"The brothers of the Chief were ungrateful to him," he replied with feigned interest, "and the Sachem left them; after shaking off his moccasins at the entrance of their village." The Chief shook his head in negation. "No," he answered, "the brothers of Blue-fox loved him, they still weep for his absence; but the Chief was sad, a friend had abandoned him, and took away his heart." "Ah!" said the monk, not at all understanding. "Yes," the Indian continued; "Blue-fox could not endure the absence of his friend, and left his brothers to go in search of him." "Of course you have found the person again, Chief, to whom you devoted yourself?" "For a long time Blue-fox sought, but did not succeed in obtaining any news of him; but one day he at length saw him again." "Good, and now you are re-united?" "My father does not understand," the Indian answered drily. This was perfectly correct. The monk did not understand a syllable of what it pleased the Chief to tell him--the more so, as this obscure narrative interested him but very slightly; and while the Apache was speaking, he was cudgelling his brains to discover the motives for this confidence. The consequence was that most of the words uttered by the Chief struck his ear, but only produced an empty sound, whose meaning did not reach his mind; but the peremptory accent with which Blue-fox uttered the last sentence, aroused him, and while recalling him to a feeling of his present position, made him comprehend the danger of not seeming to take an interest in the conversation. "Pardon me, Chief," he eagerly answered; "on the contrary, I perfectly understand; but I am subject to a certain absence of mind completely independent of my will, which I hope you will not feel offended at, for I assure you it is no fault of mine." "Good, my father is like all the Chiefs of Prayer of the Palefaces, his thoughts are constantly directed to the Wacondah." "So it is, Chief," the monk exclaimed, delighted at the way in which his apology was accepted; "continue your narrative, I beg, for I am now most anxious to listen to it." "Wah! My father constantly traverses the prairies of the Palefaces." "Yes, for the duties of my office oblige me to--" Blue-fox quickly interrupted him. "My father knows the pale hunters of these prairies?" "Nearly all." "Very good; one of these hunters is the friend so deeply regretted by Blue-fox." "Who is he?" the monk asked. The Indian did not seem to hear the question, for he went on-- "Very often the Redskin warrior has been led a short distance from his friend by the incidents of the chase, but never near enough to make himself known." "That is unfortunate." "The Chief would like to see his friend, and smoke the calumet of peace with him at the council fire, while conversing about old times, and the period when, as children of the same tribe, they traversed together the hunting grounds of the Sachem's terrible nation." "Then the hunter is an Indian?"