James Cooper - LEATHERSTOCKING TALES – Complete Collection

“Does Hawkeye love the Muskrat?” he abruptly demanded; “Or does he love his daughters?”

“Neither, Mingo. Old Tom is not a man to gain my love, and, as for the darters, they are comely enough to gain the liking of any young man, but there’s reason ag’in any very great love for either. Hetty is a good soul, but natur’ has laid a heavy hand on her mind, poor thing.”

“And the Wild Rose!” exclaimed the Huron — for the fame of Judith’s beauty had spread among those who could travel the wilderness, as well as the highway by means of old eagles’ nests, rocks, and riven trees known to them by report and tradition, as well as among the white borderers, “And the Wild Rose; is she not sweet enough to be put in the bosom of my brother?”

Deerslayer had far too much of the innate gentleman to insinuate aught against the fair fame of one who, by nature and position was so helpless, and as he did not choose to utter an untruth, he preferred being silent. The Huron mistook the motive, and supposed that disappointed affection lay at the bottom of his reserve. Still bent on corrupting or bribing his captive, in order to obtain possession of the treasures with which his imagination filled the Castle, he persevered in his attack.

“Hawkeye is talking with a friend,” he continued. “He knows that Rivenoak is a man of his word, for they have traded together, and trade opens the soul. My friend has come here on account of a little string held by a girl, that can pull the whole body of the sternest warrior?”

“You are nearer the truth, now, Huron, than you’ve been afore, since we began to talk. This is true. But one end of that string was not fast to my heart, nor did the Wild Rose hold the other.”

“This is wonderful! Does my brother love in his head, and not in his heart? And can the Feeble Mind pull so hard against so stout a warrior?”

“There it is ag’in; sometimes right, and sometimes wrong! The string you mean is fast to the heart of a great Delaware; one of Mohican stock in fact, living among the Delawares since the disparsion of his own people, and of the family of Uncas — Chingachgook by name, or Great Sarpent. He has come here, led by the string, and I’ve followed, or rather come afore, for I got here first, pulled by nothing stronger than fri’ndship; which is strong enough for such as are not niggardly of their feelin’s, and are willing to live a little for their fellow creatur’s, as well as for themselves.”

“But a string has two ends — one is fast to the mind of a Mohican; and the other?”

“Why the other was here close to the fire, half an hour since. Wah-ta-Wah held it in her hand, if she didn’t hold it to her heart.”

“I understand what you mean, my brother,” returned the Indian gravely, for the first time catching a direct clue to the adventures of the evening. “The Great Serpent, being strongest, pulled the hardest, and Hist was forced to leave us.”

“I don’t think there was much pulling about it,” answered the other, laughing, always in his silent manner, with as much heartiness as if he were not a captive, and in danger of torture or death —“I don’t think there was much pulling about it; no I don’t. Lord help you, Huron! He likes the gal, and the gal likes him, and it surpassed Huron sarcumventions to keep two young people apart, where there was so strong a feelin’ to bring ’em together.”

“And Hawkeye and Chingachgook came into our camp on this errand, only?”

“That’s a question that’ll answer itself, Mingo! Yes, if a question could talk it would answer itself, to your parfect satisfaction. For what else should we come? And yet, it isn’t exactly so, neither; for we didn’t come into your camp at all, but only as far as that pine, there, that you see on the other side of the ridge, where we stood watching your movements, and conduct, as long as we liked. When we were ready, the Sarpent gave his signal, and then all went just as it should, down to the moment when yonder vagabond leaped upon my back. Sartain; we come for that, and for no other purpose, and we got what we come for; there’s no use in pretending otherwise. Hist is off with a man who’s the next thing to her husband, and come what will to me, that’s one good thing detarmined.”

“What sign, or signal, told the young maiden that her lover was nigh?” asked the Huron with more curiosity than it was usual for him to betray.

Deerslayer laughed again, and seem’d to enjoy the success of the exploit, with as much glee as if he had not been its victim.

“Your squirrels are great gadabouts, Mingo,” he cried still laughing-“yes, they’re sartainly great gadabouts! When other folk’s squirrels are at home and asleep, yourn keep in motion among the trees, and chirrup and sing, in a way that even a Delaware gal can understand their musick! Well, there’s four legged squirrels, and there’s two legged squirrels, and give me the last, when there’s a good tight string atween two hearts. If one brings ’em together, t’other tells when to pull hardest!”

The Huron looked vexed, though he succeeded in suppressing any violent exhibition of resentment. He now quitted his prisoner and, joining the rest of the warriors, he communicated the substance of what he had learned. As in his own case, admiration was mingled with anger at the boldness and success of their enemies. Three or four of them ascended the little acclivity and gazed at the tree where it was understood the adventurers had posted themselves, and one even descended to it, and examined for foot prints around its roots, in order to make sure that the statement was true. The result confirmed the story of the captive, and they all returned to the fire with increased wonder and respect. The messenger who had arrived with some communication from the party above, while the two adventurers were watching the camp, was now despatched with some answer, and doubtless bore with him the intelligence of all that had happened.

Down to this moment, the young Indian who had been seen walking in company with Hist and another female had made no advances to any communication with Deerslayer. He had held himself aloof from his friends, even, passing near the bevy of younger women, who were clustering together, apart as usual, and conversed in low tones on the subject of the escape of their late companion. Perhaps it would be true to say that these last were pleased as well as vexed at what had just occurred. Their female sympathies were with the lovers, while their pride was bound up in the success of their own tribe. It is possible, too, that the superior personal advantages of Hist rendered her dangerous to some of the younger part of the group, and they were not sorry to find she was no longer in the way of their own ascendency. On the whole, however, the better feeling was most prevalent, for neither the wild condition in which they lived, the clannish prejudices of tribes, nor their hard fortunes as Indian women, could entirely conquer the inextinguishable leaning of their sex to the affections. One of the girls even laughed at the disconsolate look of the swain who might fancy himself deserted, a circumstance that seemed suddenly to arouse his energies, and induce him to move towards the log, on which the prisoner was still seated, drying his clothes.

“This is Catamount!” said the Indian, striking his hand boastfully on his naked breast, as he uttered the words in a manner to show how much weight he expected them to carry.

“This is Hawkeye,” quietly returned Deerslayer, adopting the name by which he knew he would be known in future, among all the tribes of the Iroquois. “My sight is keen; is my brother’s leap long?”

“From here to the Delaware villages. Hawkeye has stolen my wife; he must bring her back, or his scalp will hang on a pole, and dry in my wigwam.”