As it
was, the scow wore slowly round, barely clearing that part of the
building. The piles projecting several feet, they were not cleared,
but the head of the slow moving craft caught between two of them,
by one of its square corners, and hung. At this moment the Delaware
was vigilantly watching through a loop for an opportunity to fire,
while the Hurons kept within the building, similarly occupied.
The exhausted warrior reclined against the hut, there having been
no time to remove him, and Hurry lay, almost as helpless as a log,
tethered like a sheep on its way to the slaughter, near the middle
of the platform. Chingachgook could have slain the first, at any
moment, but his scalp would have been safe, and the young chief
disdained to strike a blow that could lead to neither honor nor
advantage.
"Run out one of the poles, Sarpent, if Sarpent you be," said Hurry,
amid the groans that the tightness of the ligatures was beginning
to extort from him - "run out one of the poles, and shove the head
of the scow off, and you'll drift clear of us - and, when you've
done that good turn for yourself just finish this gagging blackguard
for me."
The appeal of Hurry, however, had no other effect than to draw the
attention of Hist to his situation.
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