"Great."
"I do not wish to vex you about such a trifle. Well! you will soon allow that I was right."
"Possibly; I will await my brother's reply for half an hour."
"Very good; but where shall I bring it to you?"
"Nowhere!" the Indian exclaimed, sharply. "If I am right, my brother will imitate the cry of the magpie twice; if I am mistaken, it will be that of the owl."
"Very good, that's agreed; you shall soon hear, chief."
The Indian bowed gracefully.
"May the Wacondah be with my brother!" he said.
After this courteous salutation, the two men parted. The Canadian carelessly threw his rifle on his shoulder, and stalked back to his camp, while the Indian followed him with his glance, apparently remaining insensible; but as soon as the hunter had disappeared, the chief lay down in the sand, glided along in the shade like a serpent, and in his turn disappeared amid the bushes, following the direction taken by Bright-eye, though at a considerable distance.
The latter did not fancy himself followed; he therefore paid no attention to what went on around him, and regained his camp without noticing anything of an extraordinary nature. Had not the Canadian been preoccupied, and his old experience lulled to sleep for the moment, he would have certainly perceived, with that penetration which distinguished him, that the desert was not in its usual state of tranquillity: he would have felt unusual tremors in the leaves, and possibly have seen eyes flashing in the shade of the tall grass. He soon reached the camp where the Count and Ivon were sleeping profoundly. Bright-eye hesitated a few seconds ere awakening the young man whose sleep was so peaceful; still, reflecting that the least imprudence might entail terrible consequences, whose result it was impossible to calculate, he bent over him, and gently touched his shoulder. Though the touch was so slight, it sufficed to wake the Count; he opened his eyes, sat up, and looking at the old hunter—