Advancing rapidly to the spot where his enemy stood, Conanchet took his
post at the foot of the fatal tree. Pointing to the shadow, which had not
yet turned towards the east, he folded his arms on his naked bosom, and
assumed an air of haughty unconcern. These movements were made in the
midst of a profound stillness.
Disappointment, unwilling admiration, and distrust, all struggled through
the mask of practised composure, in the dark countenance of Uncas. He
regarded his long-hated and terrible foe, with an eye that seemed willing
to detect some lurking signs of weakness. It would not have been easy to
say whether he most felt respect, or regret, at the faith of the
Narragansett. Accompanied by his two grim warriors, the chief examined the
position of the shadow with critical minuteness, and when there no longer
existed a pretext for affecting to doubt the punctuality of their captive,
a deep ejaculation of assent issued from the chest of each. Like some wary
judge, whose justice is fettered by legal precedents, as if satisfied
there was no flaw in the proceedings, the Mohegan then signed to the white
men to draw near.
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