"My old father, and my young brother, the Big Pine," - for so
the Delaware had named March - "want to see Huron scalps at their
belts," said Chingachgook to his friend. "There is room for some
on the girdle of the Sarpent, and his people will look for them when
he goes back to his village. Their eyes must not be left long in
a fog, but they must see what they look for. I know that my brother
has a white hand; he will not strike even the dead. He will wait
for us; when we come back, he will not hide his face from shame
for his friend. The great Serpent of the Mohicans must be worthy
to go on the war-path with Hawkeye."
"Ay, ay, Sarpent, I see how it is; that name's to stick, and in
time I shall get to be known by it instead of Deerslayer; well, if
such honours will come, the humblest of us all must be willing to
abide by 'em. As for your looking for scalps, it belongs to your
gifts, and I see no harm in it. Be marciful, Sarpent, howsever;
be marciful, I beseech of you. It surely can do no harm to a
red-skin's honour to show a little marcy. As for the old man, the
father of two young women, who might ripen better feelin's in his
heart, and Harry March, here, who, pine as he is, might better bear
the fruit of a more Christianized tree, as for them two, I leave
them in the hands of the white man's God.
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