"Yes." "Is it far?" "No." "At what distance?" "Forty miles." "How long will it take us to arrive there?" "Three days." "That will do. Conduct us thither. Tomorrow, at sunrise, we will set forward in our march." "Is that all?" "That is all." "Good night." And the hunter withdrew. "What I admire in the Babbler," said the Captain, with a smile, "is that his conversation never tires you." "I should like it much better if he spoke more," said the doctor, shaking his head. "I always suspect people who are so afraid of saying too much; they generally have something to conceal." The guide, after leaving the tent, joined his companions, with whom he began to talk in a low voice, but in a very animated manner. The night was magnificent; the travellers, assembled in front of the tent, were chatting together, and smoking their cigars. Doña Luz was singing one of those charming Creole songs, which are so full of sweet melody and expression. All at once a red-tinted light appeared in the horizon, increasing every instant, and a dull continuous noise, like the growling of distant thunder, was heard. "What is that?" the general cried, rising hastily. "The prairie is on fire," the Babbler replied, quietly. At this terrible announcement, made so quietly, the camp was all in confusion. It was necessary to fly instantly, if they did not choose to run the risk of being burnt alive. One of the Gambusinos, taking advantage of the disorder, glided away among the baggage, and disappeared in the plain, after exchanging a mysterious signal with the Babbler. CHAPTER V. THE COMANCHES. Loyal Heart and Belhumeur, concealed among the tufted branches of the cork tree, were observing the Comanches. The Indians depended upon the vigilance of their sentinels. Far from suspecting that their enemies were so near them and were watching their motions, they crouched or lay around the fires, eating or smoking carelessly. These savages, to the number of twenty-five, were dressed in their buffalo robes, and painted in the most varied and fantastic manner. Most of them had their faces covered with vermillion, others were entirely black, with a long white stripe upon each cheek; they wore their bucklers on their backs, with their bows and arrows, and near them lay their guns. By the number of wolves' tails fastened to their moccasins, and which dragged on the ground behind them, it was easy to perceive that they were all picked warriors, renowned in their tribe. At some paces from the group, Eagle Head leant motionless against a tree. With his arms crossed on his breast, and leaning gently forward, he seemed to be listening to vague sounds, perceptible to himself alone. Eagle Head was an Osage Indian; the Comanches had adopted him when quite young, but he had always preserved the costume and manners of his nation.