Black-deer was proceeding to the meeting place; he had himself indicated to the Canadian hunter, and was not more than three or four leagues from the spot where he expected to find him, when his practised ear caught the sound of the mad chase of the buffaloes. Five minutes had sufficed for him to recognize the imminence of the danger his friend incurred; with that rapidity of decision which characterizes Redskins in extreme cases, he had resolved to warn his friend, and to save or perish with him. He had then rushed forward, leaping with headlong speed over the space that separated him from the place of meeting, having only one thought, that of distancing the manada, so that the hunter might escape. Unhappily, however quickly he went—and the Indians are remarkable for their fabulous agility—he had not been able to arrive soon enough to save his friend.
"When the Chief, after warning the hunter, recognized the futility of his efforts, a sudden change took place in him. His features reassumed their old stoicism; a sad smile played round his mocking lips, and he sank to the ground, muttering, in a hollow voice—
"The Wacondah would not permit it."
But Tranquil did not accept the position with the same resignation and fatalism, for he belonged to that race of energetic men whose powerful character causes them to struggle to their dying breath.
When he saw that the Redskin, with the fatalism peculiar to his race, gave up the contest for life, he resolved to make a supreme effort, and attempt impossibilities.
About twenty yards in front of the spot where the hunter had established his bivouac, were several trees lying on the ground, dead, and, as it were, piled on each other; then, behind this species of breastwork a clump of five or six oaks grew, isolated from all the rest, and formed a sort of oasis in the midst of the sand on the river bank.
"Quick!" the hunter shouted. "Quoniam, pick up as much dead wood as you can find, and come here. Chief, do the same."
The two men obeyed without comprehending, but reassured by their comrade's coolness.
In a few minutes a considerable pile of dead wood was piled over the fallen oaks.
"Good!" the hunter exclaimed; "By Heaven! All is not lost yet—take courage!"