"Ah, but that's good," said he, handing back the bottle; and presently his piercing eyes grew glazed, and a vacant look began to creep into his face.
"Dumais does not offer any to his brother Grand-Loutre," said the Canadian; "he knows that he does not drink fire-water."
"The Great Spirit loves Grand-Loutre," said the latter, "and made him throw up the only mouthful of fire-water he ever drank. The Great Spirit made him so sick that he thought he was going to visit the country of souls. Grand-Loutre is very thankful, for the fire-water takes away man's wisdom."
"It is good fire-water," said Talamousse after a moment's silence, stretching out his hand toward the bottle, which Dumais removed from his reach. "Give me one more drink, my brother, I beg you."
"No," said Dumais, "not now; by and by, perhaps." And he put the bottle back into his knapsack.
"The Great Spirit also loves the Canadian," resumed Dumais after a pause; "he appeared to him last night in a dream."
"What did he say to my brother?" asked the Indians.
"The Great Spirit told him to buy back the prisoner," answered Dumais.
"My brother lies like a Frenchman," replied Grand-Loutre. "He lies like all the pale faces. The red-skins do not lie to them."