"I will."
"Who are your enemies?"
"The Redskins."
"Ah! ah!" he said, with a bitter smile; "I, too, have an old account to settle with those demons. To what nation do your enemies belong?"
"To the Blackfeet. They are the Kenha tribe."
"Oh," the Major continued, "my old friends, the Blood Indians; I have long been seeking a pretext to give them an exemplary punishment."
"That pretext I now bring you, Harry," she answered, passionately; "and do not fancy it a vain pretext invented by hatred. No, no! 'tis the revelation of a plot formed by all the Missouri Indians against the whites, which must break out within a few days, perhaps tomorrow."
"Ah!" the Major observed, thoughtfully, "I do not know why, but, for the last few days, suspicions have invaded, my mind; my presentiments did not deceive me, then. Speak, sister, at once, I conjure you; and since you have come to me, in order to appease your hatred of these red devils, I promise you a vengeance, the memory of which will make their grandsons shudder."
"I thank you for your promise, brother, and will not forget it," she answered. "Listen to me, then."
"One word first."