"All that is smoke," the stranger replied. "The love of country is the greatest and noblest passion the Master of Life has placed in the heart of man—my father had a revered name among his people."
The stranger frowned, and his face assumed an expression the Indian had never seen before.
"My name is a curse," he said, "no one will hear it uttered again; it has been like a brand seared on my forehead by the partisans of the man whom I, humble as I am, helped to overthrow."
Sparrowhawk made a gesture of supreme disdain.
"The chief of the nation must return to his warriors: if he betrays them, they are masters of his scalp," he said, in a firm voice.
The stranger, surprised at being so well understood by this primitive man, smiled proudly.
"In demanding his head," he said, "I staked my own; I wished to save my country. Who can blame me?"
"No one," Sparrowhawk replied, quickly; "every warrior must die."
There was a lengthened silence; Sparrowhawk was the first to break it.
"We are destined," he said, "to live long days together, my father wishes his name to remain unknown, and I will not insist on knowing it; still, we cannot wander about at hazard, we must find a tribe to adopt us, men to recognize us as brothers."