"How many are there, at a guess?"
"I will give you their exact number, for I have counted them to the last man. The first detachment, the one ambushed behind us, has only twelve men."
"What," the count exclaimed, "do you not consider that large odds?"
"Hang it," the Canadian said simply, "you do not reflect that we are seven palefaces."
The count shook his head, feeling but little convinced by such reasoning.
"Go on," he said; "and the second detachment, the one ahead of us?"
"That is more numerous: it is composed of nineteen warriors, among whom I recognized several picked braves, from the wolf tails they wore on their heels."
"¡Caramba!" the count exclaimed with ill-disguised terror, "Thirty-one warriors in all, and yet you do not consider them too many for seven men!"
"I do not know whether thirty warriors are too many for seven men," the Canadian answered dryly; "all I can say is, that my friend Moonshine and myself have frequently fought a larger number of redskins in positions worse than our present one. Ah! if Moonshine were here, I promise you I should need nobody's help to free us from this vermin."
The Canadian's language produced an amazing effect on the minds of the Spaniards.