For a minute, intense thought brooded around his
brow; the firm muscles of his mouth played a little, though scarcely
enough to be seen, and then he spoke.
"Mohican," he said, "why should your young men be in a hurry? My scalp
will be the scalp of a Great Chief to-morrow. They will not take two,
should they strike their prisoner now."
"Hath Conanchet forgotten any thing, that he is not ready?"
"Sachem, he is always ready--But"----he paused, and spoke in tones that
faltered,--"does a Mohican live alone?"
"How many suns doth the Narragansett ask?"
"One: when the shadow of that pine points towards the brook, Conanchet
will be ready. He will then stand in the shade, with naked hands."
"Go," said Uncas, with dignity; "I have heard the words of a Sagamore."
Conanchet turned, and passing swiftly through the silent crowd, his person
was soon lost in the surrounding forest.
Chapter XXXI.
"Therefore, lay bare your bosom."
Merchant of Venice.
The night that succeeded was wild and melancholy. The moon was nearly
full, but its place in the heavens was only seen, as the masses of vapor
which drove through the air occasionally opened, suffering short gleams of
fitful light to fall on the scene below.
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