Their gifts don't
seem to lie that a way. Even Chingachgook, great as he is in other
matters, isn't downright deadly with the rifle."
By this time the piece was reloaded, and Deerslayer, after tossing
the tomahawk into the canoe, advanced to his victim, and stood
over him, leaning on his rifle, in melancholy attention. It was
the first instance in which he ha seen a man fall in battle - it
was the first fellow-creature against whom he had ever seriously
raised his own hand. The sensations were novel; and regret, with
the freshness of our better feelings, mingled with his triumph.
The Indian was not dead, though shot directly through the body. He
lay on his back motionless, but his eyes, now full of consciousness,
watched each action of his victor - as the fallen bird regards the
fowler - jealous of every movement. The man probably expected the
fatal blow which was to precede the loss of his scalp; or perhaps
he anticipated that this latter act of cruelty would precede his
death. Deerslayer read his thoughts; and he found a melancholy
satisfaction in relieving the apprehensions of the helpless savage.
"No, no, red-skin," he said; "you've nothing more to fear from me.
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