“Can you tell me, boy, what your chiefs intend to do with these captyves, or haven't they yet made up their minds?”
The lad looked a moment at the hunter with a little surprise. Then he coolly put the end of his fore finger on his own head, just above the left ear, and passed it round his crown with an accuracy and readiness that showed how well he had been drilled in the peculiar art of his race.
“When?” demanded Deerslayer, whose gorge rose at this cool demonstration of indifference to human life. “And why not take them to your wigwams?”
“Road too long, and full of pale-faces. Wigwam full, and scalps sell high. Small scalp, much gold.”
“Well that explains it—yes, that does explain it. There's no need of being any plainer. Now you know, lad, that the oldest of your prisoners is the father of these two young women, and the other is the suitor of one of them. The gals nat'rally wish to save the scalps of such fri'nds, and they will give them two ivory creaturs, as ransom. One for each scalp. Go back and tell this to your chiefs, and bring me the answer before the sun sets.”
The boy entered zealously into this project, and with a sincerity that left no doubt of his executing his commission with intelligence and promptitude. For a moment he forgot his love of honor, and all his clannish hostility to the British and their Indians, in his wish to have such a treasure in his tribe, and Deerslayer was satisfied with the impression he had made. It is true the lad proposed to carry one of the elephants with him, as a specimen of the other, but to this his brother negotiator was too sagacious to consent; well knowing that it might never reach its destination if confided to such hands. This little difficulty was soon arranged, and the boy prepared to depart. As he stood on the platform, ready to step aboard of the raft, he hesitated, and turned short with a proposal to borrow a canoe, as the means most likely to shorten the negotiations. Deerslayer quietly refused the request, and, after lingering a little longer, the boy rowed slowly away from the castle, taking the direction of a thicket on the shore that lay less than half a mile distant. Deerslayer seated himself on a stool and watched the progress of the ambassador, sometimes closely scanning the whole line of shore, as far as eye could reach, and then placing an elbow on a knee, he remained a long time with his chin resting on the hand.
During the interview between Deerslayer and the lad, a different scene took place in the adjoining room. Hetty had inquired for the Delaware, and being told why and where he remained concealed, she joined him. The reception which Chingachgook gave his visitor was respectful and gentle. He understood her character, and, no doubt, his disposition to be kind to such a being was increased by the hope of learning some tidings of his betrothed. As soon as the girl entered she took a seat, and invited the Indian to place himself near her; then she continued silent, as if she thought it decorous for him to question her, before she consented to speak on the subject she had on her mind. But, as Chingachgook did not understand this feeling, he remained respectfully attentive to any thing she might be pleased to tell him.
“You are Chingachgook, the Great Serpent of the Delawares, ar'n't you?” the girl at length commenced, in her own simple way losing her self-command in the desire to proceed, but anxious first to make sure of the individual. “Chingachgook,” returned the Delaware with grave dignity. “That say Great Sarpent, in Deerslayer tongue.”
“Well, that is my tongue. Deerslayer, and father, and Judith, and I, and poor Hurry Harry—do you know Henry March, Great Serpent? I know you don't, however, or he would have spoken of you, too.”
“Did any tongue name Chingachgook, Drooping-Lily”? for so the chief had named poor Hetty. “Was his name sung by a little bird among Iroquois?”