have lived like a man."

"Let us rather try to die like Christians," replied Bois-Rose.

Then drawing Fabian towards him, he said:

"I scarcely know, my beloved child, what I had dreamed of for you; I am
half savage and half civilised, and my dreams partook of both.
Sometimes I wished to restore you to the honours of this world--to your
honours, your titles--and to add to them all the treasures of the Golden
Valley. Then I dreamed only of the splendour of the desert, and its
majestic harmonies, which lull a man to his rest, and entrance him at
his waking. But I can truly say that the dominant idea in my mind was
that of never quitting you. Must that be accomplished in death? So
young, so brave, so handsome, must you meet the same fate as a man who
would soon be useless in the world?"

"Who would love me when you were gone?" replied Fabian, in a voice which
their terrible situation deprived neither of its sweetness nor firmness.
"Before I met you, the grave had closed upon all I loved, and the sole
living being who could replace them was--you. What have I to regret in
this world?"

"The future, my child; the future into which youth longs to plunge, like
the thirsty stag into the lake."

Distant firing now interrupted the melancholy reflections of the old
hunter; the Indians were attacking the camp of Don Estevan. The reader
knows the result.

Suddenly they heard a voice from the bank, saying, "Let the white men
open their ears!"

"It is the `Blackbird' again," cried Pepe. It was indeed he, supported
by two Indians.

"Why should they open their ears?" answered Pepe.

"The whites laugh at the menaces of the `Blackbird,' and despise his
promises."

"Good!" said the Indian; "the whites are brave, and they will need all
their bravery. The white men of the south are being attacked now; why
are the men of the north not against them?"

"Because you are a bird of doleful plumage! because lions do not hunt
with jackals, for jackals can only howl while the lion devours. Apply
the compliment; it is a fine flower of Indian rhetoric," cried Pepe,
exasperated.

"Good! the whites are like the conquered Indians, insulting his
conqueror. But the eagle laughs at the words of the mocking-bird, and
it is not to him that the eagle deigns to address himself."

"To whom then?" cried Pepe.

"To the giant, his brother, the eagle of the snowy mountains, who
disdains to imitate the language of other birds."

"What d