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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851

"The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish"

It was a struggle of hand to hand, in which numbers would have
prevailed, had it not been the good fortune of the weaker party to act on
the defensive. Blows of the knife were passed swiftly between the timbers,
and occasionally the discharge of the musket, or the twanging of the bow
was heard.
"Stand to the timbers, my men!" said the deep tones of the stranger, who
spoke in the midst of the fierce struggle with that commanding and
stirring cheerfulness that familiarity with danger can alone inspire.
"Stand to the defences, and they are impassable. Ha! 'twas well meant,
friend savage," he muttered between his teeth, as he parried, at some
jeopardy to one hand, a thrust aimed at his throat, while with the other
he seized the warrior who had inflicted the blow, and drawing his naked
breast, with the power of a giant, full against the opening between the
limbers, he buried his own keen blade to its haft in the body. The eyes of
the victim rolled wildly, and when the iron hand which bound him to the
wood, with the power of a vice, loosened its grasp, he fell motionless on
the earth.


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