“Good!” said the Indian; “the whites are brave, and they will need all their bravery. The white men of the south are being attacked now; why are the men of the north not against them?”
“Because you are a bird of doleful plumage! because lions do not hunt with jackals, for jackals can only howl while the lion devours. Apply the compliment; it is a fine flower of Indian rhetoric,” cried Pepé, exasperated.
“Good! the whites are like the conquered Indians, insulting his conqueror. But the eagle laughs at the words of the mocking-bird, and it is not to him that the eagle deigns to address himself.”
“To whom then?” cried Pepé.
“To the giant, his brother, the eagle of the snowy mountains, who disdains to imitate the language of other birds.”
“What do you want of him?” said Bois-Rose.
“The Indian would hear the northern warrior ask for life,” replied the Blackbird.
“I have a different demand to make,” said the Canadian.
“I listen,” replied the Indian.
“If you will swear on the honour of a warrior, and on your father’s bones, that you will spare my companions’ lives, I shall cross the river alone without arms, and bring you my scalp on my head. That will tempt him,” added Bois-Rose.