"I do not understand you."
"You see I am wounded?"
"Well! what then?"
"The Redskins attacked the Palefaces some hours ago; they were scaling the barricade which protected their camp, when they suddenly retired on your appearance, by order of their chief, who was wounded, and thirsting for revenge."
"It is true."
"Good. And the chief who commanded the Redskins—does my mother know him?"
"No."
"It was I, the Red Wolf: does my mother still doubt?"
"The path on which I am walking is so gloomy," she replied sorrowfully; "the work I am accomplishing is so serious, and of such import to me, that at times I feel fear enter my heart, and doubt contract my chest, when I think I am alone, a poor weak woman, to wrestle with a giant. For long years I have been ripening the plan I wish to accomplish today; I have occupied my whole life to obtain the result I desire, and I fear failure at the moment of succeeding. Then, if I have no longer confidence in myself, can I trust a man whom self-interest may urge to betray, or at any rate abandon me at a moment."
The chief drew himself up on hearing these words; his eye flashed fire, and, with a gesture of wounded pride, he said,—