"I knew I was right," cried the old man; "you know far more than you choose to say."
"No skin covers my heart, my blood runs red and clear in my veins; the Wacondah sees and judges me. Let my father explain himself frankly. I ought only to speak after him. His head is white with the snows of wisdom. He is wise."
"Good, Numank-Charake, you are a great brave, despite your youth. Soon you will be renowned in council. I know the motives which shut your mouth. You love her."
The young man started.
"Do not deny it," said the old man. "I know it, as does my son, and we rejoice both of us. She will be happy with one who is both strong and brave. Not knowing our sentiments towards you, you have nobly hesitated to accuse a near relative. You have acted well. But time presses, and not a moment is to be lost. We know our cousin as well, or perhaps better, than you do. We know also that falsehood never soiled your lips. To keep further silence would be to commit a bad action—to make yourself almost the accomplice of the ravishers. Speak out, then, like a man."
"I obey," replied the young man, respectfully.
"And hide nothing, I pray," added François Berger.
"I will tell you everything," he said, "as you know my heart is given to Evening Dew. I love her; her love is my joy, her voice my happiness. On my return to the village, after my unfortunate expedition, Evening Dew was no longer in her father's wigwam. I asked news of everybody; I even ventured to ask you. Your answer filled me with discouragement. I returned to my hut heartbroken with despair. My grandfather had pity on me. Kouha-hande loves me, and spoke like a wise man. 'Go,' he said, 'find Bright-eye at the spot agreed on; he is the brother of Evening Dew; he will grieve with you, and perhaps give you good advice. During his absence I will watch. If necessary, I will go to the hut of the white man on the Wind River. Adieu, my son, and may the Wacondah accompany you,' I obeyed my father. I put on my travelling moccasins, took my gun, provisions, all that a hunter requires, and started. But my soul was sorrowful; a sad presentiment froze me to the marrow of my bones; Wacondah sent it."
"Courage, child," said the old man, kindly. "Wacondah is powerful and just; He tries those whom He loves."
"Two hours ago I returned to the village of my nation. I was very sad and uneasy. Without a word I left my comrades and friends, and rushed to my wigwam. My father's father awaited me. He was gloomy and thoughtful, and rose as I entered. I guessed at once what I had to expect. This is what I learned. Kouha-hande is a sachem whose words are not to be doubted. For two days, hid in the thickets, he watched the hut of the squatter of the River of the Wind. The second day, before the rising of the moon, there was a sharp whistle near the habitation, and a man appeared. He was very pale, wore the costume of the hunter of the prairies, and carried a rifle. At the distance the sachem could not make out his features. Almost immediately, however, a second person appeared on the scene, coming from the inside of the hut, and this was the squatter himself."