The fire was covered, so that its light should not reveal the exact position of the camp; and the two servants lay down side by side on the grass, where they soon fell asleep: while father and son, standing at either extremity of the camp, watched over the common safety.
CHAPTER IV
THE GRIZZLY BEAR
All was calm in the prairie; not a sound disturbed the silence of the desert. On the sudden appearance of the Indian, whatever the emotion Bright-eye might feel, it was impossible for Natah Otann to perceive anything: the hunter's face remained calm, and not a muscle moved.
"Ah!" he said, "the sachem of the Piékanns is welcome: does he come as a friend or an enemy?"
"Natah Otann comes to sit by the fire of the palefaces, and smoke the calumet with them," the chief replied, casting a searching glance around him.
"Good: if the chief will wait a moment, I will light the fire."
"Bright-eye can light it, the chief will wait: he has come to talk with the palefaces, and the conversation will be long."
The Canadian looked fixedly at the Redskin; but the Indian was impassive like himself, and it was impossible to read anything on his features. The hunter collected a few handfuls of dry wood, struck a light, and soon a bright flame sprung up, and illumined the mount. The Indian drew near the fire, took his calumet from his girdle, and began grimly smoking. Bright-eye not wishing to remain in any way behindhand, imitated his every movement with perfectly feigned indifference, and the two men sat for several moments puffing clouds of smoke at each other. Natah Otann at length broke the silence.
"The pale hunter is a warrior," he said; "why does he try to hide himself like the water rat?"
Bright-eye did not consider it advisable to reply to this insinuation, and continued smoking philosophically, while casting a side-glance at his questioner.
"The Blackfeet have the eye of the eagle," Natah Otann continued, "their piercing eyes see all that happens on the prairie."
The Canadian made a sign of assent, but did not yet reply; the chief continued:
"Natah Otann has seen the trail of his friends the palefaces, his heart quivered with pleasure in his breast, and he has come to meet them."
Bright-eye slowly removed his pipe from his lips, and turning towards the Indian, examined him carefully for an instant, and then answered
"I repeat to my brother that he is welcome: I know that he is a great chief, and am happy to see him."
"Wah!" the Indian said, with a cunning smile: "is my brother so satisfied as he says at my presence?"
"Why not, chief?"
"My brother is angry still that the Blackfeet fastened him to the stake of torture."
The Canadian shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, and coldly answered:
"Nonsense, chief! why do you fancy I am angry with you or your nation? war is war; I have no reproaches to make to you. You wished to kill me, I escaped; so we are quits."
"Good: does my brother speak the truth? has he really forgotten?" the chief asked with some vivacity.
"Why not?" the Canadian answered cautiously. "I have not a forked tongue, the words my mouth utters come from my heart: I have not forgotten the treatment you made me undergo, I should lie if I said so: but I have forgiven it."
"Ochi! my brother is a greatheart: he is generous."
"No: I am merely a man who knows Indian customs, that is all: you did no more and no less than all the Redskins do under similar circumstances: I cannot be angry with you for having acted according to your nature."
There was a silence; the two men went on smoking. The Indian was the first to interrupt it.
"Then my brother is a friend," he said.
"And you?" the hunter asked, answering one question by another.
The chief rose with a gesture full of majesty, and threw back the folds of his buffalo robe.
"Would an enemy come like this?" he asked, in a gentle voice.
The Canadian could not repress a movement of surprise; the Blackfoot was unarmed, his girdle was empty: he had not even his scalping knife, that weapon from which the Indians part so unwillingly. Bright-eye offered him his hand.
"Shake hands, chief," he said to him. "You are a man of heart: now speak, I am listening to you: and, in the first place, will you have a draught of firewater?"
"The firewater is an evil counsellor," the chief replied, with a smile; "it makes the Indians mad: Natah Otann does not drink it."
"Come, come, I see that I was mistaken with regard to you, chief; that pleases me: speak, my ears are open."
"What I have to say to Bright-eye other ears must not listen to."
"My friends are in a deep sleep, you can speak without fear; and even if they were awake, as you know, they do not understand your language."
The Indian shook his head.
"Glass-eye knows everything," he replied, "the Grizzly Bear will not speak before him."
"As you please, chief: still, I would remark that I have nothing to say to you: you can speak, therefore, or be silent at your ease."
Natah Otann seemed to hesitate for an instant, and then continued:
"Bright-eye will follow his friend to the river bank, and there listen to the words of the Blackfoot chief."
"Hum!" the hunter said, "and who will watch over my companions during my absence? No, no," he added, "I cannot do that, chief. The Redskins have the cunning of the opossum: while I am near the river, my friends may be surprised. Who will respond for their safety?"
The Indian rose.
"The word of a chief," he said, in a proud voice, and with a gesture full of majesty.
The Canadian looked at him attentively. "Listen, Redskin," he said to him, "I do not doubt your honour, so do not take in ill part what I am going to say to you."
"I listen to my brother," the Indian answered.
"I must watch over my companions. Since you insist on speaking to me in secret, I consent to follow you, but on one condition, that I do not lay aside my weapons; in that way, should one of those things happen, which are too common in the prairie, and which no human foresight can prevent, I shall be able to face the danger and sell my life dearly: if what I propose suits you, I am ready to follow you; if not, not."
"Good," the Indian said, with a smile, "my pale brother is right, a true hunter never quits his weapons. Bright-eye may follow his friend."
"Very well, then," the Canadian said, resolutely, as he threw his rifle on his shoulder.
Natah Otann began descending the hill. While gliding noiselessly through the shrubs and thickets, the Canadian walked literally in his footsteps; but though pretending the most perfect security, he did not omit carefully examining the vicinity, and lending an ear to the slightest sound, but all was calm and silent in the desert, and after some ten minutes' walk the two men reached the riverside.
The Mecha-Chebe rolled its waters majestically in a bed of golden sand, while at times a few vague shadows appeared on the bank: they were wild beasts coming to drink in the river. Two leagues from them, at the top of the hill, sparkled the last flames of an expiring fire, which appeared at intervals between the branches. Natah Otann stopped at the extremity of a species of small promontory, the point of which advanced some distance into the water. This spot was entirely free from vegetation: the eye could survey the prairie for a great distance, and detect the slightest movement in the desert.
"Does this place suit the hunter?" the chief asked.
"Capitally," Bright-eye replied, resting the butt of his rifle on the ground, and crossing his hands over the muzzle: "I am ready to hear the communication my brother wishes to make me."