The first was resignation to his fate, blended with natural
steadiness of deportment; for our hero had calmly made up his mind
that he must die, and preferred this mode to any other; the second
was his great familiarity with this particular weapon, which deprived
it of all the terror that is usually connected with the mere form
of the danger; and the third was this familiarity carried out
in practice, to a degree so nice as to enable the intended victim
to tell, within an inch, the precise spot where each bullet must
strike, for he calculated its range by looking in at the bore of the
piece. So exact was Deerslayer's estimation of the line of fire,
that his pride of feeling finally got the better of his resignation,
and when five or six had discharged their bullets into the tree,
he could not refrain from expressing his contempt at their want of
hand and eye.
"You may call this shooting, Mingos!" he exclaimed, "but we've squaws
among the Delawares, and I have known Dutch gals on the Mohawk,
that could outdo your greatest indivours. Ondo these arms of mine,
put a rifle into my hands, and I'll pin the thinnest warlock in
your party to any tree you can show me, and this at a hundred yards
- ay, or at two hundred if the objects can be seen, nineteen shots
in twenty; or, for that matter twenty in twenty, if the piece is
creditable and trusty!"
A low menacing murmur followed this cool taunt.
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