I shall be glad to do it, but must know who they are, and what they want of me."
"They are Americans; like yourself. I asked the commandant of the fort where they are stationed to send them here."
"What fort and what garrison are you talking of, my good woman? On my soul! I do not know what you mean."
"What! have you not learned to know your neighbours since you have been here?"
"What! have I neighbours?" he said, in an angry tone.
"About ten miles off is Fort Mackenzie, commanded by a brave officer, Major Melville."
At this explanation the squatter's face was unwrinkled; it was not a rival, but a defender he had as neighbour, hence all was for the best.
"Oh, I will go and pay him my respects," he said; "the acquaintance of a fort commandant is not to be neglected in the desert."
Major Melville sent off at once the detachment asked by his sister; but reflecting that soldiers could not execute so well as hunters the meditated coup de main, he chose twenty hardened and resolute trappers and engagés under the command of an officer who had been a long time in the Fur Company's service, and was versed in all the tricks of the crafty enemies he would have to fight.
At the foot of the hill the two parties combined. Black, though still ignorant for what purpose the detachment had come, received most affably the reinforcement sent to him. Ivon was radiant; the worthy Breton, now that he could dispose of such a number of good rifles, believed in the certainty of saving his master; all his suspicions had disappeared, and he burst forth into apologies and thanks to the She-wolf and her two Indian friends. So soon as all were comfortably lodged in the building, Black returned to his guests, and, after offering them refreshments, said—
"Now, I am waiting for your explanation."
As we shall soon see the development of the plans formed at this meeting, it is useless to describe them.
Two days have elapsed since the events of our last chapter. It is evening in the Kenhas' village. The tumult is great; all are preparing for an expedition. The night is clear and starlit; great fires, kindled before each cabin, spread around immense reddish gleams, which light up the whole village. There is something strange and striking in the scene presented by the village, crowded with a motley population. The Count de Beaulieu and Bright-eye, apparently free, are conversing in a low tone, sitting on the bare ground, and leaning against the wall of a cabin.
The time fixed by the Count for his parole has long passed, still the Indian Chiefs have satisfied themselves with taking away his weapons and the hunter's, and pay no more attention to them.
On the large village square two immense fires have been kindled. Round the first, placed in front of the Council Lodge, are seated White Buffalo, Natah Otann, Red Wolf, and three or four other chiefs of the tribe; round the second some twenty warriors are silently smoking the calumet. Such was the appearance offered by the Kenhas' village at about nine in the evening of the day we return to it.
"Why allow the Palefaces thus to wander about the village?" Red Wolf asked.
Natah Otann smiled.
"Have the white men the eyes of the eagle and the feet of the gazelle, to find again their trail lost in the desert?"
"My father is right, if he speaks of Glass-eye," Red Wolf urged; "but Bright-eye has a Redskin heart."
"Yes; if he was alone he would try to escape, but he will not abandon his friend."
"The latter can follow him."
"Glass-eye has a brave heart, but his feet are weak; he cannot walk in the desert."
Red Wolf looked down, with an air of conviction, and made no reply.
"The hour has arrived to set out; the allied nations are proceeding to the rendezvous," White Buffalo said, in a sombre voice. "It is nine o'clock; the owl has twice given the signal, and the moon is rising."
"Good," Natah Otann said, "we will have the horses smoked, so as to set out immediately after."
Red Wolf gave a shrill whistle. At this signal some twenty horsemen galloped into the square, and went up to the second fire, round which an equal number of warriors, naked to the waist, were crouching and smoking silently. These men were warriors of the tribe who were dismounted, either by accident or in action; the horsemen, at this moment prancing round them, were their friends, and came up to make each a present of a horse prior to the departure of the expedition. While cantering round, the horsemen drew gradually nearer to the smokers, who did not appear to notice them. Each horseman chose out the man to whom he intended to give a horse, and a shower of lashes fell on the naked shoulders of these stoical warriors. At each blow they struck, the warrior shouted, each calling his friend by name.
"So and so, you are a beggar and wretched man. You desire my horse, I give it to you; but you will bear on your shoulders the bloody marks of my whip."
This performance lasted about a quarter of an hour, during which the sufferers, although the blood ran down their backs, did not utter a cry or a groan, but remained calm and motionless, as if they had been metamorphosed into bronze statues. At length the Red Wolf gave a second whistle, and the horsemen disappeared as rapidly as they came. The patients then rose as if nothing had happened to them, and went with radiant forehead and firm step, each to take possession of a magnificent steed, held by the ex-scourgers, now become their friends once more. This is what the Blackfeet call smoking horses.
When the tumult occasioned by this semi-serious episode was appeased, an hachesto, or public crier, mounted the roof of the council lodge. All the population of the village was drawn up silently on the square.
"The hour has struck! The hour has struck! The hour has struck!" the hachesto cried. "Warriors, to your lances and guns! The horses are neighing with impatience! Your chiefs are awaiting you, and your enemies sleep. To arms! To arms! To arms!"
"To arms!" all the warriors shouted simultaneously.
Natah Otann, followed by his warriors, mounted like himself on impetuous steeds, then appeared in the square, and uttered, in a terrible voice, the war yell of the Blackfeet. At this cry every man rushed on his weapons, mounted, and ranged under the respective chiefs, who, within scarce ten minutes, found themselves at the head of five hundred warriors, perfectly armed and equipped.
Natah Otann cast a triumphant glance around him; his eye fell immediately on the two prisoners, who had remained quietly seated, talking together, and apparently indifferent to all that happened. At the sight of them the Chiefs thick eyebrows were contracted, he leant over to the White Buffalo, who rode by his side, and muttered a few words in his ear. The old man gave a sign of assent, and walked towards the prisoners, while Natah Otann, taking the head of the war party, gave the signal for departure, and went off, only leaving ten warriors on the square to aid White Buffalo, if required.
"Gentlemen," the latter said, sharply, but courteously; "be good enough to mount and follow me, if you please."
"Is this an order you give us, sir?" the Count asked, haughtily.
"What does that, question mean?"
"Because I am not in the habit of obeying anybody."
"Sir," the Chief answered, "any resistance would be insensate, and rather injurious than useful to your interests: so to horse without further delay."
"The Chief is right," Bright-eye said, with a significant look at the Count; "why any obstinacy? we cannot be the stronger."
"But—" the young man remarked.
"Here is your horse," the hunter interrupted him, sharply.
"We obey the Chief," he added, aloud; then he added in a whisper,—
"Are you mad, Mr. Edward? Who knows the chances luck has in store for us during the accursed expedition?"
"Still—"
"Mount! Mount!"
At length the young man, partly convinced, obeyed the hunter. When the prisoners had mounted, the warriors surrounded them, and led them off at a gallop, till they caught up the column, of which they took the lead.
Despite the Count's resistance, Natah Otann and White Buffalo had not given up their plan of making him pass for Motecuhzoma, and placing him at the head of the Allied Nations. Still this plan had been modified, in this sense, that, as the young Count refused his help, they would force him to give it in spite of himself. The following is the way in which they intended to act. They had succeeded in persuading the Indians who accompanied them during the ostrich hunt, that the struggle sustained by the Count, and which had struck them with stupor, owing to the energetic resistance the two men had so long offered to fifty warriors, was a ruse invented by them to display their strength and power in the sight of all.
The Redskins, owing to their ignorance, are stupidly credulous. Natah Otann's clumsy falsehood, which any man but slightly civilized would have regarded with contempt, obtained the greatest success with these brutalized beings, and enhanced, in their eyes, the personal value of the men whom they saw continuing to live on good terms with their Chiefs, and remaining apparently free in the village.
Matters were too far advanced, the day chosen for the outbreak of the plot was too near, for the Chiefs to give counterorders to their allies, and concoct some other scheme to replace the prophet they had announced to the Missouri nations. If, on arriving at the rendezvous, the man they had expected was not presented to them, it was evident they would retire with their contingents, and that all would be broken off with no hope of recombination; but a catastrophe must be guarded against at all risks.
The resolution formed by the two Chiefs, desperate as it was, they were compelled to adopt through the suspicious nature of the circumstances, and they trusted to chance to make it succeed. The Count and his companion would march, so long as the expedition lasted, at the head of the attacking columns, without weapons it is true, but apparently free, while guarded by ten picked warriors, who would never leave them, and kill them on the slightest suspicious gesture. The plan was absurd, and, with other men than Indians, the impossibility would have been recognized in less than an hour; but, through its very impracticability, it offered chances of success, and this was chiefly owing to the belief the Indians held that the Count had no friends to attempt his rescue.
Ivon's flight had troubled Natah Otann for a few moments: but the discovery made in the forest, where he had sought shelter, of the body of a man clothed in the servant's dress, and half devoured by wild beasts, restored him all his serenity, by proving to him that he had nought to fear from the poor fellow's devotion.
Three hours prior to the departure of the column, the Chief had, on White Buffalo's revelations, had five spies secretly strangled. Red Wolf, on whom Natah Otann and White Buffalo placed unbounded confidence, and whose courage could not be doubted, was appointed head of the detachment to watch over the prisoners. Hence matters were in the best possible state. The two Chiefs marched about fifty paces ahead of their warriors, conversing in a low voice, and definitely arranging their final plans. White Buffalo described in a few words the position and their hopes.
"Our prospect is desperate," he said, "chance may make it fail or succeed: all depends upon the first attack. If, as I believe, we surprise the American garrison, and seize Fort Mackenzie, we shall have no further need of this Count, whose disappearance we can easily account for, by saying that he has reascended to heaven, because we are victors. However, we shall see; all will be decided in a few hours. Till then, courage and prudence."
Natah Otann made no reply; but cast a glance at Prairie-Flower, who cantered along in apparent carelessness on the flank of the column, which she had asked leave to accompany, and the Chief had gladly granted it. The warriors advanced in a long line, silently following one of those winding paths formed on the desert for centuries by the feet of wild beasts. The night was transparent and calm; the sky, embroidered with millions of stars, shed down on the landscape floods of melancholy light, harmonizing with the grand and primitive nature of the desert. About four in the morning, Natah Otann halted on the top of a wooded dell, in the centre of an immense clearing, where the entire detachment disappeared, without leaving a trace.
Fort Mackenzie rose gloomy and majestic at about a gunshot off. The Indians had effected their march with such prudence, that the American garrison had given no sign of alarm. Natah Otann had a tent put up, into which he courteously begged his prisoners to enter, and they obeyed.
"Why so much politeness?" the Count said.
"Are you not my guests?" the Chief replied, with an ironical smile, and then withdrew.
The Count and his comrade, when left alone, lay down on a pile of furs intended for their bed.
"What is to be done?" the Count muttered, greatly discouraged.
"Sleep," the hunter said, carelessly. "Unless I am mistaken, we shall soon have some news."
"Heaven grant it!"
"Amen," Bright-eye continued, with a laugh. "Bah! we shall not die this time either."
"I hope so," the Count repeated, to say something.
"And I am sure of it. It would be curious, on my word," the hunter said, with a laugh, "were I, who have traversed the desert so long, to be killed by these red brutes."
The young man could not refrain from admiring, in his heart, the cool certainty with which the Canadian uttered so monstrous an opinion; but at this moment the prisoners heard a gentle sound near them.
"Silence!" Bright-eye commanded.
They listened attentively. A harmonious voice then sang to a melody, full of gentleness and melancholy, the exquisite Blackfoot song beginning with the verses:—
"I confide to you my heart, in the name of the Master of Life; I am unhappy, and no one takes pity on me, yet the Master of Life is great in my sight."
"Oh!" the Count muttered joyously, "I recognise that voice, my friend."
"And I too, by Jupiter! It is Prairie-Flower's."
"What does she say?"
"It is a warning she gives us."
"Do you believe so?"
"Prairie-Flower loves you, Mr. Edward."
"Poor child! and I love her too; but alas!—"
"Bah! after the storm comes fine weather."
"If I could but see her."
"For what good? She will contrive to make herself visible when it is necessary. Come, wild or tame, all women are alike. But, look out, here is somebody."
They threw themselves on the furs, and pretended to be asleep. A man had quietly lifted the curtain of the tent. By the moon's ray, that passed through the opening, the prisoners recognized Red Wolf. The Indian looked outside for a moment; then, probably reassured by the calmness that prevailed around, he let the curtain of the tent fall, and took a few paces in the interior.
"The jaguar is strong and courageous," he said, in a loud voice, as if talking to himself; "the fox is cunning; but the man whose heart is big is stronger than the jaguar, and more cunning than the fox, when he has in his hand weapons to defend himself. Who says that Glass-eye and Bright-eye will allow their throats to be cut like tamed gazelles?"
"And not looking at the prisoners, the Chief laid at their feet two guns, from which hung powder flasks, bullet bags, and long knives; then he left the tent again, as calmly as if he had done the simplest matter in the world. The prisoners looked at each other in amazement.
"What do you think of that?" Bright-eye muttered in stupefaction.
"It is a trap," the Count answered.
"Hum! trap or no, the weapons are there, and I shall take them."
The hunter seized the guns and the knives, which he immediately hid under the furs. The arms were hardly in security, ere the curtain of the tent was again raised, and Natah Otann walked in. He bore in his hand a branch of ocote, or candlewood, which lit up his thoughtful face, and gave it a sinister expression. The Chief dug up the ground with his knife, planted his torch in the ground, and walked toward the prisoners, who looked on without giving any sign.
"Gentlemen," the Chief then said, "I have come to ask for a moment's interview with you."
"Speak, sir; we are your prisoners, and as such compelled to hear you, if not to listen to you," the Count said, drily, as he sat up on the furs, while Bright-eye rose carelessly, and lit his pipe at the candlewood torch.
"Since you have been my prisoners, gentlemen," the Chief continued, "you have not had, to my knowledge, any reason to complain of the way in which I have treated you."
"That depends. In the first place, I do not admit that I am legally your prisoner."
"Oh, sir," the Chief said, with a smile of mockery, "do you speak of legality to a poor Indian? You know well that we are ignorant of that word."
"That is true; go on."
"I have come to see you—"
"Why?" the Count interrupted him, impatiently. "Explain!"
"I have a bargain to propose to you."
"Well, I will frankly confess that your way of bargaining does not impress me with great confidence."
The Indian made a move.
"No matter," the Count continued, "let us hear it."
"I should not like to be obliged, sir, to tie you again, as you were when you were captured."
"I am extremely obliged to you."
"But; at this moment I absolutely need all my warriors, and I cannot leave anybody to guard you two gentlemen."
"Which means?"
"That I ask your parole not to escape for the next twenty-four hours."
"But that is not a bargain."
"Wait; I am coming to it."
"Good; I am waiting."
"In return, I pledge myself—"
"Ah!" the Count said, contemptuously, "let us see to what you pledge yourself; that must be curious."
"I pledge myself," the Chief continued, still cold and calm, "to give you your liberty in twenty-four hours."
"And my comrade?"
The Indian bowed his head in affirmation; the Count burst into a loud laugh.
"And suppose we did not accept?" he asked.
"But you will do so," he said, with an ironical smile.
"Possibly; but suppose the contrary for a moment."
"At daybreak you will both be attached to the stake, and tortured until sunset."
"Oh, oh! Is that your final word?"
"The last; in half an hour I will come for your answer."
And he turned to go out. The Count bounded like a jaguar, and stood before the Chief, his gun in one hand, his knife in the other.
"A moment," he shouted.
"Wah!" the Chief said, crossing his hands on his wide chest, and gazing at them sarcastically. "You had taken your precautions, it appears."
"By Jove!" Bright-eye said, with a grin; "I rather fancy it is our turn to make conditions."
"Perhaps so," Natah Otann replied, coolly; "but I have no time to lose in vain words; let me pass, gentlemen."
Bright-eye threw himself quickly before the door.
"Come, Chief," he said, "things cannot end like that; we are not old women to be frightened. Before we are fastened to the stake, we will kill you."
The Chief shrugged his shoulders disdainfully,
"You are mad; let me pass, old hunter, and do not oblige me to use force."
"No, no, Chief," Bright-eye added, with an ironical laugh; "we shall not part like that; all the worse for you; you should not have put your head in the wolf's throat."
Natah Otann made an impatient gesture.
"You wish it; well, then, see!"
Raising to his lips his war-whistle, made of a human thigh bone, he produced a shrill sound. All at once, before the two Europeans could comprehend what was happening, the sides of the tent were cut open, and the Blackfeet bounded into the interior. The Count and Bright-eye were seized and disarmed. The Sachem, with his arms still crossed on his chest, looked like a stoic, while the Kenhas, with their eyes fixed on the Chief, and uplifted tomahawks, seemed to await from him a final signal.
There was a moment of intense anxiety; though the two white men were so brave, the attack had been so rapid and unexpected, that they could not refrain from an inward shudder. For a few seconds the Chief enjoyed his triumph; then, raising his hand, with a gesture of supreme authority, he said,—
"Enough! Restore their weapons to these warriors. Are they not the guests of Natah Otann?"
The Blackfeet retired as suddenly as they had appeared.
"Well," the Chief asked, with slight irony, "do you understand me at last? Do you still fancy me in your power?"
"Very good, sir," the Count replied, coldly, still suffering from the struggle he had gone through; "I am forced to recognize the advantage that chance gives you over me; any resistance would be useless. I consent to submit for the present to your will; but only on two conditions."
"They are accepted beforehand, sir," Natah Otann said, with a bow.
"Do not be too certain, sir; for you do not yet know what I mean to ask from you."
"I am awaiting your explanation."
"As it must be so, I will march at the head of your tribes; but alone, unarmed, and on condition, that under no pretext you impose on me any other character in the gloomy tragedy you are preparing to act."
The Chief frowned.
"And supposing that I refuse?" he said, in a hoarse voice.
"If you refuse," the young man answered, with his calmest air, "I will employ sure means to compel you to assent."
"They are?"
"I will blow out my brains, sir, in the sight of all your warriors."
The Chief cast a viper's glance at him.
"Very good," he said, presently. "I accept; now let us have the other condition."
"It is simply this: conqueror or conquered; and I hope sincerely that the latter may be the case—"
"Thank you," the Chief interrupted him, with an ironical bow.
"After the battle, whatever its issue may be," the Count continued, "you will fight me honourably with equal weapons."
"Why, Sir Count, you are proposing to me what white men call a duel!"
"Yes. Does that displease you?"
"Me? certainly not, and I accept gladly; the more so, as we Blood Indians are accustomed to have such fights to settle our own personal quarrels."
"Then you accept my conditions?"
"I do so."
"But who will guarantee your good faith?" the young man asked.
"I, Sir," a powerful voice said.
The three men turned. White Buffalo was standing motionless in the doorway of the tent. At the unexpected appearance of this strange man, whose features revealed at the moment an imposing majesty, the young Count felt subdued, and bowed respectfully.
"Gentlemen," Natah Otann continued, "you are free within the limits of the camp."
"Thanks," Bright-eye said coarsely; "but I have made no promise."
"You!" the Chief said carelessly; "go or stay, I care very little."
And after bowing ceremoniously to the Count, the two Chiefs withdrew.
After leaving the tent, the two Chiefs walked for some moments side by side, and did not exchange a word; both seemed plunged in deep thought, doubtlessly caused by the serious events that were preparing—events whose success would decide the fate of the Indian tribes of this part of the continent. While walking along, they reached a point on the hillock, whence a most extensive view could be enjoyed in every direction.
The night was calm and balmy, there was not a breath in the air, not a cloud on the sky, whose deep azure was enamelled with a profusion of twinkling stars; an imposing silence reigned over this desert, where, however, several thousand men were ambushed, only waiting a word or a signal to out each other's throats. Mechanically the two men stopped, and gazed at the grand landscape extended at their feet, in the immediate foreground of which frowned Fort Mackenzie, throwing its gloomy shadow far across the prairie.
"By sunrise," Natah Otann muttered, answering his own thoughts, rather than addressing his companion, "that haughty fortress will be mine. The Redskins will command at the spot where their oppressors are still reigning."
"Yes," White Buffalo repeated, mechanically, "tomorrow you will be master of the fort, but will you manage to keep it? Conquering is nothing; the white men have been several times defeated by the Redskins, and yet they have enslaved, decimated, and dispersed them like the leaves the autumn breeze bears away."
"That is only too true," the Chief said, with a sigh; "it has ever been so, since the first day the white men set foot in this unhappy land. What is the mysterious influence that has constantly predicted them against us?"
"Yourselves, my child," White Buffalo said, mournfully shaking his head; "you are your own greatest enemies. You can only impute to yourselves your continued defeats, for you are so obstinate for internecine warfare; the whites have taken care to foster strongly your headstrong passions, by which they have skilfully profited to conquer you in detail."
"Yes, you have told me that often, my father, so you see I have profited by your advice; all the Missouri Indians are now united, they obey the same chief, and march under one totem; thus, believe me, this union will be fertile in good results, we shall drive these plundering wolves from our frontiers, we shall send them back to the villages of stone; and henceforth only the moccasin of the Redskins will tread our native prairies, and the echoes will only be aroused by the joyous laughter of the Redskins, or repeat the war cry of the Blackfeet."
"No one will be happier than I at such a result; my most ardent desire is to see men free, from whom I have received such paternal hospitality; but, alas, who can foresee the future? These Sachems, whom you have succeeded in combining by attention and patience, are agitating darkly; they fear to obey you; they are jealous of the power themselves gave you, so there is a chance they will abandon you."
"I will not; give them the time, my father; for the last few days I have known all their designs, and followed their plans; up to the present, prudence has closed my mouth. I did not wish to risk the success of my enterprise; but so soon as I am master of this fortress below us, believe me, I shall speak loudly, for my voice will have exercised an authority, my power a strength, which the most turbulent will be compelled to recognize. Victory will render me great and terrible: will trample under foot those who now conspire in the darkness, and who would not hesitate to turn against me, if I experienced a defeat. Go, my father, let all be ready for the attack so soon as I give the signal, visit the outposts, watch the movements of the enemy, for in two hours I shall utter my war cry."
White Buffalo regarded him for a moment with a singular expression, in which friendship, fear, and admiration struggled in turn; then laying his hand on his shoulder he said, with much emotion,—
"Child, you are mad; but it is a sublime madness: the work of reformation you meditate is impossible—but, whether you triumph or succumb, your attempt will not be useless. Your passage on earth will leave a long, luminous trace, which may one day serve as a beacon to those who succeed in accomplishing the liberation of your race."
After a few seconds of silence, more eloquent than vain words, the two men fell into each other's arms, and held each other in a firm embrace; they then separated, and Natah Otann remained alone.
The young Chief did not conceal from himself in any way the difficulties of his position. He recognized the justice of his adopted father's observations; but now it was too late to recoil, he must push onward at all risks. Now that the moment had arrived to descend into the arena, all hesitation had ceased, all fear had died out in the young Chief's bosom, to give way to a cold and invincible resolution, that imparted to him the lucidity of mind required to play skilfully the great part on which the fate of his race would depend.
When White Buffalo left him alone, Natah Otann sat down on a rock, and, resting his head on his hand, fixed his eyes on the place, and fell into a serious contemplation. For a long time he had been dreaming, with a vague consciousness of external objects, when a hand was gently laid on his shoulder. The Chief quivered, as if he had received an electric shock, and quickly raised his head.
"Ochtl?" he said, with an emotion he could not master. "Prairie-Flower here at this hour?"
The young girl smiled sweetly.
"Why is my brother astonished?" she replied, in her gentle and melodious voice; "does not the Chief know that Prairie-Flower loves to wander about at night, when nature is slumbering, and the voice of the Great Spirit can be more easily heard? We girls love to dream at night, by the melancholy light that comes from the stars, and seems to give reality to our thoughts, at times, in the mist."
The Chief sighed in reply.
"You are suffering?" Prairie-Flower asked him, gently; "You, the first Sachem of our nation, the most renowned warrior of our tribes—what reason can be powerful enough to draw a sigh from you?"
The Chief seised the dainty hand the girl yielded to him, and pressed it gently between his own.
"Prairie-Flower," he said at length, "you are ignorant why I suffer when I am by your side?"
"How should I know it? Although my brothers call me the Virgin of Sweet Love, and suppose me to be in relation with the spirits of air and water, alas! I am only an ignorant young girl. I should like to know the cause of your grief; perhaps I could succeed in curing you."
"No," the Chief answered, shaking his head, "it is not in your power, child; to do that the beating of your heart ought to respond to mine, and the little bird, which sings so melodiously in the hearts of maidens, and murmurs such gentle words in their ears, should have flown near you."
The girl blushed and smiled; she let her eyes fall, and, making an effort to disengage her hand, which Natah Otann still held in his,—
"The little bird, of which my brother speaks, I have seen: its song has already been chanted near me."
The Chief sprung up, and fixed a flashing glance on the maiden.
"What!" he exclaimed, with agitation, "you love? Has one of the young warriors of our tribe known how to touch your heart, and fill it with love?"
Prairie-Flower shook her charming head petulantly, while a sweet smile parted her coral lips.
"I know not if what I experience is what you call love," she said.
Natah Otann had, by a painful effort, checked the emotion which made his limbs tremble.
"Why should it not be so?" he continued, thoughtfully. "The laws of nature are immutable, no one can prevent it; the child's hour was destined to arrive. By what right can I quarrel with what has happened? Have I not in my heart a sacred feeling, which fills it, and before which every other must be extinguished? A man in my position is too far above vulgar passions; the object he proposes to himself is too great for him to allow himself to be ruled by love of a woman. The man who lays claim to become the saviour and regenerator of a people, no longer belongs to humanity. Let me be worthy of the task I have taken on myself, and forget, if possible, the mad and hopeless passion that devours me. That girl can never be mine; everything separates us. I will be to her what I ought never to have ceased to be—a father."
He let his head hang despairingly on his chest, and remained for a few moments absorbed in gloomy meditation. Prairie-Flower regarded him with an expression of tender pity; she had only imperfectly caught the words the Chief muttered, and understood but little of them. Still she felt a deep friendship for him; she suffered in seeing him, and sought vainly some consolation to afford. She waited anxiously till he should remember her presence, and speak to her again. At length he raised his head.
"My sister has not told me which of our young warriors she prefers to all the rest."
"Has not the Sachem guessed it?" she asked, timidly.
"Natah Otann is a chief. If he is the father of his warriors, he is no spy on their deeds or thoughts."
"The man of whom I speak to my brother is not a Kenha warrior," she continued.
"Ah!" he said in surprise, and looking scrutinizingly at her, "Can it be one of the Palefaces who are Natah Otann's guests?"
"My brother would say his prisoners," she murmured.
"What mean these words, girl? Have you, born but yesterday, any right to try and explain my actions? Ah!" he added, with a frown, "now I understand how the Palefaced Chiefs had weapons when I visited them an hour ago. It is useless for my daughter to tell me now the name of him she loves, for I know it."
The girl hung her head, with a blush.
"Achtsett—it is good," he continued, in a rough voice, "my sister is free to place her affections where she pleases; but her love must not lead her to betray her friends for the Palefaces. She is a daughter of the Kenhas. Was it to give me this news that Prairie-Flower came to me?"
"No," she answered timidly; "another person ordered me to come here, where she will also come herself, as she has an important secret to reveal to me in the presence of the Sachem."
"An important secret?" Natah Otann repeated. "What do you mean? Of what woman is my sister speaking?"
"I am speaking of her who is called the She-wolf of the prairies; she has ever been gentle, good, and affectionate to me, in spite of the hatred she bears to the Indians."
"That is strange," the Chief muttered. "So you are waiting for her?"
"I am."
"But that woman is mad," the Chief exclaimed. "Do you not know it, my poor child?"
"Those whom the Great Spirit wishes to protect he deprives of reason, that they may not feel grief," she replied, softly.
For some minutes an almost imperceptible rustling had been going on in the bushes; this sound, though so slight, the Chiefs practised ear would have detected, had he not been entirely absorbed by his conversation with the girl. All at once the branches were violently torn asunder; several men, led by the She-wolf of the prairies, rushed toward the Chief, and, before he had recovered from the surprise caused by this sudden attack, he was thrown down, and securely pinioned.
"The mad woman!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, yes, the mad woman," she repeated, in a hoarse voice. "At length I hold my vengeance! Thanks," she added, addressing the three men who accompanied her; "I will now take his guard on myself, he shall not escape."
The men withdrew without replying. Although they wore the Indian dress, a panther skin drawn over their faces rendered them perfectly secure from detection. Only three persons remained on the top of the hill—Prairie-Flower, Margaret, and Natah Otann, who tried to break his bonds, while uttering hoarse and inarticulate sounds. The She-wolf surveyed her enemy, prostrated at her feet, with a joy impossible to describe, while Prairie-Flower, standing motionless by the Chief, gazed on him sorrowfully and thoughtfully.
"Yes," the She-wolf said, with a glance of satiated vengeance, "howl, panther; bend the bonds you cannot break. I hold you at last; it is my turn to torture you, to repay you all the suffering you lavished on me. Oh! I can never be sufficiently avenged on you, the assassin of my whole family. God is just: tooth for tooth, eye for eye, wretch!"
She picked up a dagger that had fallen on the ground near her, and began to prick him all over.
"Answer me—do you not feel the cold steel piercing your flesh?" she asked him. "Oh! I should like to make you suffer death a thousand times, were it possible."
A smile of contempt played over the Chief's lips. The She-wolf, exasperated, raised the dagger to strike him; but Prairie-Flower held her arm. Margaret turned like a tiger; but, recognizing the girl, she let the weapon fall from her trembling hand, and her face assumed an expression of infinite gentleness and tenderness.
"You here?" she exclaimed. "Then you did not forget the meeting I arranged with you? It is Heaven that sends you!"
"Yes," the young girl replied, "the Great Spirit sees all. My mother is good; Prairie-Flower loves her. Why thus torture the man who acted as father to the abandoned child? The Chief has ever been kind to Prairie-Flower; my mother will pardon him."
Margaret gazed at the girl with an expression of mad stupor; then her features were suddenly distorted, and she burst into a strident laugh.
"What!" she exclaimed, in a piercing voice, "you, Prairie-Flower, intercede for this man?"
"He was a father to Prairie-Flower," the girl answered, simply.
"But you do not know him then?"
"He has been kind to me."
"Silence, child! do not implore the She-wolf," the Chief said, in a gloomy voice. "Natah Otann is a warrior; he knows how to die."
"No, the Chief must not die," the Indian girl said, resolutely.
Natah Otann laughed.
"It is I who am avenged," he said.
"Dog!" the She-wolf yelled, stamping her heel on his face, "silence! or I will tear out your viper's tongue."
The Indian smiled with contempt.
"My mother will follow me," the girl said: "I will unfasten the Chief, in order that he may rejoin his warriors, who are about to fight."
She picked up the dagger, and knelt down near the prisoner; but the She-wolf checked her.
"Before cutting his bonds, listen to me, child," she said.
"Afterwards," the girl objected. "A Chief must be with his warriors in battle."
"Listen to me for a few minutes," She-wolf continued, earnestly; "I implore it of you, Prairie-Flower, by all I may have done for you; then, when I have ceased speaking, if you still wish it, you shall deliver that man. I swear to you that I will not prevent it."
The girl looked at her fixedly.
"Speak," she said, in her gentle and sympathizing voice. "Prairie-Flower is listening."
A sigh of relief escaped from the She-wolf's oppressed chest. There was a moment's silence: nothing could be heard, save the panting of the prisoner.
"You are right, girl," the She-wolf at length said, in a mournful voice, "that man took care of your infancy, was kind to you, and brought you up tenderly; you see that I do him justice! But he never told you how you fell into his hands."
"Never," the maiden said, in a melancholy voice.
"Well," the She-wolf continued, "that secret, which he has not dared to reveal to you, I will tell you. On just such a night as this, at the head of his ferocious warriors, the man you call your father attacked your real father, and while your two brothers, by that monster's orders, were burned alive, your father fastened to a tree, and there was flayed alive."
"Horror!" the young girl shrieked, as she sprang up.
"And if you do not believe me," she continued, in a shrill voice, "tear from your neck that bag made of your unhappy father's skin, and you will find in it all that remains of him."
With a feverish movement the young girl drew out the bag, which she squeezed convulsively.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "no! no! it is impossible; such atrocities could not be committed."
Suddenly her tears ceased, she looked fixedly at the She-wolf, and said, in a harsh voice—
"How do you know all this? The man who told it you lied."
"I was present," the She-wolf said, coldly,
"You were present? You witnessed this horrible scene?"
"Yes, I did."
"Why?" she asked, madly. "Answer, why?
"Why?" she said, with an accent of supreme majesty; "because I am your mother, child."
At this unexpected revelation the girl's features were convulsed, her voice failed her, her eyes seemed ready to start from their sockets, her body was agitated by a convulsive tremor; for an instant she tried to utter a shriek, but then suddenly broke into sobs, and fell into Margaret's arms, exclaiming, with a piercing accent,—
"My mother! My mother!"
"At last," the She-wolf said, deliriously, "I have found you again, and you are really mine."
For some moments mother and daughter, yielding to their tenderness, forgot the whole world. Natah Otann tried to profit by the opportunity, and seize the chance of safety which accident offered him. He noiselessly began rolling over to gain the top of the enclosure; but the young girl suddenly noticed him, and sprang up as if a serpent had stung her.
"Stop, Natah Otann!" she said to him.
The chief remained motionless: he imagined, from the girl's accent, that he was lost, and he resigned himself to his fate with that fatalism which forms the base of the Indian character.
Still he was mistaken.
Prairie-Flower, with burning eyes and pallid brow, turned a haggard glance from her mother on the man extended at her feet, asking her heart if she had a right, after all the kindness he had shown her, to avenge her father's death upon him. She felt that her arm was too weak, her heart too tender for such a deed. For several seconds the three actors of this terrible scene remained plunged in a gloomy silence, which was only interrupted by the dull and mysterious noises of the night.
Natah Otann did not fear death; but he trembled at leaving uncompleted the glorious task he had taken on himself; he was ashamed at having fallen into so clumsy a snare, set by a half insane woman. With his head stretched out, and frowning brow, he anxiously read on the girl's face the feelings in turn reflected on it as in a mirror, in order to calculate the chances of saving a life so precious to those he wished to render free. Though resigned to his fate, like all great men, he did not despair, but struggled to the last moment. Prairie-Flower at length raised her head; her lovely face had assumed a strange expression her brow glistened, her gentle blue eyes seemed to flash forth flames.
"Mother," she said, in her melodious voice, "give me those pistols you have in your hand."
"What will you do with them?" the She-wolf asked.
"Avenge my father! Was it not for that you summoned me here?"
Without replying, the She-wolf gave her the weapons. The girl, at first, threatened Natah Otann, and then, with a gesture as rapid as thought, threw them down the hill.
"Unhappy girl," Margaret yelled, "what have you done?"
"I avenge my father," she answered, with an accent of supreme dignity.
"Unhappy child, he is the assassin of your father."
"I know it; you have told me so. This man, in spite of his crimes, has been kind to me—he watched over my childhood. Although he obeyed the feeling of hatred his race entertains for the Palefaces by murdering my father, he took his place with me as far as was possible, and almost changed his Indian nature to protect and support me. The Great Spirit will judge us, He whose eye is eternally fixed on earth."
"Woe is me! Woe is me!" the She-wolf yelled, wringing her hands in despair.
The girl bent over the Chief, and cut the bonds that fettered him. Natah Otann sprang to his feet with the bound of a jaguar. The She-wolf made a movement, as if to rush upon him, but she checked herself.
"All is not over yet," she shrieked, "yes! yes! I will have my revenge, no matter at what cost."
And she rushed into the thicket, where she disappeared.
"Natah Otann," the maiden continued, turning to the Chief, who stood by her side, calmly and stoically, as if nothing extraordinary had happened; "I leave vengeance to the Great Spirit—a woman can only weep. Farewell! I loved you as that father you deprived me of. I do not feel the strength to hate you, I will try to forget you."
"Poor child," the Sachem replied, with much emotion; "I must appear to you very culpable. Alas! it is only today that I understand the atrocity of the deed of which I allowed myself to be guilty: perhaps, I may succeed one day in obtaining your pardon."
Prairie-Flower smiled sorrowfully.
"Your pardon does not depend from me," she said, "Wacondah alone can absolve you."
And, after giving him a parting glance of sadness, she withdrew slowly, and thoughtfully entered the wood.
Natah Otann looked after her for a long while.
"Can the Christians be right?" he muttered, when done; "do angels really exist?"
He shook his head several times, and, after attentively looking at the sky, in which the stars were beginning to shine,—
"The hour has arrived," he said, hoarsely; "shall I be the victor?"
To understand the facts we are now about to narrate, we must retrace our steps a short distance, and return to the tent which served as a temporary abode to the Count and Bright-eye.
The two white men were somewhat discontented by the way in which the interview had terminated. Still the Count was too thorough a gentleman not to allow, honourably, that on this occasion the Chief had been the victor in magnanimity. As for Bright-eye, however, he could not see so far. Furious at the check he had sustained, and especially at the slight value the Chief appeared to set on his capture, he revolved the most terrible schemes of vengeance while biting his nails savagely.
The Count amused himself for a few minutes in watching his comrade's manoeuvres, as he walked up and down the tent, growling, clenching his fists, dashing the butt of his rifle on the ground, and looking up to heaven with comic despair. At last the young man could stand it no longer, but burst into a hearty laugh. The hunter stopped in amazement, and looked around the tent, to discover the cause for such untimely gaiety.
"What has happened, Mr. Edward?" he at length asked, "Why do you laugh so?"
Naturally this question, asked with a startled air, had no other result than to augment the Count's hilarity.
"My good fellow," he said, "I am laughing at the singular faces you cut, and the strange manoeuvres you have been indulging in during the last twenty minutes."
"Oh, Mr. Edward!" Bright-eye said, reproachfully; "how can you jest so?"
"Why, my boy, you seem to take the affair seriously to heart, and to have lost that magnificent confidence which made you despise all dangers."
"No, no, Mr. Edward! you are mistaken. My opinion has been formed a long time. Look you, I am certain these red devils will never succeed in killing me; but I am furious at having been so thoroughly duped by them. It is humiliating, and I am now racking my brains to discover a way to play them a trick."
"Do so, my friend, and I would help you, were it possible; but, for the present, at least, I am forced to remain neutral—my hands are tied."
"What?" Bright-eye said, with astonishment; "you mean to remain here, and serve their diabolical jugglery?"
"I must, my good fellow; have I not pledged my word?"
"You certainly pledged it, and I do not know why. Still, a pledge given to an Indian counts for nothing. The Redskins are tribes who understand nothing about honour; and, in a similar case, I am certain that Natah Otann would consider himself in no way bound to you."
"That is possible, although I am not of your opinion. The Chief is no ordinary man. He is gifted with a great intellect."
"What good is it to him? None. Except to be more cunning and treacherous than his countrymen. Take my advice, and do not stand on any ceremony with him. Take French leave, as they say in the South, and leave them in the lurch. The Redskins will be the first to applaud your conduct."
"My good fellow," the Count said, seriously, "it is useless to discuss the point; when a gentleman has once given his word, he is a slave to it, no matter the person to whom he has given it, or the colour of his skin."
"Very good, then, Mr. Edward, pray act as you think proper. I have no right to thrust my advice on you. You are a better judge than myself of how you are bound to act. So, be easy. I will not mention it again."
"Thank you."
"All that is very good, but what are we going to do now?"
"What we are going to do? I suppose you mean what are you going to do?"
"No, Mr. Edward, I said exactly what I meant; you understand that I am not going to leave you alone in this nest of serpents, I hope!"
"On the contrary, you will do so directly."
"I?" the hunter said, with a loud laugh.
"Yes, you, my friend; you must."
"Bah! why so, pray, if you remain?"
"That is the very reason."
The hunter reflected for a moment.
"You know that I do not understand you at all," he said.
"Yet it is very clear," the Count answered.
"Hum! that is possible, but not to me."
"What, you do not understand that we must avenge ourselves?"
"Oh, of course, I understand that, Mr. Edward."
"How can we hope to succeed, if you insist on remaining here?"
"Because you remain," the hunter said, obstinately.
"With me it is very different, my good fellow. I remain, because I have given my word; while you are free to go and come, and must therefore profit by it to leave the camp. Once in the prairie, nothing can be easier for you than to join some of our friends. It is evident that my worthy Ivon, coward as he fancies himself, is working actively at this moment for my deliverance; so see him, come to an understanding with him, for though it is true I cannot leave this place, I cannot, on the other hand, prevent my friends liberating me; if they succeed, my parole will be suspended, and nothing will hinder my following them. Do you understand me now?"
"Yes, Mr. Edward; but I confess that I cannot make up my mind to leave you alone, among these red devils."
"Do not trouble yourself about that, Bright-eye; I run no danger by remaining with them; they have too much respect for me; besides, Natah Otann well knows how to defend me, should it be needful. So, my friend, start at once. You will serve me better by going, than by insisting on remaining here, where your presence, in the event of danger, would be more injurious than useful to me."
"You are a better judge than I in such a matter, sir; as you insist on it, I will go," the hunter said, with a mournful shake of his head.
"Above all, be prudent, do not expose yourself to risk in quitting the camp."
The hunter smiled disdainfully.
"You know," he said, "that the Redskins cannot harm me."
"That is true; I forgot it," the young man said, laughingly; "so, good-bye, my friend, stay no longer, but go, and joy be with you."
"Good-bye, Mr. Edward; will you not give me a shake of the hand before we part, not knowing whether we shall ever meet again?"
"Most gladly, for are we not brothers?"
"That is famous," the hunter said, joyfully, as he pressed the Count's offered hand.
The two men presently separated. The Count fell back on the pile of furs that served as his bed, while the hunter, after assuring himself that his arms were in good condition, quitted the tent. With his rifle under his arm, and head erect, he crossed the camp. The Indians did not seem at all to trouble themselves at the hunter's presence among them, and allowed him to depart unimpeded.
Bright-eye, when he had gone about two musket shots from the camp, stopped, and began reflecting on what was best to be done to liberate the Count; after a few moments' reflection, his mind was made up, and he proceeded toward the squatter's settlement with that long trot peculiar to the hunters.
When he reached the clearing, the squatter was holding a conference with Ivon and the party sent by Major Melville. His arrival was greeted with a hurrah of delight.
The North Americans were considerably embarrassed. Mrs. Margaret, in spite of the exclusive details she had obtained about Natah Otann's plans, and the movements of the Indians, had only made an incomplete report to the Major, from the simple reason, that the old Sachems of the Allied Nations kept their deliberations so secret, that Red Wolf, despite all his cleverness and craft, had himself picked up but a slight part of the plan the Chiefs proposed to follow. The scouts, sent out in all directions, had brought in startling reports about the movements of the Blackfeet; the Indians appeared resolved to strike a grand blow this time; all the Missouri nations had responded to Natah Otann's appeal; the tribes arrived one after the other, to join the coalition, so that their number now attained four thousand, and threatened not to stop then.
Fort Mackenzie was surrounded on all sides by invisible enemies, who had completely cut off the communication with the other settlements of the Fur Company, and rendered the Major's position extremely critical. Thus the hunters were greatly perplexed; and during the many hours they had been deliberating, they had only hit on insufficient or impracticable means to relieve the fortress.
The White men have only succeeded in holding their own in Western America by the divisions they have managed to sow among the aborigines of the continent; whenever the latter have remained united, the Europeans have failed, as witness the Araucanos of Chili, whose small but valiant republic has maintained its independence to the present day; or the Seminoles of Louisiana, who have only lately been conquered after a desperate contest, carried on with all the rules of modern warfare, and many other Indian nations, whose names we could easily quote, if necessary, in support of our arguments.
This time the Indians seemed to have understood the importance of open and energetic action. The several Chiefs had, ostensibly at least, forgotten all their hatred and jealousies, to destroy the common enemy. Thus the Americans, in spite of their approved bravery, trembled at the mere thought of the war of extermination they would have to sustain against enemies exasperated by a long series of vexations, when they counted their numbers, and saw how weak they were, compared to the warriors preparing to crush them. The council, interrupted for a moment by Bright-eye's arrival, immediately assembled again, and the debate was continued.
"By heaven!" John Black exclaimed, angrily, as he smote his thigh with his fist, "I confess that I have no luck, everything turns against me; hardly have I settled here, whither everything made me forebode a prosperous future, than I am dragged, in spite of myself, into a war with these vagabond savages. Who knows how it will end? It is plain to me that we shall all lose our scalps. That is a pleasant prospect for a man who is anxious to raise his family honourably by his labour."
"That is not the question at this moment," Ivon said; "we have to save my master at all risks. What! you are all afraid to fight when it is almost your trade? and you have done hardly anything else during your lives; while I, who am known to be a remarkable coward, do not hesitate to risk my scalp to save my master."
"You do not understand me, Master Ivon; I do not say that I am afraid to fight the Indians; heaven guard me from fearing these Pagans, whom I despise. Still, I believe that an honest and laborious man, like myself, may be permitted to deplore the consequences of a war with these demons. I know too well all I and my family owe to the Count, to hesitate in hurrying to his help, whatever the result may be. The little I possess was his gift, I have not forgotten it, and even were I to fall, I would do my duty."
"Bravo! that is what I call speaking," Ivon replied, joyously; "I was certain you would not hang back."
"Unfortunately," Bright-eye objected, "all this does not advance matters much. I do not see how we can serve our friends. These red devils fall upon us more numerous than locusts in June. We may kill many of them, but in the end they will crush us by their weight."
This sad truth, perfectly understood by the auditors, plunged them into dull grief, A material impossibility cannot be discussed; it must be submitted to. The Americans felt an imminent catastrophe coming on, and their despair was augmented by the consciousness of their impotence. Suddenly the cry "To arms!" several times repeated outside, made them bound on their seats. Each seized his weapons, and ran out. The cry, which had broken up the conference, was raised by William, the squatter's son.
All eyes were turned on the prairie, and the hunters perceived, with secret terror, that William was not mistaken. A large band of Indian warriors, dressed in their grand war paint, was galloping over the plain, and rapidly approaching the clearing.
"Hang it!" Bright-eye muttered, "matters are getting worse. I must confess that these most accursed Pagans have made enormous progress in military tactics. If they continue, they will soon give us a lesson."
"Do you think so?" Black asked, anxiously.
"Confound it!" the hunter replied, "it is evident to me that we are about to be attacked, I now know the plan of the Redskins as thoroughly as if they had explained it to me themselves."
"Ah!" Ivon said, curiously.
"Judge for yourselves," the hunter continued; "the Indians intend to attack simultaneously all the posts occupied by white men, in order to render it impossible for them to help one another. That is excessively logical on their parts. In that way they will have a cheap bargain of us, and massacre us in detail. Hum! the man who commands them is a rough adversary for us. My lads, we must make up our minds gaily. We are lost, that is as plain to me as if the scalping knife was already in our hair. All left to us is to fall bravely."
These words, pronounced in the cool and placid tone usual with the wood ranger, caused all who heard them to shudder.
"I alone, perhaps," Bright-eye added, carelessly, "shall escape the common fate."
"Bah!" Ivon said; "you, old hunter, why so?"
"Why?" he said, with a sarcastic smile, "because, as you are perfectly aware, the Indians cannot kill me."
"Ah!" Ivon remarked, stupefied by this reason, and gazing on his friend with admiration.
"That is the state of the case," Bright-eye ended his address, and stamped his rifle on the ground.
In the meanwhile the Redskins advanced rapidly. The band was composed of one hundred and fifty warriors at least, the majority armed with guns, which proved they were picked men. At the head of the band, and about ten yards in advance, galloped two horsemen, probably Chiefs. The Indians stopped just out of range of the entrenchments; then, after consulting together for a few minutes, a horseman left the group, and, riding within pistol shot of the palisades, he waved a buffalo robe.
"Eh! eh! Master Black," Bright-eye said, with a cunning smile, "that is addressed to you as the chief of the garrison. The Redskins wish to parley."
"Ah!" the-American said, "I have a great mind to send a bullet after that rascal parading down, as my sole answer," and he raised his rifle.
"Mind what you are about," the hunter said, "you do not know the Redskins. So long as the first shot is not fired, there is a chance of treating with them."
"Suppose, old hunter," Ivon said, "you were to do something?"
"What is it, my prudent friend?" the Canadian asked.
"Why, as you are not afraid of being killed by the Redskins, suppose you go to them. Perhaps you could arrange matters with them."
"Stay! that is a good idea. No one can say what may happen. I will go. That will be the best, after all. Will you accompany me, Ivon?"