The Pathfinder by James Fenimore Cooper (best book series to read TXT) 📕

never get behind walls or logs so long as he can keep the open air and find useful employment. I should not have come myself, Mabel, but I promised the Sergeant to comfort you and to look after your safety. Ah’s me! I reconnoitred the island with a heavy heart this forenoon; and there was a bitter hour when I fancied you might be among the slain.”

“By what lucky accident were you prevented from paddling up boldly to the island and from falling into the hands of the enemy?”

“By such an accident, Mabel, as Providence employs to tell the hound where to find the deer and the deer how to throw off the hound. No, no! these artifices and devilries with dead bodies may deceive the soldiers of the 55th and the king’s officers; but they are all lost upon men who have passed their days in the forest. I came down the channel in face of the pretended fisherman; and, though the riptyles have set up the poor wretch with art, it was not ingenious enough to take in a practysed eye. The rod was held too high, for the 55th have learned to fish at Oswego, if they never knew how before; and then the man was too quiet for one who got neither prey nor bite. But we never come in upon a post blindly; and I have lain outside a garrison a whole night, because they had changed their sentries and their mode of standing guard. Neither the Sarpent nor myself would be likely to be taken in by these clumsy contrivances, which were most probably intended for the Scotch, who are cunning enough in some particulars, though anything but witches when Indian sarcumventions are in the wind.”

“Do you think my father and his men may yet be deceived?” said Mabel quickly.

“Not if I can prevent it, Mabel. You say the Sarpent is on the lookout too; so there is a double chance of our succeeding in letting him know his danger; though it is by no means sartain by which channel the party may come.”

“Pathfinder,” said our heroine solemnly, for the frightful scenes she had witnessed had clothed death with unusual horrors, — “Pathfinder, you have professed love for me, a wish to make me your wife?”

“I did ventur’ to speak on that subject, Mabel, and the Sergeant has even lately said that you are kindly disposed; but I am not a man to persecute the thing I love.”

“Hear me, Pathfinder, I respect you, honor you, revere you; save my father from this dreadful death, and I can worship you. Here is my hand, as a solemn pledge for my faith, when you come to claim it.”

“Bless you, bless you, Mabel; this is more than I desarve - more, I fear, than I shall know how to profit by as I ought. It was not wanting, however, to make me sarve the Sergeant. We are old comrades, and owe each other a life; though I fear me, Mabel, being a father’s comrade is not always the best recommendation with a daughter.”

“You want no other recommendation than your own acts — your courage, your fidelity. All that you do and say, Pathfinder, my reason approves, and the heart will, nay, it shall follow.”

“This is a happiness I little expected this night; but we are in God’s hands, and He will protect us in His own way. These are sweet words, Mabel; but they were not wanting to make me do all that man can do in the present circumstances; they will not lessen my endeavors, neither.”

“Now we understand each other, Pathfinder,” Mabel added hoarsely, “let us not lose one of the precious moments, which may be of incalculable value. Can we not get into your canoe and go and meet my father?”

“That is not the course I advise. I don’t know by which channel the Sergeant will come, and there are twenty; rely on it, the Sarpent will be winding his way through them all. No, no! my advice is to remain here. The logs of this blockhouse are still green, and it will not be easy to set them on fire; and I can make good the place, bating a burning, ag’in a tribe. The Iroquois nation cannot dislodge me from this fortress, so long as we can keep the flames off it. The Sergeant is now ‘camped on some island, and will not come in until morning. If we hold the block, we can give him timely warning, by firing rifles, for instance; and should he determine to attack the savages, as a man of his temper will be very likely to do, the possession of this building will be of great account in the affair. No, no! my judgment says remain, if the object be to sarve the Sergeant, though escape for our two selves will be no very difficult matter.”

“Stay,” murmured Mabel, “stay, for God’s sake, Pathfinder! Anything, everything to save my father!”

“Yes, that is natur’. I am glad to hear you say this, Mabel, for I own a wish to see the Sergeant fairly supported. As the matter now stands, he has gained himself credit; and, could he once drive off these miscreants, and make an honorable retreat, laying the huts and block in ashes, no doubt, Lundie would remember it and sarve him accordingly. Yes, yes, Mabel, we must not only save the Sergeant’s life, but we must save his reputation.”

“No blame can rest on my father on account of the surprise of this island.”

“There’s no telling, there’s no telling; military glory is a most unsartain thing. I’ve seen the Delawares routed, when they desarved more credit than at other times when they’ve carried the day. A man is wrong to set his head on success of any sort, and worst of all on success in war. I know little of the settlements, or of the notions that men hold in them; but up hereaway even the Indians rate a warrior’s character according to his luck. The principal thing with a soldier is never to be whipt; nor do I think mankind stops long to consider how the day was won or lost. For my part, Mabel, I make it a rule when facing the inimy to give him as good as I can send, and to try to be moderate after a defeat, little need be said on that score, as a flogging is one of the most humbling things in natur’. The parsons preach about humility in the garrison; but if humility would make Christians, the king’s troops ought to be saints, for they’ve done little as yet this war but take lessons from the French, beginning at Fort du Quesne and ending at Ty.”

“My father could not have suspected that the position of the island was known to the enemy,” resumed Mabel, whose thoughts were running on the probable effect of the recent events on the Sergeant.

“That is true; nor do I well see how the Frenchers found it out. The spot is well chosen, and it is not an easy matter, even for one who has travelled the road to and from it, to find it again. There has been treachery, I fear; yes, yes, there must have been treachery.”

“Oh, Pathfinder! can this be?”

“Nothing is easier, Mabel, for treachery comes as nat’ral to some men as eating. Now when I find a man all fair words I look close to his deeds; for when the heart is right, and really intends to do good, it is generally satisfied to let the conduct speak instead of the tongue.”

“Jasper Western is not one of these,” said Mabel impetuously. “No youth can be more sincere in his manner, or less apt to make the tongue act for the head.”

“Jasper Western! tongue and heart are both right with that lad, depend on it, Mabel; and the notion taken up by Lundie, and the Quartermaster, and the Sergeant, and your uncle too, is as wrong as it would be to think that the sun shone by night and the stars shone by day. No, no; I’ll answer for Eau-douce’s honesty with my own scalp, or, at need, with my own rifle.”

“Bless you, bless you, Pathfinder!” exclaimed Mabel, extending her own hand and pressing the iron fingers of her companion, under a state of feeling that far surpassed her own consciousness of its strength. “You are all that is generous, all that is noble! God will reward you for it.”

“Ah, Mabel, I fear me, if this be true, I should not covet such a wife as yourself; but would leave you to be sued for by some gentleman of the garrison, as your desarts require.”

“We will not talk of this any more to-night,” Mabel answered in a voice so smothered as to seem nearly choked. “We must think less of ourselves just now, Pathfinder, and more of our friends. But I rejoice from my soul that you believe Jasper innocent. Now let us talk of other things — ought we not to release June?”

“I’ve been thinking about the woman; for it will not be safe to shut our eyes and leave hers open, on this side of the blockhouse door. If we put her in the upper room, and take away the ladder, she’ll be a prisoner at least.”

“I cannot treat one thus who has saved my life. It would be better to let her depart, for I think she is too much my friend to do anything to harm me.”

“You do not know the race, Mabel, you do not know the race. It’s true she’s not a full-blooded Mingo, but she consorts with the vagabonds, and must have larned some of their tricks. What is that?”

“It sounds like oars; some boat is passing through the channel.”

Pathfinder closed the trap that led to the lower room, to prevent June from escaping, extinguished the candle, and went hastily to a loop, Mabel looking over his shoulder in breathless curiosity. These several movements consumed a minute or two; and by the time the eye of the scout had got a dim view of things without, two boats had swept past and shot up to the shore, at a spot some fifty yards beyond the block, where there was a regular landing. The obscurity prevented more from being seen; and Pathfinder whispered to Mabel that the new-comers were as likely to be foes as friends, for he did not think her father could possibly have arrived so soon. A number of men were now seen to quit the boats, and then followed three hearty English cheers, leaving no further doubts of the character of the party. Pathfinder sprang to the trap, raised it, glided down the ladder, and began to unbar the door, with an earnestness that proved how critical he deemed the moment. Mabel had followed, but she rather impeded than aided his exertions, and but a single bar was turned when a heavy discharge of rifles was heard. They were still standing in breathless suspense, as the war-whoop rang in all the surrounding thickets. The door now opened, and both Pathfinder and Mabel rushed into the open air. All human sounds had ceased. After listening half a minute, however, Pathfinder thought he heard a few stifled groans near the boats; but the wind blew so fresh, and the rustling of the leaves mingled so much with the murmurs of the passing air, that he was far from certain. But Mabel was borne away by her feelings, and she rushed by him, taking the way towards the boats.

“This will not do, Mabel,” said the scout in an earnest but low voice, seizing her by an arm; “this will never do. Sartain death would follow, and that without sarving any one. We must