Bright-eye seemed to hesitate for a moment.
"Are you afraid to explain yourself clearly on that head?" the Count asked.
"I have no reason for that; on the contrary, with the exception of that day on which he wished to flay me alive—a slight mistake, which I pardon with my whole heart,—our relations have always been excellent."
"The more so," the Count said, with a laugh, "because you never met again, to my knowledge, till this day."
"That is what I meant to say. Look you—Natah Otann, between ourselves, is one of those Indians whom it is far more advantageous not to see: he is like the owl—his presence always forebodes evil."
"The deuce! You trouble me greatly by speaking so, Bright-eye."
"Suppose I had said nothing, then," he answered, quickly; "for my part, I should prefer to be silent."
"That is possible; but the little you have allowed to escape has, I confess, so awakened my curiosity, that I should not be sorry to learn more."
"Unfortunately, I know nothing."
"Still you spoke of his reputation—is that bad?"