"
"There's no telling that- no one can say that," put in Deerslayer;
"a hound is not more sartain on the scent than a red-skin, when
he expects to get anything by it. Let this party see scalps afore
'em, or plunder, or honor accordin' to their idees of what honor
is, and 't will be a tight log that hides a canoe from their eyes."
"You're right, Deerslayer," cried Harry March; "you're downright
Gospel in this matter, and I rej'ice that my bunch of bark is safe
enough here, within reach of my arm. I calcilate they'll be at
all the rest of the canoes afore to-morrow night, if they are in
ra'al 'arnest to smoke you out, old Tom, and we may as well overhaul
our paddles for a pull."
Hutter made no immediate reply. He looked about him in silence
for quite a minute, examining the sky, the lake, and the belt of
forest which inclosed it, as it might be hermetically, like one
consulting their signs. Nor did he find any alarming symptoms.
The boundless woods were sleeping in the deep repose of nature,
the heavens were placid, but still luminous with the light of the
retreating sun, while the lake looked more lovely and calm than
it had before done that day. It was a scene altogether soothing,
and of a character to lull the passions into a species of holy
calm.
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