They reached the council lodge. Red Cedar, taking the responsibility on himself, undertook to answer the questions addressed to him by the Indians. Since Black Cat's departure, not a word had been uttered in the council. The Indians were patiently awaiting the result of the promises made by the chief. The latter resumed his place at the council fire; and, addressing the other sachem, said—
"Here are the white hunters."
"Very good," an old warrior answered, "let them speak, we hear."
Red Cedar advanced, and, leaning on his rifle, he took the word, at a sign from Black Cat.
"My red brothers," he said, in a clear and marked voice, "are all as wearied as ourselves by the continual attacks of that coyote who belongs to no nation, or no colour, and who is called the Son of Blood. If they will allow themselves to be guided by the experience of a man who has, for many years, been thoroughly acquainted with tricks and villany of which that man is capable, before long, in spite of the imposing force he has at his command, they will have driven him disgracefully from the prairies, and compelled him to recross the frontier, abandoning forever the rich hunting grounds over which he pretends to reign as a master."
"We await till our brother has explained himself more clearly, with frankness, and without equivocation," Black Cat interrupted him.
"That is what I am about to do," the squatter went on. "The prisoners you made were precious to you, because there was a white woman among them. You allowed them to escape, and must capture them again. They will be important hostages for you."
"My brother does not tell us where these prisoners have sought shelter."
Red Cedar shrugged his shoulders.
"That is, however, very easy to know. The prisoners had only one spot where they could obtain a refuge, before reaching the frontier."