The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper (best autobiographies to read txt) 📕

troops, of whom I judge you to be a scout, you should know of such a regiment of the king as the Sixtieth.”

“The Sixtieth! you can tell me little of the Royal Americans that I don’t know, though I do wear a hunting-shirt instead of a scarlet jacket.”

“Well, then, among other things, you may know the name of its major?”

“Its major!” interrupted the hunter, elevating his body like one who was proud of his trust. “If there is a man in the country who knows Major Effingham, he stands before you.”

“It is a corps which has many majors; the gentleman you name is the senior, but I speak of the junior of them all; he who commands the companies in garrison at William Henry.”

“Yes, yes, I have heard that a young gentleman of vast riches, from one of the provinces far south, has got the place. He is over young, too, to hold such rank, and to be put above men whose heads are beginning to bleach; and yet they say he is a soldier in his knowledge, and a gallant gentleman!”

“Whatever he may be, or however he may be qualified for his rank, he now speaks to you and, of course, can be no enemy to dread.”

The scout regarded Heyward in surprise, and then lifting his cap, he answered, in a tone less confident than before⁠—though still expressing doubt.

“I have heard a party was to leave the encampment this morning for the lake shore?”

“You have heard the truth; but I preferred a nearer route, trusting to the knowledge of the Indian I mentioned.”

“And he deceived you, and then deserted?”

“Neither, as I believe; certainly not the latter, for he is to be found in the rear.”

“I should like to look at the creature; if it is a true Iroquois I can tell him by his knavish look, and by his paint,” said the scout; stepping past the charger of Heyward, and entering the path behind the mare of the singing master, whose foal had taken advantage of the halt to exact the maternal contribution. After shoving aside the bushes, and proceeding a few paces, he encountered the females, who awaited the result of the conference with anxiety, and not entirely without apprehension. Behind these, the runner leaned against a tree, where he stood the close examination of the scout with an air unmoved, though with a look so dark and savage, that it might in itself excite fear. Satisfied with his scrutiny, the hunter soon left him. As he repassed the females, he paused a moment to gaze upon their beauty, answering to the smile and nod of Alice with a look of open pleasure. Thence he went to the side of the motherly animal, and spending a minute in a fruitless inquiry into the character of her rider, he shook his head and returned to Heyward.

“A Mingo is a Mingo, and God having made him so, neither the Mohawks nor any other tribe can alter him,” he said, when he had regained his former position. “If we were alone, and you would leave that noble horse at the mercy of the wolves tonight, I could show you the way to Edward myself, within an hour, for it lies only about an hour’s journey hence; but with such ladies in your company ’tis impossible!”

“And why? They are fatigued, but they are quite equal to a ride of a few more miles.”

“ ’Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout; “I wouldn’t walk a mile in these woods after night gets into them, in company with that runner, for the best rifle in the colonies. They are full of outlying Iroquois, and your mongrel Mohawk knows where to find them too well to be my companion.”

“Think you so?” said Heyward, leaning forward in the saddle, and dropping his voice nearly to a whisper; “I confess I have not been without my own suspicions, though I have endeavored to conceal them, and affected a confidence I have not always felt, on account of my companions. It was because I suspected him that I would follow no longer; making him, as you see, follow me.”

“I knew he was one of the cheats as soon as I laid eyes on him!” returned the scout, placing a finger on his nose, in sign of caution.

“The thief is leaning against the foot of the sugar sapling, that you can see over them bushes; his right leg is in a line with the bark of the tree, and,” tapping his rifle, “I can take him from where I stand, between the angle and the knee, with a single shot, putting an end to his tramping through the woods, for at least a month to come. If I should go back to him, the cunning varmint would suspect something, and be dodging through the trees like a frightened deer.”

“It will not do. He may be innocent, and I dislike the act. Though, if I felt confident of his treachery⁠—”

“ ’Tis a safe thing to calculate on the knavery of an Iroquois,” said the scout, throwing his rifle forward, by a sort of instinctive movement.

“Hold!” interrupted Heyward, “it will not do⁠—we must think of some other scheme⁠—and yet, I have much reason to believe the rascal has deceived me.”

The hunter, who had already abandoned his intention of maiming the runner, mused a moment, and then made a gesture, which instantly brought his two red companions to his side. They spoke together earnestly in the Delaware language, though in an undertone; and by the gestures of the white man, which were frequently directed towards the top of the sapling, it was evident he pointed out the situation of their hidden enemy. His companions were not long in comprehending his wishes, and laying aside their firearms, they parted, taking opposite sides of the path, and burying themselves in the thicket, with such cautious movements, that their steps were inaudible.

“Now, go you back,” said the hunter, speaking again to Heyward, “and hold the imp in