who kindle it. This is the reason why, by a mere inspection of that smoke, I told you just now that the people down there were white men, and strangers, moreover, to the prairie, else they would have employed dry wood."
"By Jove," the young man exclaimed, "that is curious, and I should like to convince myself."
"What do you intend doing?"
"Why, go and see who are the people that have lighted the fire."
"Why disturb yourself, since I have told you?"
"That is possible; but what I propose doing is for my personal satisfaction; since we have been living together you have told me such extraordinary things, that I should like, once in a way, to know what faith to place in them."
And not listening to the Canadian's observations, the young man aroused his servant.
"What do you want, my lord?" the latter said, rubbing his eyes.
"The horses, and quickly too, Ivon."
The Breton rose and bridled the horses; the Count leaped into the saddle; the hunter imitated him, though shaking his head; and the three trotted down the hill.
"You will see Mr. Edward," Bright-eye said, "that I was in the right."
"I am certain of it; still I should like to judge for myself."
"If that is the case, allow me to go in front; for, as we do not know with what people we may have to deal, it is as well to be on our guard."
The Canadian headed the party. The fire the Count had seen from the top of the hill was not so near as he supposed, the hunter was incessantly compelled to get out of the way of dense thickets which barred the way, and this lengthened the distance; so that they took nearly two hours in reaching the spot they were steering for. When they had at length arrived within a short distance of the fire which had so perplexed M. de Beaulieu, the Canadian stopped, making his companions a sign to imitate him. When they had done so, Bright-eye got down, gave his horse's bridle to Ivon, and taking his rifle in his hand, said, "I am going on a voyage of discovery."
"Go," the young man replied, laconically.
The Count was a man of tried courage; but since he had been in the prairie he had learned one thing, that courage without prudence is madness in the presence of enemies who never act without calling craft and treachery to their aid; hence, gradually renouncing his chivalrous ideas, he was beginning to adopt the habits of the desert, knowing very well that in an ambuscade the advantage nearly always remains with the man who first discovers the enemies whom chance may bring in his way. The Count, therefore, patiently awaited the hunter's return, who had silently glided among the trees, and disappeared in the direction of the fire. At the end of about an hour the shrubs shook, and Bright-eye reappeared at a point opposite to that where he had started. The old wood ranger had been considerably bothered by the apparition of the distant fire which the Count pointed out to him from the top of the hill. So soon as he was alone, putting in practice the axiom, that the shortest road from one point to another is a curved line, the truth of which is proved in the prairie, he had taken a wide circuit, in order to come, if it were possible, on the trail of the men he wished to observe, and from it discover who they really were.
In the desert, the meeting most feared is that with man. Every stranger is at first an enemy, and hence persons generally accost each other at a distance, with the barrel of the gun advanced, and the finger on the trigger. With that infallible glance the experience of the savannahs had given him, Bright-eye had noticed from a distance a place where the grass was laid, and the strangers must have passed along that road. The hunter, still bent down to escape observation, soon found himself on the edge of a track about four feet wide, the end of which was lost in a virgin forest a short distance ahead. After stopping a minute, to recover his breath, the Canadian placed the butt of his rifle on the ground, and began carefully studying the traces so deeply imprinted on the plain. His investigation did not last ten minutes; then he raised his head with a smile, threw his rifle on his shoulder, and quietly returned to the spot where he had left his companions, not even taking the trouble to go to the fire. This brief examination had told him all he wished to know.
"Well, Bright-eye, any news?" the Count asked, on noticing him.
"The people, whose fire we perceived," the hunter replied, "are American emigrants, pioneers who wish to set up their tent in the desert. The family is composed of six persons – four men and two women; they have a waggon to carry their baggage, and have with them a large number of beasts."
"Mount your horse, Bright-eye, and let us go and welcome these worthy people to the desert."
The hunter remained motionless and thoughtful, leaning on his rifle.
"Well," the Count said, "did you not hear me, my friend?"
"Yes, Mr. Edward, I perfectly understood you; but among the traces left by the emigrants I discovered others which appeared to me suspicious, and I should like, before venturing into their camp, to beat up the neighbourhood."
"What traces do you allude to?" the young man asked, quickly.
"Well," the hunter went on, "you know that, rightly or wrongly, the Redskins claim to be kings of the prairies, and will not endure there the presence of white men."
"I consider that they are perfectly right in doing so; since the discovery of America, the white men have gradually dispossessed them of their territory, and driven them back on the desert; they are defending their last refuge, and are justified in doing so."
"I am perfectly of your opinion, Mr. Edward; the desert ought to belong to the hunters and the Indians; unfortunately the Americans do not think so, and they daily quit their cities and proceed into the interior, establishing themselves here and there, and confiscating to their benefit the most fertile countries, and those richest in game."
"What can we do, my good friend?" the Count answered, with a smile; "it is an irremediable evil, which we must put up with; but I cannot yet see where you wish to arrive with these reflections, which, though extremely just, do not appear to me exactly suited to the occasion; so pray have the goodness to explain your meaning."
"I will do so. Well, I noticed, by certain signs, that the emigrants are closely followed by a party of Indians, who probably only await a favourable moment to attack and massacre them."
"The deuce!" the young man said; "that is serious of course you warned these worthy people of the danger that threatens them."
"I – not at all. I have not spoken to them, nor even seen them."
"What! you have not seen them?"
"No; so soon as I recognized the Indian sign, I hurried back to consult with you."
"Very good; but as you did not go to their camp, how were you able to give me such precise information about them and their number?"
"Oh, very easily," the hunter answered simply; "the desert is a book entirely written by the hand of God, and it cannot hide its secrets from a man accustomed to read it. I needed only to look at the trail for a few minutes to divine everything."
The Count fixed on the hunter a glance of surprise. Though he had been living in the prairie for more than six months, he could not yet understand the species of divination with which the hunter seemed gifted, with reference to facts that were to himself as a dead letter.
"Perhaps, though," he said, "the Indians whose trail you detected are harmless hunters."
Bright-eye
