"Nonsense, chief! why do you fancy I am angry with you or your nation? war is war; I have no reproaches to make to you. You wished to kill me, I escaped; so we are quits."
"Good: does my brother speak the truth? has he really forgotten?" the chief asked with some vivacity.
"Why not?" the Canadian answered cautiously. "I have not a forked tongue, the words my mouth utters come from my heart: I have not forgotten the treatment you made me undergo, I should lie if I said so: but I have forgiven it."
"Ochi! my brother is a greatheart: he is generous."
"No: I am merely a man who knows Indian customs, that is all: you did no more and no less than all the Redskins do under similar circumstances: I cannot be angry with you for having acted according to your nature."
There was a silence; the two men went on smoking. The Indian was the first to interrupt it.
"Then my brother is a friend," he said.
"And you?" the hunter asked, answering one question by another.
The chief rose with a gesture full of majesty, and threw back the folds of his buffalo robe.
"Would an enemy come like this?" he asked, in a gentle voice.