The Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics) - James Fenimore Cooper [208]
“How now! old Tom,” he said, “have the vagabonds got you at an advantage, where you’re not only down, but are likely to be kept down! I thought you a captyve, it’s true, but never supposed you so hard run as this!”
Hutter opened his glassy eyes, and stared wildly at the speaker. A flood of confused recollections rushed on his wavering mind at the sight of his late comrade. It was evident that he struggled with his own images, and knew not the real from the unreal.
“Who are you?” he asked in a husky whisper, his failing strength refusing to aid him in a louder effort of his voice. “Who are you! You look like the mate of the Snow—he was a giant, too, and near overcoming us.”
“I’m your mate, Floating Tom, and your comrade, but have nothing to do with any snow. It’s summer now, and Harry March always quits the hills as soon after the frosts set in as is convenient.”
“I know you—Hurry Skurry; I’ll sell you a scalp! a sound one, and of a full grown man; what’ll you give?”
“Poor Tom! That scalp business hasn’t turned out at all profitable, and I’ve pretty much concluded to give it up, and to follow a less bloody calling.”
“Have you got any scalp? Mine’s gone; how does it feel to have a scalp? I know how it feels to lose one—fire and flames about the brain—and a wrenching at the heart; no, no—kill first, Hurry, and scalp afterwards.”
“What does the old fellow mean, Judith! He talks like one that is getting tired of the business as well as myself. Why have you bound up his head? or have the savages tomahawked him about the brains?”
“They have done that for him which you and he, Harry March, would have so gladly done for them. His skin and hair have been torn from his head to gain money from the Governor of Canada, as you would have torn theirs from the heads of the Huron to gain money from the Governor of York.”
Judith spoke with a strong effort to appear composed, but it was neither in her nature, nor in the feeling of the moment, to speak altogether without bitterness. The strength of her emphasis, indeed, as well as her manner, caused Hetty to look up reproachfully.
“These are high words to come from Thomas Hutter’s darter, as Thomas Hutter lies dying before her eyes,” retorted Hurry.
“God be praised for that!—whatever reproach it may bring on my poor mother, I am not Thomas Hutter’s daughter.”
“Not Thomas Hutter’s darter! Don’t disown the old fellow in his last moments, Judith, for that’s a sin the Lord will never overlook. If you’re not Thomas Hutter’s darter, whose darter be you?”
This question rebuked the rebellious spirit of Judith; for, in getting rid of a parent whom she felt it was a relief to find she might own she had never loved, she overlooked the important circumstance that no substitute was ready to supply his place.
“I cannot tell you, Harry, who my father was,” she answered more mildly; “I hope he was an honest man, at least.”
“Which is more than you think was the case with old Hutter? Well, Judith, I’ll not deny that hard stories were in circulation consarning Floating Tom, but who is there that doesn’t get a scratch when an inimy holds the rake? There’s them that say hard things of me; and even you, beauty as you be, don’t always escape.”
This was said with a view to set up a species of community of character between the parties, and, as the politicians are wont to express it, with ulterior intentions. What might have been the consequences with one of Judith’s known spirit, as well as her assured antipathy to the speaker, it is not easy to say; for just then Hutter gave unequivocal