"No! No!" cried Bright-eye, in his frankest manner. "I am a brute. So say no more about it, as I proclaim it myself. Let us camp at once." "Here is an excellent place," cried Keen-hand. The hunters had halted under a grove of gigantic gumtrees. A fire was lighted, and each one, resting himself, prepared for the morning meal. "Well, to tell the truth," said Oliver, gaily, "I will now confess that I needed repose; I was simply done up." "I could scarcely put one foot before the other," observed George Clinton, who was stretched out on the grass. "There!" cried Keen-hand; "Was I not right?" "Well, considering that I have owned I was a brute," growled Bright-eye, "are you not satisfied?" "Perfectly!" said the guide. Numank-Charake had in the meantime undertaken the office of cook, an office he filled effectively. A few minutes later all were eagerly devouring slices cut from a quarter of venison which had been broiled upon the hot embers. Then the gourds were opened and passed joyously from hand to hand. These brave young men had walked all night through impracticable paths which only hunters could overcome. They were literally famished. But now they entered into the spirit of the thing rarely. Soon everything had disappeared. All was eaten. When the last mouthful had been washed down, and the very last drop of brandy absorbed, each man in his turn gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "Now, then," remarked Bright-eye, looking obliquely at his companions, "I think we may talk." "Well, I am of opinion," said Keen-hand, gaily, "that after a hearty meal, two things are agreeable--a pipe and talk." This declaration, the justice and opportuneness of which everybody at once recognised, was like a signal; instantly, pipes in red clay, with cherry tree tubes, were drawn from their belts, stuffed, lighted, and soon a cloud of blue smoke surrounded the head of every guest like a glory. "Now, then, Bright-eye," said Oliver, gaily, between two puffs, "fire away as soon as you like." "Messieurs, my friends," replied Bright-eye, "my heart is very sad. Despite all I can do, I feel a kind of presentiment that this man, in whom we have so trusted, is deceiving us." Numank-Charake lifted up his head. "I know the paleface chief," he said, in his guttural tones, shaking his head in a way to give more emphasis to his words; "he is a man whose tongue is not forked. His word is as gold--and my brother, Bright-eye, is wrong." "In the name of heaven, is it you who speak in that way, chief?" asked the astonished hunter; "You, of all men in the world, so deeply interested." "Numank-Charake is a chief in his nation," quickly interrupted the redskin, his words, which swelled his bosom, coming directly from his heart; "the man who despises his enemies is not a brave warrior, but exposes himself to the reproach of only vanquishing cowards." "Well spoken, chief," said Keen-hand.