"The party I discovered is probably only the vanguard of a more numerous band," he answered; "as far as I could judge, there were not more than forty; but the Redskin warriors march with the speed of the antelope, and they can hardly ever be counted; the party is composed of Comanches, Blackfeet, and Sioux; that is to say, the three most warlike tribes in the prairie."
"Hum!" the Count remarked, after a moment's reflection, "if these demons really mean to attack the Americans, as everything leads us to suppose, the poor fellows appear to be in an awkward position."
"Unless a miracle occur, they are lost," the hunter said, concisely.
"What is to be done—how to warn them?"
"Mr. Edward, take care what you are going to do."
"Still we cannot allow men of our own colour to be murdered almost in our presence; that would be cowardly."
"Yes; but it would be astounding folly to join them; reflect that there are only three of us."
"I know it," the young man said, thoughtfully; "still I would never consent to abandon these poor people without trying to defend them."
"Stay, there is only one thing to be done, and perhaps Heaven will come to our aid."
"Come, be brief, my friend, time presses."