"My brother is wise," he replied; "I know that he did not wish to insult a friend."
"Speak, chief; time is slipping away; explain your plan to me."
"Behind that hill is Unicorn's village; the warriors will remain here while he advances alone, in order to know what is going on."
"Good; my brother can go; we will wait."
In the desert, long conversations are not the fashion; moments are too precious to be lost in words. The Indian set spurs to his horse and went off, and he soon disappeared from their sight.
"What do you think of what the chief has just told us?" the general asked.
"It is very serious," the stranger answered. "The Indians have an extraordinary skill for discovering what goes on in the desert—they have an infallible instinct which never deceives them. This man is one of the most intelligent I know. I am only acquainted with two men in the world capable of contending with him—that frightful scoundrel, Red Cedar, and Don Valentine, that French hunter whom the Indians themselves have surnamed the Trail-Hunter."
"Ah!" Don Miguel said, "Then your opinion is—"
"That we must await the result of the step Unicorn is taking at this moment; his village is only an hour's march at the most from the spot where we now are."
"But, in that case, why stop us?"