"Hugh!" exclaimed the chief, in admiration of a scene so unusual
even to him, for this was the first lake he had ever beheld. "This
is the country of the Manitou! It is too good for Mingos, Hist;
but the curs of that tribe are howling in packs through the woods.
They think that the Delawares are asleep, over the mountains."
"All but one of them is, Chingachgook. There is one here; and he
is of the blood of Uncas!"
"What is one warrior against a tribe? The path to our villages is
very long and crooked, and we shall travel it under a cloudy sky.
I am afraid, too, Honeysuckle of the Hills, that we shall travel
it alone!"
Hist understood the allusion, and it made her sad; though it sounded
sweet to her ears to be compared, by the warrior she so loved, to
the most fragrant and the pleasantest of all the wild flowers of
her native woods. Still she continued silent, as became her when
the allusion was to a grave interest that men could best control,
though it exceeded the power of education to conceal the smile that
gratified feeling brought to her pretty mouth.
"When the sun is thus," continued the Delaware, pointing to the
zenith, by simply casting upward a hand and finger, by a play of
the wrist, "the great hunter of our tribe will go back to the Hurons
to be treated like a bear, that they roast and skin even on full
stomachs.
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