The Count did not allow the invitation to be repeated; he rolled himself in his cloak, and lay down on the ground. Two minutes later, himself and Ivon were sleeping the sleep of the righteous. Bright-eye took his seat against the trunk of a tree, and lit a pipe to soothe the weariness of his night watch. All at once, he bent his body forward, placed his ear to the ground, and seemed to be listening attentively. His practised ear had heard a sound at first imperceptible, but which seemed to be gradually drawing nearer.
The hunter silently cocked his rifle, and waited. At the expiration of about a quarter of an hour there was a slight rustling in the thicket, the branches parted, and a man made his appearance.
This man was Natah Otann, the sachem of the Piékanns.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE EMIGRANTS.
When he went out on the trail, the hunter's old experience did not deceive him; and the traces he had followed up were really those of an emigrant family. As it is destined to play a certain part in our story, we will introduce it to the reader, and explain, as briefly as possible, by what chain of events it was at this moment encamped on the prairies of the Upper Mississippi, or, to speak like the learned, on the banks of the Missouri.
The history of one emigrant is that of the mass. All are people who, burdened by a numerous family, find a difficulty in rendering their children independent, either through the bad quality of the land they cultivate, or because, in proportion as the population increases, the land, in the course of a few years, gains an excessive value.
The Mississippi has become during the last few years the highway of the world. Every vessel that enters on its waters brings the new establishments the means of supplying themselves, either by barter or for money, with the chief commodities of existence. Thus the explorers have spread along both banks of the river, which have become the highways of emigration, by the prospect they offer the pioneers of possessing fine estates, and holding them a number of years, without the troublesome process of paying rent.
The word "country," in the sense we attach to it in Europe, does not exist for the North American. He is not, like our rustics, attached, from father to son, to the soil which has been the cradle of his family. He is only attached to the land by what it may bring him in; but when it is exhausted by too large a crop, and the colonist has tried in vain to restore its primitive fertility, his mind is speedily made up. He disposes of things too troublesome or expensive to transport; only keeps what is absolutely necessary, as servants, horses, and domestic utensils; says good-bye to his neighbours, who press his hand as if the journey he is about to undertake is the simplest matter in the world, and at daybreak, on a fine spring morning, he gaily sets out, turning a parting and careless glance at that country where he and his family have lived so long. His thoughts are already directed forward; the past no longer exists for him, the future alone smiles on him and sustains his courage.