"Listen," the hunter said, drawing himself up, "that is the only way."
And he steered the canoe straight toward the sentry. So soon as the Canadian was within hail—"Wah!" the Indian said, "my brother returns very late to Quiepaa Tani; everybody is asleep."
"That is true," Brighteye answered, in the language employed by the sentry; "but I have brought in some splendid fish."
"Eh?" the warrior remarked, seriously; "can I see them?"
"Not only can my brother see them," the Canadian answered, graciously, "but I authorize him to select any one he pleases."
"Och! my brother has an open hand. The Wacondah will never allow it to be empty. I accept my brother's offering."
"Hum!" Brighteye muttered, "it is astonishing how the poor devil takes the bait. He does not at all suspect that he is the fish."
And with this philosophical reflection he continued his progress. Soon after, the canoe grated on the sand. The Indian, affected by the Canadian's deceptive offer, would not be beaten by him in politeness, so he seized the side of the boat and began pulling it up. "Wah!" he said, "my brother has had a fine fishing, for the canoe is very heavy."
While saying this, he bent down to get a better hold, and began trying anew. But he had no time; Don Miguel bounded from the boat, and, clubbing his rifle, dealt a terrible blow of the butt on the wretched Indian's skull. The poor sentry was killed at once, and rolled on the sand without uttering a cry.
"There!" Brighteye cried, as he got out in his turn, "that man, at any rate, will not denounce us."