"I will tell you everything," he said, "as you know my heart is given to Evening Dew. I love her; her love is my joy, her voice my happiness. On my return to the village, after my unfortunate expedition, Evening Dew was no longer in her father's wigwam. I asked news of everybody; I even ventured to ask you. Your answer filled me with discouragement. I returned to my hut heartbroken with despair. My grandfather had pity on me. Kouha-hande loves me, and spoke like a wise man. 'Go,' he said, 'find Bright-eye at the spot agreed on; he is the brother of Evening Dew; he will grieve with you, and perhaps give you good advice. During his absence I will watch. If necessary, I will go to the hut of the white man on the Wind River. Adieu, my son, and may the Wacondah accompany you,' I obeyed my father. I put on my travelling moccasins, took my gun, provisions, all that a hunter requires, and started. But my soul was sorrowful; a sad presentiment froze me to the marrow of my bones; Wacondah sent it." "Courage, child," said the old man, kindly. "Wacondah is powerful and just; He tries those whom He loves." "Two hours ago I returned to the village of my nation. I was very sad and uneasy. Without a word I left my comrades and friends, and rushed to my wigwam. My father's father awaited me. He was gloomy and thoughtful, and rose as I entered. I guessed at once what I had to expect. This is what I learned. Kouha-hande is a sachem whose words are not to be doubted. For two days, hid in the thickets, he watched the hut of the squatter of the River of the Wind. The second day, before the rising of the moon, there was a sharp whistle near the habitation, and a man appeared. He was very pale, wore the costume of the hunter of the prairies, and carried a rifle. At the distance the sachem could not make out his features. Almost immediately, however, a second person appeared on the scene, coming from the inside of the hut, and this was the squatter himself." "Are you sure of what you say?" asked the old man. "Kouha-hande knew him," replied the chief. "Go on," gloomily remarked old Berger. "The two men approached each other, spoke for a long time in a low tone, and then separated, after exchanging one phrase, which the sachem heard distinctly. This phrase, which seemed to summarise their conversation, was--" "'You swear upon your honour that she will be quite safe and respected in every way,' said the squatter." "'As if she were my own sister or daughter, I swear unto you,' replied the hunter."