"I am Archibald Cameron, of Lochiel," came the answer, "once the friend of your countrymen; now their enemy, and well deserving the fate which is in store for him." "Mr. Archie," replied Dumais, for he it was, "although you had slain my brother, although it should be necessary for me to cut down these two red rascals with my tomahawk, in an hour you shall be free. I shall try persuasion before resorting to violent measures. Now silence." Dumais resumed his place with the Indians, and after a time he remarked: "The prisoner thanks the red-skins for promising him the death of a man; he says that the song of the pale face will be that of a warrior." "Houa!" said Grand-Loutre, "the Englishman will screech like an owl when he sees the fires of our wigwams." And he went on smoking and casting glances of contempt upon Lochiel. "The Englishman," said Talamousse, "speaks like a man while the stake is yet far off. The Englishman is a coward who could not suffer thirst. He has begged his enemies for a drink like a baby crying for its mother." And the Indian spit upon the ground contemptuously. Dumais opened a wallet, took out some provisions, and offered a portion to the savages, who refused to eat. Then he stepped into the woods, and after a short search brought out a bottle of brandy. He took a drink and began to eat. The eyes of one of the Indians dwelt longingly on the bottle. "Talamousse is not hungry, my brother," said he, "but he is very thirsty. He has made a long march to-day and he is very tired. The fire-water is good to rest one's legs." Dumais passed him the bottle. The Indian seized it with a trembling hand and gulped down a good half of the contents. "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."