"My father will pardon me, I am only a poor Indian without brains; things must be repeated to me several times before I can understand them. Will the great Pale hunter come?" "Yes." "When?" "At once." "Where is he then?" "I left him over there, at the verge of the forest. He is waiting for the Chief." Blue-fox started at this remark, and fixed on the monk a glance which seemed trying to read the most secret thoughts of his heart. "Why did he not accompany my father here?" he said. The monk assumed the most simple look possible. "On my faith, I do not know," he answered; "but of what consequence is it?" "It is pleasanter to converse on the prairie." "Do you think so? Well, it is possible. For my part I do not see any difference between here and there." This was said with such apparent carelessness, that, in spite of all his craft, the Chief was deceived. "Has the great Pale hunter come alone?" "No," Fray Antonio replied, boldly. "If that be so, Blue-fox will not go." "The Chief will reflect." "What is the use of reflecting? The father has deceived his Red friend." "The hunter could not come alone." "Why not?" "Because he did not wish to leave in the forest the girl who accompanies him." The Indian's face suddenly brightened, and assumed an expression of extraordinary cunning. "Wah!" he said, "And no other person but the young Pale virgin accompanies the hunter?" "No. It seems that the other white warriors who were with him left him at daybreak." "Does my father know where they are gone?" "I did not inquire. That does not concern me. Every man has enough business of his own without troubling himself about that of others." "My father is a wise man." The monk made no reply to this compliment. These words were rapidly exchanged between the two men. Fray Antonio had answered so naturally, and with such well-played frankness, that the Indian, whose secret thoughts the Mexican's answers flattered, felt all his suspicions vanish, and went, head down, into the snare so adroitly laid for him. "Och!" he said, "Blue-fox will see his friend." "The father can return to the camp of the Apache warriors." "No, thank you, Chief," the monk answered, resolutely, "I prefer remaining with people of my own colour." Blue-fox reflected for an instant, and then replied, with an ironical smile playing round his thin lips-- "Good; my father is right. He can follow me, then." "It is evident," the monk thought to himself, "that this accursed pagan is devising some treachery. But I will watch him, and at the slightest suspicious movement I will blow out his brains like the dog he is." But he kept these reflections to himself, and followed the Chief with an easy and perfectly indifferent air. In the moonbeams, which allowed objects to be distinguished for a considerable distance, they soon perceived, on the extreme verge of the forest, the dark outline of a man leaning on a rifle. "Ah," the Chief said, "we must make ourselves known."