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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851

"The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish"


The conference of the three was ended, and the warrior with a turbaned
head advanced towards his captives, with the step of a man whose mind had
come to a decision. As the dreaded chief drew near, Whittal retired,
stealing to the side of the younger warrior, in a manner that denoted
greater familiarity and perhaps greater confidence. A sudden thought
lighted the countenance of the latter. He led the innocent to the
extremity of the piazza, spoke low and earnestly, pointing to the forest,
and when he saw that his messenger was already crossing the fields, at the
top of his speed, he moved, with calm dignity, into the centre of the
group, taking his station so near his friend, that the folds of the
scarlet blanket brushed his elbows Until this movement, the silence was
not broken. When the great chief felt the passage of the other, he glanced
a look of hesitation at his friends, but resuming his former air of
composure, he spoke:
"Man of many winters," he commenced, in an English that was quite
intelligible, while it betrayed a difficulty of speech we shall not
attempt imitating, "why hath the Great Spirit made thy race like hungry
wolves?--why hath a Pale-face the stomach of a buzzard, the throat of a
hound, and the heart of a deer? Thou hast seen many meltings of the snow:
thou rememberest the young tree a sapling.


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