The hunter seized the guns and the knives, which he immediately hid under the furs. The arms were hardly in security, ere the curtain of the tent was again raised, and Natah Otann walked in. He bore in his hand a branch of ocote, or candlewood, which lit up his thoughtful face, and gave it a sinister expression. The Chief dug up the ground with his knife, planted his torch in the ground, and walked toward the prisoners, who looked on without giving any sign.
"Gentlemen," the Chief then said, "I have come to ask for a moment's interview with you."
"Speak, sir; we are your prisoners, and as such compelled to hear you, if not to listen to you," the Count said, drily, as he sat up on the furs, while Bright-eye rose carelessly, and lit his pipe at the candlewood torch.
"Since you have been my prisoners, gentlemen," the Chief continued, "you have not had, to my knowledge, any reason to complain of the way in which I have treated you."
"That depends. In the first place, I do not admit that I am legally your prisoner."
"Oh, sir," the Chief said, with a smile of mockery, "do you speak of legality to a poor Indian? You know well that we are ignorant of that word."
"That is true; go on."
"I have come to see you—"
"Why?" the Count interrupted him, impatiently. "Explain!"
"I have a bargain to propose to you."