The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper (best autobiographies to read txt) π
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The Last of the Mohicans is one of the most famous tales of pioneer American adventure. Set during the French and Indian War, Mohicans tells the tale of the journey of two daughters to meet their father, a colonel, at Fort William Henry. The road is long and dangerous, and they, along with their American and Native guides, encounter adventure at each step.
Mohicans is actually the second book in a pentalogy, the Leatherstocking Tales pentalogy. While the pentalogy saw success in its time, today Mohicans is by far the best-known of the books.
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- Author: James Fenimore Cooper
Read book online Β«The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper (best autobiographies to read txt) πΒ». Author - James Fenimore Cooper
βHow is it that we see you so soon, my generous friend,β he asked, βand without aid from the garrison of Edward?β
βHad we gone to the bend in the river, we might have been in time to rake the leaves over your bodies, but too late to have saved your scalps,β coolly answered the scout. βNo, no; instead of throwing away strength and opportunity by crossing to the fort, we lay by, under the bank of the Hudson, waiting to watch the movements of the Hurons.β
βYou were, then, witnesses of all that passed?β
βNot of all; for Indian sight is too keen to be easily cheated, and we kept close. A difficult matter it was, too, to keep this Mohican boy snug in the ambushment. Ah! Uncas, Uncas, your behavior was more like that of a curious woman than of a warrior on his scent.β
Uncas permitted his eyes to turn for an instant on the sturdy countenance of the speaker, but he neither spoke nor gave any indication of repentance. On the contrary, Heyward thought the manner of the young Mohican was disdainful, if not a little fierce, and that he suppressed passions that were ready to explode, as much in compliment to the listeners, as from the deference he usually paid to his white associate.
βYou saw our capture?β Heyward next demanded.
βWe heard it,β was the significant answer. βAn Indian yell is plain language to men who have passed their days in the woods. But when you landed, we were driven to crawl like sarpents, beneath the leaves; and then we lost sight of you entirely, until we placed eyes on you again trussed to the trees, and ready bound for an Indian massacre.β
βOur rescue was the deed of Providence. It was nearly a miracle that you did not mistake the path, for the Hurons divided, and each band had its horses.β
βAy! there we were thrown off the scent, and might, indeed, have lost the trail, had it not been for Uncas; we took the path, however, that led into the wilderness; for we judged, and judged rightly, that the savages would hold that course with their prisoners. But when we had followed it for many miles, without finding a single twig broken, as I had advised, my mind misgave me; especially as all the footsteps had the prints of moccasins.β
βOur captors had the precaution to see us shod like themselves,β said Duncan, raising a foot, and exhibiting the buckskin he wore.
βAye, βtwas judgmatical and like themselves; though we were too expart to be thrown from a trail by so common an invention.β
βTo what, then, are we indebted for our safety?β
βTo what, as a white man who has no taint of Indian blood, I should be ashamed to own; to the judgment of the young Mohican, in matters which I should know better than he, but which I can now hardly believe to be true, though my own eyes tell me it is so.β
βββTis extraordinary! will you not name the reason?β
βUncas was bold enough to say, that the beasts ridden by the gentle ones,β continued Hawkeye, glancing his eyes, not without curious interest, on the fillies of the ladies, βplanted the legs of one side on the ground at the same time, which is contrary to the movements of all trotting four-footed animals of my knowledge, except the bear. And yet here are horses that always journey in this manner, as my own eyes have seen, and as their trail has shown for twenty long miles.β
βββTis the merit of the animal! They come from the shores of Narrangansett Bay, in the small province of Providence Plantations, and are celebrated for their hardihood, and the ease of this peculiar movement; though other horses are not unfrequently trained to the same.β
βIt may beβ βit may be,β said Hawkeye, who had listened with singular attention to this explanation; βthough I am a man who has the full blood of the whites, my judgment in deer and beaver is greater than in beasts of burden. Major Effingham has many noble chargers, but I have never seen one travel after such a sidling gait.β
βTrue; for he would value the animals for very different properties. Still is this a breed highly esteemed and, as you witness, much honored with the burdens it is often destined to bear.β
The Mohicans had suspended their operations about the glimmering fire to listen; and, when Duncan had done, they looked at each other significantly, the father uttering the never-failing exclamation of surprise. The scout ruminated, like a man digesting his newly-acquired knowledge, and once more stole a glance at the horses.
βI dare to say there are even stranger sights to be seen in the settlements!β he said, at length. βNaturβ is sadly abused by man, when he once gets the mastery. But, go sidling or go straight, Uncas had seen the movement, and their trail led us on to the broken bush. The outer branch, near the prints of one of the horses, was bent upward, as a lady breaks a flower from its stem, but all the rest were ragged and broken down, as if the strong hand of a man had been tearing them! So I concluded that the cunning varments had seen the twig bent, and had torn the rest, to make us believe a buck had been feeling the boughs with his antlers.β
βI do believe your sagacity did not deceive you; for some such thing occurred!β
βThat was easy to see,β added the scout, in no degree conscious of having exhibited any extraordinary sagacity; βand a very different matter it was from a waddling horse! It then struck me the Mingoes would push for this spring, for the knaves well know the vartue of its waters!β
βIs it, then, so famous?β demanded Heyward, examining, with a more curious eye, the secluded dell, with its bubbling fountain, surrounded, as it was, by earth of a deep, dingy brown.
βFew redskins, who travel south and east of the great lakes but have heard of
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