This declaration, the justice and opportuneness of which everybody at once recognised, was like a signal; instantly, pipes in red clay, with cherry tree tubes, were drawn from their belts, stuffed, lighted, and soon a cloud of blue smoke surrounded the head of every guest like a glory.
"Now, then, Bright-eye," said Oliver, gaily, between two puffs, "fire away as soon as you like."
"Messieurs, my friends," replied Bright-eye, "my heart is very sad. Despite all I can do, I feel a kind of presentiment that this man, in whom we have so trusted, is deceiving us."
Numank-Charake lifted up his head.
"I know the paleface chief," he said, in his guttural tones, shaking his head in a way to give more emphasis to his words; "he is a man whose tongue is not forked. His word is as gold—and my brother, Bright-eye, is wrong."
"In the name of heaven, is it you who speak in that way, chief?" asked the astonished hunter; "You, of all men in the world, so deeply interested."
"Numank-Charake is a chief in his nation," quickly interrupted the redskin, his words, which swelled his bosom, coming directly from his heart; "the man who despises his enemies is not a brave warrior, but exposes himself to the reproach of only vanquishing cowards."
"Well spoken, chief," said Keen-hand.
"The Grey Bear, the paleface chief, is ferocious, cruel, and a thief, but he is brave and truthful."
Oliver and Clinton stared.