"Let us go," the Count said to the maiden, who was pensively watching the departure of the man she had so long loved as a father, and whom now she did not feel strong enough to hate. They mounted and went off, after a parting glance at the scattered fire of the Blackfoot camp.
[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
CONCLUSION.
The night was gloomy, cold, and mournful; not a star shone in the sky, and the young people only forced their way with extreme difficulty through the shrubs and creepers, in which their horses' feet were continually caught. They advanced very slowly, for both were too absorbed by the strange situation in which they found themselves, and the extraordinary events of which they had been actors or witnesses, to break the silence they had maintained since leaving the fort. They went on thus for about an hour, when a great noise was suddenly heard in the bushes. Two men rushed to the horses' heads, and, seizing the bridles, compelled them to stop. Prairie-Flower gave a shriek of terror.
"Halloh, brigands!" the Count shouted, as he cocked his pistols, "back, or I fire."
"Do not do so, for goodness sake, sir, for you would run the risk of killing a friend," a voice at once answered, which the Count recognized as the hunter's.
"Bright-eye?" he said, in amazement.
"By Jove!" the latter said, "did you fancy, pray, that I had deserted you?"
"My master, my kind master!" the Breton shouted, leaving hold of Prairie-Flower's bridle, and rushing toward the young man.