"What is to be done?" he muttered.
Natah Otann laid his hand on his shoulder.
"Let my brother open his ears," he said to him; "a chief is about to speak."
The American fixed an inquiring glance on him.
"Does this country suit my brother then?" the Indian continued.
"Why should I deny it? This country is the finest I ever saw; close to me I have the river, behind me, immense virgin forests. Oh yes, it is a fine country, and I should have made a magnificent plantation."
"I have told my Paleface brother," the chief went on, "that this country belonged to me."
"Yes, you told me so, chief, and it is true; I cannot deny it."
"Well, if the Paleface desires it, he can obtain so much ground as he wishes," Natah Otann said, concisely.
At this proposition, which the American was far from suspecting, he pricked up his ears; the squatter's nature was aroused in him.