All at once a shrill whistle was audible a short distance off.
"Ah," Tranquil exclaimed, with a start of joy as he threw up his head, "now I shall know what I have to depend on."
And, placing his fingers in his mouth, he imitated the cry of the heron; at the same moment a man bounded from the forest, and with two tiger-like leaps was by the hunter's side.
"Wah!" he exclaimed, "What is my brother doing here?"
It was Black-deer, the Indian Chief.
"I am awaiting you, Chief," the Canadian answered.
The Redskin was a man of twenty-six to twenty-seven years of age, of middle height, but admirably proportioned. He wore the great war-garb of his nation, and was painted and armed as if on the war-trail; his face was handsome, his features intelligent, and his whole countenance indicated bravery and kindness.
At this moment he seemed suffering from an agitation, the more extraordinary because the Redskins make it a point of honour never to appear affected by any event, however terrible in its nature; his eyes flashed fire, his words were quick and harsh, and his voice had a metallic accent.
"Quick," he said, "we have lost too much time already."
"What is the matter?" Tranquil asked.