The Redskins stood stupefied by such a prodigious flight. The cry uttered by Ivon was doubtlessly a signal agreed on between him and Bright-eye; for, so soon as he heard it, the hunter, by a hurried movement, seized the Count's arm as he was in the act of striking.
"What on earth are you about?" the latter said, turning to him angrily.
"I am saving you," the hunter replied, coolly; "throw down your weapon!—We surrender," he then exclaimed.
"You will explain your conduct, I presume?" the Count continued.
"Be of good cheer; you will approve it."
"Be it so."
And he threw the gun down. The Indians, whom the hunters' heroic defence kept at a distance, rushed upon them so soon as they saw they were disarmed, Natah Otann and White Buffalo hurried up; the two men already were thrown down on the sand, when the Chief interposed.
"Sir," he said, "you are my prisoner; and you too, Bright-eye."
The young man shrugged his shoulders with contempt.
"Reckon up what your victory has already cost you," the hunter replied, with a sardonic smile, and pointing to the numerous corpses that lay on the plain. Natah Otann, however, pretended not to hear this remark.