o you want of him?" said Bois-Rose.

"The Indian would hear the northern warrior ask for life," replied the
Blackbird.

"I have a different demand to make," said the Canadian.

"I listen," replied the Indian.

"If you will swear on the honour of a warrior, and on your father's
bones, that you will spare my companions' lives, I shall cross the river
alone without arms, and bring you my scalp on my head. That will tempt
him," added Bois-Rose.

"Are you mad, Bois-Rose?" cried Pepe.

Fabian flew towards the Canadian: "At the first step you make towards
the Indian, I shall kill you," cried he.

The old hunter felt his heart melt at the sound of the two voices that
he loved so much. A short silence followed, then came the answer from
the bank.

"The Blackbird wishes the white man to ask for life, and he asks for
death. My wish is this, let the white man of the north quit his
companions, and I swear on my father's bones, that his life shall be
saved, but his alone; the other three must die."

Bois-Rose disdained to reply to this offer, and the Indian chief waited
vainly for a refusal or an acceptance. Then he continued: "Until the
hour of their death, the whites hear the voice of the Indian chief for
the last time. My warriors surround the island and the river. Indian
blood has been spilled and must be revenged; white blood must flow. But
the Indian does not wish for this blood warmed by the ardour of the
combat, he wishes for it frozen by terror, impoverished by hunger. He
will take the whites living; then, when he holds them in his clutches,
when they are like hungry dogs howling after a bone, he will see what
men are like after fear and privation; he will make of their skin a
saddle for his war-horse, and each of their scalps shall be suspended to
his saddle, as a trophy of vengeance. My warriors shall surround the
island for fifteen days and nights if necessary, in order to make
capture of the white men."

After these terrible menaces the Indian disappeared behind the trees.
But Pepe not willing that he should believe he had intimidated them,
cried as coldly as anger would permit, "Dog, who can do nothing but
bark, the whites despise your vain bravados. Jackal, unclean polecat, I
despise you--I--I"--but rage prevented him from saying more, and he
finished off by a gesture of contempt; then with a loud laugh he sat
down, satisfied at having had the last word. As for Bois-Rose he saw in
it all only th