• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

The Delaware heard and understood all that passed; though with Indian gravity and finesse he had sat, with averted face, seemingly inattentive to a discourse in which he had no direct concern. Thus appealed to, however, he answered his friend in his ordinary sententious manner.

“Six,” he said, holding up all the fingers of one hand, and the thumb of the other; “besides this.” The last number denoted his betrothed ; whom, with the poetry and truth of nature, he described by laying his hand on his own heart.

“Did you see her, chief—did you get a glimpse of her pleasant countenance, or come close enough to her ear to sing in it the song she loves to hear?”

“No, Deerslayer—the trees were too many, and leaves covered their boughs, like clouds hiding the heavens in a storm. But”—and the young warrior turned his dark face towards his friend, with a smile on it that illuminated its fierce-looking paint and naturally stern lineaments with a bright gleam of human feeling—“Chingachgook heard the laugh of Wah-ta-Wah; he knew it from the laugh of the women of the Iroquois. It sounded in his ears like the chirp of the wren.”

“Ay, trust a lovyer’s ear for that; and a Delaware’s ear for all sounds that are ever heard in the woods. I know not why it is so, Judith, but when young men—and I dare to say it may be all the same with young women too—but when they get to have kind feelin’s towards each other, it’s wonderful how pleasant the laugh or the speech becomes to the other person. I’ve seen grim warriors listening to the chattering and the laughing of young gals as if it was church music; such as is heard in the old Dutch church that stands in the great street of Albany, where I’ve been more than once, with peltry and game.”

“And you, Deerslayer,” said Judith quickly, and with more sensibility than marked her usually light and thoughtless manner; “have you never felt how pleasant it is to listen to the laugh of the girl you love?”

“Lord bless you, gal!—why I’ve never lived enough among my own color to drop into them sort of feelin‘s—no, never! I dare to say, they are nat’ral and right; but to me there’s no music so sweet as the sighing of the wind in the treetops, and the rippling of a stream from a full, sparkling, natyve fountain of pure fresh water; unless, indeed,” he continued, dropping his head for an instant in a thoughtful manner, “unless, indeed, it be the open mouth of a sartain hound, when I’m on the track of a fat buck. As for unsartain dogs, I care little for their cries, seein’ they are as likely to speak when the deer is not in sight as when it is.”

Judith walked slowly and pensively away, nor was there any of her ordinary calculating coquetry in the light tremulous sigh that, unconsciously to herself, arose to her lips. On the other hand, Hetty listened with guileless attention; though it struck her simple mind as singular that the young man should prefer the melody of the woods to the songs of girls, or even to the laugh of innocence and joy. Accustomed, however, to defer in most things to her sister, she soon followed Judith into the cabin, where she took a seat, and remained pondering intensely over some occurrence, or resolution, or opinion, which was a secret to all but herself. Left alone, Deerslayer and his friend resumed their discourse.

“Has the young paleface hunter been long on this lake?” demanded the Delaware, after courteously waiting for the other to speak first.

“Only since yesterday noon, Sarpent; though that has been long enough to see and do much.”

The gaze that the Indian fastened on his companion was so keen that it seemed to mock the gathering darkness of the night. As the other furtively returned his look, he saw the two black eyes glistening on him, like the balls of the panther, or those of the penned wolf. He understood the meaning of this glowing gaze, and answered evasively, as he fancied would best become the modesty of a white man’s gifts.

“‘Tis as you suspect, Sarpent;