“Well?” said Paganel to him at length.
The Patagonian seemed not to hear. Paganel fancied he could detect an ironical smile already on the lips of the Major, and determined to carry the day, was about to recommence his geographical illustrations, when the Indian stopped him by a gesture, and said:
“You are in search of a prisoner?”
“Yes,” replied Paganel.
“And just on this line between the setting and rising sun?” added Thalcave, speaking in Indian fashion of the route from west to east.
“Yes, yes, that’s it.”
“And it’s your God,” continued the guide, “that has sent you the secret of this prisoner on the waves.”
“God himself.”
“His will be accomplished then,” replied the native almost solemnly. “We will march east, and if it needs be, to the sun.”
Paganel, triumphing in his pupil, immediately translated his replies to his companions, and exclaimed: