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Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789-1851

"The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish"

"
Philip manifested attention. He smiled on his guest, and even bowed his
assent to the proposal; still his keen eye seemed to read the soul of his
subordinate, through the veil of his gloomy visage. There was a play of
the fingers of his right hand, when the arm fell from its position across
his bosom to his thigh, as if they itched to grasp the knife whose
buck-horn handle lay within a few inches of their reach. Yet his air to
the white man was composed and dignified. The latter was again about to
speak, when the arches of the forest suddenly rung with the report of a
musket. All in and near the encampment sprung to their feet at the
well-known sound, and yet all continued as motionless as if so many dark
but breathing statues had been planted there. The rustling of leaves was
heard, and then the body of the young Indian, who had been posted on the
rock, rolled to the edge of the precipice, whence it fell, like a log, on
the yielding roof of one of the lodges beneath. A shout issued from the
forest behind, a volley roared among the trees, and glancing lead was
whistling through the air, and cutting twigs from the undergrowth on every
side.


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