"I thank you cordially," said the old man; "everything will go rightly, I promise you."
And he waved his hand as if to dismiss them.
The five young men rose, bowed respectfully to the two old men, and watched them as they walked slowly down to the banks of the river.
About two gunshots distance from the camp, or thereabouts, was a rather thick wood, composed of oaks and gumtrees. The hunters entered the wood, and soon afterwards disappeared under the forest.
Remaining alone, the old hunters lifted their Indian calumets and began to smoke, without exchanging one single word.
This went on for about three-quarters of an hour—incessant smoking. Suddenly, François Berger let fall his pipe, fell flat on his face, put his ear to the ground, and listened.
"They come," he said, rising.
"I have heard them coming for some time," quietly replied the old grandfather. "How many?"
"Not more than four."
"Just as I expected. He has acted in perfect good faith," said the old man.