"That is true; I have not been frank with you, Tranquil, and I was wrong, as I now see clearly. Instead of asking you hypocritically for advice, which I did not at all intend to follow, I ought to have told you honestly my way of thinking, and that would have been altogether better."

"Come," the hunter said, laughingly, "speak."

"Well, really I do not see why I should not tell you what I have on my heart. If there be a man in the world who takes an interest in me it is certainly you; and hence, the sooner I know what I have to depend on, the better: the only life that suits me is that of a wood-ranger. My instincts and feelings impel me to it; all my attempts at flight, when I was a slave, tended to that object. I am only a poor Negro, whom his narrow mind and intelligence would not guide properly in towns, where man is not valued for what he is worth, but for what he appears. What use would that liberty, of which I am so proud, appear to me, in a town where I should have to dispose of it to the first comer, in order to procure the food and clothing I need? I should only have regained my liberty to render myself a slave. Hence it is in the desert alone I can profit by the kindness I owe to you, without fear of ever being impelled by wretchedness to actions unworthy of a man conscious of his own worth.

Hence it is in the desert I desire henceforth to live, only visiting the towns to exchange the skins of animals I have killed for powder, bullets, and clothing. I am young and strong, and the G.o.d who has. .h.i.therto protected me will not desert me."

"You are perhaps right, and I cannot blame you for wishing to follow my example, when the life I lead seems to me preferable to all others.

Well, now that is all settled, my good Quoniam, we can part, and I wish you luck; perhaps we shall meet again, sometimes, on the Indian territory."

The Negro began laughing, and showed two rows of teeth white as snow, but made no reply.

Tranquil threw his rifle on his shoulder, gave him a last friendly sign of parting, and turned to go back to his canoe.

Quoniam seized the rifle the hunter had left him, pa.s.sed the knife through his girdle, to which he also fastened the horns of powder and bullets, and then, after a final glance to see he had forgotten nothing, he followed the hunter, who had already gained a considerable start on him.

He caught Tranquil up at the moment he reached his canoe, and was about to thrust it into the water; at the sound of footsteps, the hunter turned round.

"Halloh," he said, "is that you again, Quoniam?"

"Yes," he answered.

"What brings you here?"

"Why," the Negro said, as he buried his fingers in his woolly hair, and scratched his head furiously, "you forgot something."

"What was it?"

"To take me with you."

"That is true," the hunter said, as he offered him his hand; "forgive me, brother."

"Then you consent?" he asked, with ill-restrained joy.

"Yes."

"We shall not part again?"

"It will depend on your will."

"Oh, then," he exclaimed, with a joyous outburst of laughter, "we shall be together a long time."

"Well, be it so," the Canadian went on. "Come; two men, when they have faith in each other, are very strong in the desert. Heaven, doubtless, willed that we should meet. Henceforth we shall be brothers."

Quoniam leaped into the canoe, and gaily caught up the paddles.

The poor slave had never been so happy; never had the air seemed to him purer, or nature more lovely--everything smiled on him, and made holiday for him, for that moment he was about to begin really living the life of other men, without any bitter afterthought; the past was no more than a dream. He had found in his defender what so many men seek in vain, throughout a lengthened existence--a friend, a brother, to whom he could trust entirely, and from whom he would have no secrets.

In a few minutes they reached the spot which the Canadian had noticed on his arrival; this spot, clearly indicated by the two oaks which had fallen in a cross, formed a species of small sandy promontory, favourable to the establishment of a night bivouac; for thence not only could the river be surveyed a long distance up and down, but it was also easy to watch both banks, and prevent a surprise.

"We will pa.s.s the night here," Tranquil said; "let us carry up the canoe, so as to shelter our fire."

Quoniam seized the light skiff, raised it, and placing it on his muscular shoulders, carried it to the spot his comrade had pointed out.

In the meanwhile, a considerable period had elapsed since the Canadian and the Negro met so miraculously. The sun, which had been low when the hunter doubled the promontory and chased the herons, was now on the point of disappearing; night was falling rapidly, and the background of the landscape was beginning to be confused in the shades of night, which grew momentarily denser.

The desert was awakening, the hoa.r.s.e roar of the wild beasts was heard at intervals, mingled with the miawling of the carcajou, and the sharp snapping bark of the prairie wolves.

The hunter chose the driest wood he could find to kindle the fire, in order that there might be no smoke, and the flame might light up the vicinity, so as to reveal at once the approach of the dangerous neighbours whose cries they could hear, and whom thirst would not fail soon to bring toward them.

The roasted birds and a few handfuls of pemmican composed the rangers'

supper; a very sober meal, only washed down with water from the river, but which they ate with good appet.i.te, like men who knew how to appreciate the value of any food Providence places at their disposal.

When the last mouthful was swallowed, the Canadian paternally shared his stock of tobacco with his new comrade, and lit his Indian pipe, in which he was scrupulously imitated by Quoniam.

"Now," said Tranquil, "it is as well you should know that an old friend of mine gave me the meeting at this spot about three months ago; he will arrive at daybreak to-morrow. He is an Indian Chief, and, although still very young, enjoys a great reputation in his tribe. I love him as a brother, and we were, I may say, brought up together. I shall be glad to see you gain his favour, for he is a wise and experienced man, for whom desert life possesses no secrets. The friendship of an Indian Chief is a precious thing to a wood-ranger; remember that. However, I feel certain you will be good friends at once."

"I will do all that is required for that. It is sufficient that the Chief is your friend, for me to desire that he should become mine. Up to the present, though I have wandered about the woods a long time as a runaway slave, I have never seen an independent Indian; hence it is possible that I may commit some awkwardness without my knowledge. But be a.s.sured that it will not happen through any fault of mine."

"I am convinced of it, so be easy on that head. I will warn the Chief, who, I fancy, will be as surprised as yourself, for I expect you will be the first person of your colour he has ever met. But night has now quite set in; you must be fatigued by the obstinate pursuit you experienced the whole day, and the powerful emotion you endured: sleep, while I watch for both, especially as I expect we shall make a long march to-morrow, and you must be prepared for it."

The Negro understood the correctness of his friend's remarks, the more so as he was literally exhausted with fatigue; he had been hunted so closely by his ex-master's blood-hounds, that for four days he had not closed his eyes. Hence, laying aside any false shame, he stretched out his feet to the fire, and slept almost immediately.

Tranquil remained seated on the canoe with his rifle between his legs, to be prepared for the slightest alarm, and plunged into deep thought, while attentively watching the neighbourhood, and p.r.i.c.king his ear at the slightest noise.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MANADA.

The night was splendid, the dark blue sky was studded with millions of stars which shed a gentle and mysterious light.

The silence of the desert was traversed by thousands of melodious and animated whispers; gleams, flashing through the shadows, ran over the gra.s.s like will-o'-the-wisps. On the opposite bank of the river the old moss-clad oaks stood out like phantoms, and waved in the breeze their long branches covered with lichens and lianas; vague sounds ran through the air, nameless cries emerged from the forest lairs, the gentle sighing of the wind in the foliage was heard, and the murmur of the water on the pebbles, and last that inexplicable and unexplained sound of buzzing life which comes from G.o.d, and which the majestic solitude of the American savannahs renders more imposing.

The hunter yielded involuntarily to all the puissant influences of the primitive nature that surrounded him. He felt strengthened and cheered by it; his being was identified with the sublime scene he surveyed; a gentle and pensive melancholy fell upon him; so far from men and their stunted civilization, he felt himself nearer to G.o.d, and his simple faith was heightened by the admiration aroused in him by these secrets of nature, which were partly unveiled in his presence.

The soul is expanded, thought enlarged, by contact with this nomadic life, in which each minute that pa.s.ses produces new and unexpected incidents; where at each step man sees the finger of G.o.d imprinted in an indelible manner on the abrupt and grand scenery that surrounds him.

Hence this existence of danger and privation possesses, for those who have once essayed it, a nameless charm and intoxication, incomprehensible joys, which cause it ever to be regretted; for it is only in the desert man feels that he lives, takes the measure of his strength, and the secret of his power is revealed to him.

The hours pa.s.sed thus rapidly with the hunter, though slumber did not once close his eyelids. Already the cold morning breeze was curling the tops of the trees, and rippling the surface of the stream, whose silvery waters reflected the shadows of its irregular banks; on the horizon broad pink stripes revealed the speedy dawn of day. The owl, hidden beneath the foliage, had twice saluted the return of light, with its melancholy toowhit--it was about three o'clock in the morning.

Tranquil left the rustic seat on which he had hitherto remained, shook off the stiffening feeling which had seized on him, and walked a few paces up and down the sand to restore the circulation in his limbs.

When a man, we will not say awakes--for the worthy Canadian had not closed his eyes once during the whole of this long watch--but shakes off the torpor into which the silence, darkness, and, above all, the piercing cold of night have plunged him, he requires a few minutes to regain possession of his faculties, and restore perfect lucidity of mind. This was what happened to the hunter; still, long habituated as he had been to desert life, the time was shorter to him than to another, and he was soon as acute and watchful as he had been on the previous evening; he therefore prepared to arouse his comrade, who was still enjoying that good and refreshing sleep which is only shared here below by children and men whose conscience is void of any evil thought--when he suddenly stopped, and began listening anxiously.