Even the knives seemed loosened
in their sheathes, impatient for the bloody and merciless work to
begin.
"Killer of the Deer," recommenced Rivenoak, certainly without any
signs of sympathy or pity in his manner, though with calmness and
dignity, "Killer of the Deer, it is time that my people knew their
minds. The sun is no longer over our heads; tired of waiting on
the Hurons, he has begun to fall near the pines on this side of the
valley. He is travelling fast towards the country of our French
fathers; it is to warn his children that their lodges are empty,
and that they ought to be at home. The roaming wolf has his den,
and he goes to it when he wishes to see his young. The Iroquois
are not poorer than the wolves. They have villages, and wigwams,
and fields of corn; the Good Spirits will be tired of watching
them alone. My people must go back and see to their own business.
There will be joy in the lodges when they hear our whoop from the
forest! It will he a sorrowful whoop; when it is understood, grief
will come after it. There will be one scalp-whoop, but there will
be only one. We have the fur of the Muskrat; his body is among
the fishes. Deerslayer must say whether another scalp shall be on
our pole.
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