"That is true," the count said with a smile; "and what part do you propose we should play in this farce?" "None at all. Go to sleep again, or, if your anxiety renders that impossible, pretend to sleep. This security on our part will produce a greater effect on the chief's mind than a ridiculous display of strength." "But suppose this man only comes to us for the purpose of laying a trap," the count said earnestly. "There is no fear of that; although Indians are regarded by white men as savages, they are civilized in their fashion, and have an honour of their own. Once they have pledged their word it may be trusted to in perfect security." "Very well, my friend. You know better than I how you should behave to men with whose habits you are conversant, and therefore in the best way possible for our general safety." "Trust to me for that, señor. I am as interested as yourself in the matter." The count and his comrades, upon this assurance of the hunter, resumed their places, and when the chief appeared at the entrance of the encampment, all led him to believe that they were asleep. "My brother, White Crow, is welcome to my fire," the Canadian said to him, "if he brings propositions of peace on behalf of his brothers." "The intentions of the chief are good. It entirely depends on my brother whether they remain so." The two men then bowed to each other with all the gravity demanded by Indian etiquette, and crouched down over the fire on which the Canadian had thrown some handfuls of dry wood to revive the flame. The chief then drew his pipe from his girdle, filled it with _moriche_, or sacred tobacco, lit it by the help of a twig, for fear lest his fingers should come in contact with the fire, and both men began smoking, silently passing the calumet to each other, from which they only drew three or four puffs at a time. White Crow was a tall, well-built man, whose thin limbs, however, seemed tolerably strong. As far as it is possible to recognize an Indian's age, he did not seem to have passed middle life; his features were noble and marked, and his glance intelligent; the expression of his face was generally kindly. He was in full paint, and wore the war moccasins, which showed that he was on an expedition; excepting his scalping knife, which was passed through his belt of untanned deer hide, he was unarmed, at least apparently so. When all the tobacco was consumed, the chief shook out the ashes on his thumbnail, passed the pipe again through his belt, and turned to the hunter, who was waiting, cold and impassive, till he thought proper to speak. "The Comanches of the Lakes," he said, "are surprised at finding here a great brave like my brother the Sumach. Can he have become a friend of the Yoris, or have they taken him prisoner in some ambuscade, and made him their slave?" "Neither one nor the other, chief; accident alone brought me into their company," the hunter sharply replied.