Yielding to the ascendency of the speaker, the Blackfoot and the Canadian each fell back a step, returned their knives to their girdles, and waited. The Count looked at them for a moment, then, holding out his hand to Bright-eye, said, affectionately—
"Thank you, my friend, but for the present I do not require your aid."
"Good, good," the hunter said; "you know I am yours, body and soul. Mr. Edward, it is only deferred." And the worthy Canadian sat down again quietly.
"As for you, chief," the young man continued, "the proposals are unacceptable. I should be mad to agree to them, and I hope I am not quite in that state yet. I wish to teach you this, that I have only come on the prairie to hunt for a short time; that time has passed; pressing business requires my presence in the United States, and dispels my desire to be useful to these good people; so soon as I have accompanied you to the village, according to my promise, I shall say good-bye to you, and probably never return."
"Which will be extremely agreeable to me," Bright-eye said, in confirmation.
The Indian did not stir.
"Still," the Count went on, "there is, perhaps, a way of settling the matter to the satisfaction of all parties; land is not so dear here; tell me your price, and I will pay you at once, either in dollars, or in bills on a New York banker."
"All right," the hunter said; "there is still that way open."
"Oh! I thank you, sir," Mrs. Black exclaimed, "but my husband cannot and ought not to accept such a proposal."
"Why not, my dear lady, if it suits me, and the chief accepts my offer?"