"We are at length in our own hunting grounds," the chief continued; "my brother, the White Head, is fatigued with a long life; he is better at the counsel fire than on horseback, hunting the elk or the buffalo--what does my brother wish?" "Chief," the Spaniard replied, "your words are true; there was a time when, like every other child of the prairies, I passed whole days in hunting upon a fiery unbroken mustang; my strength has disappeared, my members have lost their elasticity, and my eye its infallibility; I am worth nothing now in an expedition, however short it may be." "Good!" the Indian replied, imperturbably, blowing clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils; "let my brother tell his friend what he wishes, and it shall be done." "I thank you, chief, and I will profit by your kindness; I should be happy if you would consent to furnish me with means of gaining, without being disturbed, some establishment of men of my own colour, where I might pass in peace the few days I have yet to live." "Eh! why should I not do it? Nothing is more easy; as soon as we have rejoined the tribe, since my brother is not willing to dwell with us, his desires shall be satisfied." There was a moment of silence. The old man, believing the conversation terminated, prepared to retire; with a gesture, the chief ordered him to remain. After a few instants, the Indian shook the ashes out of his pipe, passed the shank of it through his belt, and fixing upon the Spaniard a glance marked by a strange expression, he said, in a sad voice,-- "My brother is happy, although he has seen many winters, he does not walk alone in the path of life." "What does the chief mean?" the old man asked; "I do not understand." "My brother has a family," the Comanche replied. "Alas! my brother is deceived; I am alone in this world." "What does my brother say? Has he not his mate?" A sad smile passed over the pale lips of the old man. "No," he said, after a moment's pause; "I have no mate." "What is that woman to him, then?" said the chief, with feigned surprise, and pointing to the Spanish woman, who stood pensive and silent by the side of the old man. "That woman is my mistress." "Wah! Can it be that my brother is a slave?" said the Comanche, with an ill-omened smile. "No," the old man replied haughtily! "I am not the slave of that woman, I am her devoted servant." "Wah!" said the chief, shaking his head, and reflecting deeply upon this reply. But the words of the Spaniard were unintelligible to the Indian; the distinction was too subtle for him to seize it. At the end of two or three minutes he shook his head, and gave up the endeavour to solve the, to him, incomprehensible problem. "Good!" he said, darting an ironical glance through his half-closed eyelids; "the woman shall go with my brother." "That is what I always intended," the Spaniard replied.