“An Indian lost in the woods!” said the scout, shaking his head doubtingly; “when the sun is scorching the tree tops, and the water courses are full; when the moss on every beech he sees, will tell him in which quarter the north star will shine at night! The woods are full of deer paths which run to the streams and licks, places well known to every body; nor have the geese done their flight to the Canada waters, altogether! ’Tis strange that an Indian should be lost atwixt Horican and the bend in the river! Is he a Mohawk?
“Not by birth, though he is adopted in that tribe; I think his birth place was farther north, and he is one of those you call a Huron.”
“Hugh!” exclaimed the two companions of the scout, who had continued until this part of the dialogue, seated, immoveable, and apparently indifferent to what passed, but who now sprang to their feet with an activity and interest that had evidently gotten the better of their reserve, by surprise.
“A Huron!” repeated the sturdy scout, once more shaking his head in open distrust; “they are a thievish race, nor do I care by whom they are adopted; you can never make any thing of them but skulks and vagabonds. Since you trusted yourself to the care of one of that nation, I only wonder that you have not fallen in with more.”
“Of that there is little danger, since William Henry is so many miles in our front. You forget that I have told you our guide is now a Mohawk, and that he serves with our forces as a friend.”
“And I tell you that he who is born a Mingo will die a Mingo,” returned the other, positively. “A Mohawk! No, give me a Delaware or a Mohican for honesty; and when they will fight, which they won’t all do, having suffered their cunning enemies, the Maquas, to make them women–but when they will fight at all, look to a Delaware or a Mohican for a warrior!”
“Enough of this,” said Heyward, impatiently; “I wish not to inquire into the character of a man that I know, and to whom you must be a stranger. You have not yet answered my question; what is our distance from the main army at Edward?”
“It seems that may depend on who is your guide. One would think such a horse as that might get over a good deal of ground atwixt sun-up and sun-down.”
“I wish no contention of idle words with you, friend,” said Heyward, curbing his dissatisfied manner, and speaking in a more gentle voice; “if you will tell me the distance to Fort Edward, and conduct me thither, your labour shall not go without its reward.”
“And in so doing, how know I that I don’t guide an enemy, and a spy of Montcalm, to the works of the army? It is not every man who can speak the English tongue that is an honest subject.”
“If you serve with the troops of whom I judge you to be a scout, you should know of such a regiment of the king as the 60th.”
“The 60th! you can tell me but little of the Royal Americans that I don’t know, though I do wear a hunting shift, 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 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 vastriches, 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 a moment 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 creatur; 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 contributions. 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, again, 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 to night, 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 are quite equal to a ride of a few more miles.”
“’Tis a natural impossibility!” repeated the scout, with a determined air. “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 endeavoured 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 his 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 ankle and the knee, with a single shot, putting an end of 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 any 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 to maim the runner, at the orders of his superior, 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 under tone, 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 fire-arms, they parted, taking opposite sides of the path, and burying themselves in the thicket, with such cautions movements, that their steps were inaudible.