"Hugh!" exclaimed the savage, whose treacherous aim was so singularly
and so unexpectedly interrupted.

Without making any reply, the French officer laid his hand on the
shoulder of the Indian, and led him in profound silence to a distance
from the spot, where their subsequent dialogue might have proved
dangerous, and where it seemed that one of them, at least, sought a
victim. Then throwing open his cloak, so as to expose his uniform and
the cross of St. Louis which was suspended at his breast, Montcalm
sternly demanded:

"What means this? Does not my son know that the hatchet is buried
between the English and his Canadian Father?"

"What can the Hurons do?" returned the savage, speaking also, though
imperfectly, in the French language.

"Not a warrior has a scalp, and the pale faces make friends!"

"Ha, Le Renard Subtil! Methinks this is an excess of zeal for a friend
who was so late an enemy! How many suns have set since Le Renard struck
the war-post of the English?"

"Where is that sun?" demanded the sullen savage. "Behind the hill; and
it is dark and cold. But when he comes again, it will be bright and
warm. Le Subtil is the sun of his tribe. There have been clouds, and
many mountains between him and his nation; but now he shines and it is a
clear sky!"