The Prairie (Fiscle Part 3) Of 2 by J Fenimore Cooper (phonics reading books TXT) 📕

Ponder On Their Wisdom And Usefulness.

As The Flame Drew Nigher To The Socket,  His Voice Was Hushed,  And

There Were Moments,  When His Attendants Doubted Whether He Still

Belonged To The Living. Middleton,  Who Watched Each Wavering

Expression Of His Weather-Beaten Visage,  With The Interest Of A Keen

Observer Of Human Nature,  Softened By The Tenderness Of Personal

Regard,  Fancied He Could Read The Workings Of The Old Man's Soul In

The Strong Lineaments Of His Countenance. Perhaps What The Enlightened

Soldier Took For The Delusion Of Mistaken Opinion Did Actually Occur,

For Who Has Returned From That Unknown World To Explain By What Forms,

And In What Manner,  He Was Introduced Into Its Awful Precincts?

Without Pretending To Explain What Must Ever Be A Mystery To The

Quick,  We Shall Simply Relate Facts As They Occurred.

The Trapper Had Remained Nearly Motionless For An Hour. His Eyes,

Alone,  Had Occasionally Opened And Shut. When Opened,  His Gaze Seemed

Fastened On The Clouds,  Which Hung Around The Western Horizon,

Reflecting The Bright Colours,  And Giving Form And Loveliness To The

Glorious Tints Of An American Sunset. The Hour--The Calm Beauty Of The

Season--The Occasion,  All Conspired To Fill The Spectators With Solemn

Awe. Suddenly,  While Musing On The Remarkable Position,  In Which He

Was Placed,  Middleton Felt The Hand,  Which He Held,  Grasp His Own With

Incredible Power,  And The Old Man,  Supported On Either Side By His

Friends,  Rose Upright To His Feet. For A Moment,  He Looked About Him,

As If To Invite All In Presence To Listen (The Lingering Remnant Of

Human Frailty),  And Then,  With A Fine Military Elevation Of The Head,

And With A Voice,  That Might Be Heard In Every Part Of That Numerous

Assembly The Word--

"Here!"

A Movement So Entirely Unexpected,  And The Air Of Grandeur And

Humility,  Which Were So Remarkably United In The Mien Of The Trapper,

Together With The Clear And Uncommon Force Of His Utterance,  Produced

A Short Period Of Confusion In The Faculties Of All Present. When

Middleton And Hard-Heart,  Each Of Whom Had Involuntarily Extended A

Hand To Support The Form Of The Old Man,  Turned To Him Again,  They

Found,  That The Subject Of Their Interest Was Removed For Ever Beyond

The Necessity Of Their Care. They Mournfully Placed The Body In Its

Seat,  And Le Balafre Arose To Announce The Termination Of The Scene,

To The Tribe. The Voice Of The Old Indian Seemed A Sort Of Echo From

That Invisible World,  To Which The Meek Spirit Of The Trapper Had Just

Departed.

"A Valiant,  A Just,  And A Wise Warrior Has Gone On The Path,  Which

Will Lead Him To The Blessed Grounds Of His People!" He Said. "When

The Voice Of The Wahcondah Called Him,  He Was Ready To Answer. Go,  My

Children; Remember The Just Chief Of The Pale-Faces,  And Clear Your

Own Tracks From Briars."

The Grave Was Made Beneath The Shade Of Some Noble Oaks. It Has Been

Carefully Watched To The Present Hour By The Pawnees Of The Loop,  And

Is Often Shown To The Traveller And The Trader As A Spot Where A Just

Whiteman Sleeps. In Due Time The Stone Was Placed At Its Head,  With

The Simple Inscription,  Which The Trapper Had Himself Requested. The

Only Liberty,  Taken By Middleton,  Was To Add--"May No Wanton Hand Ever

Disturb His Remains!"

Publication Date: 05-19-2014

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