“What reason can there be, if Hetty and I are willing to part with the trifles for your sake, and the savages are willing to receive them?”
“That's it, Judith; you've got the idees, but they're a little out of their places, as if a hound should take the back'ard instead of the leading scent. That the Mingos will be willing to receive them things, or any more like 'em you may have to offer is probable enough, but whether they'll pay valie for 'em is quite another matter. Ask yourself, Judith, if any one should send you a message to say that, for such or such a price, you and Hetty might have that chist and all it holds, whether you'd think it worth your while to waste many words on the bargain?”
“But this chest and all it holds, are already ours; there is no reason why we should purchase what is already our own.”
“Just so the Mingos caculate! They say the chist is theirn, already; or, as good as theirn, and they'll not thank anybody for the key.”
“I understand you, Deerslayer; surely we are yet in possession of the lake, and we can keep possession of it until Hurry sends troops to drive off the enemy. This we may certainly do provided you will stay with us, instead of going back and giving yourself up a prisoner, again, as you now seem determined on.”
“That Hurry Harry should talk in this-a-way, is nat'ral, and according to the gifts of the man. He knows no better, and, therefore, he is little likely to feel or to act any better; but, Judith, I put it to your heart and conscience—would you, could you think of me as favorably, as I hope and believe you now do, was I to forget my furlough and not go back to the camp?”
“To think more favorably of you than I now do, Deerslayer, would not be easy; but I might continue to think as favorably—at least it seems so—I hope I could, for a world wouldn't tempt me to let you do anything that might change my real opinion of you.”
“Then don't try to entice me to overlook my furlough, gal! A furlough is a sacred thing among warriors and men that carry their lives in their hands, as we of the forests do, and what a grievous disapp'intment would it be to old Tamenund, and to Uncas, the father of the Sarpent, and to my other fri'nds in the tribe, if I was so to disgrace myself on my very first war-path. This you will pairceive, moreover, Judith, is without laying any stress on nat'ral gifts, and a white man's duties, to say nothing of conscience. The last is king with me, and I try never to dispute his orders.”
“I believe you are right, Deerslayer,” returned the girl, after a little reflection and in a saddened voice: “a man like you ought not to act as the selfish and dishonest would be apt to act; you must, indeed, go back. We will talk no more of this, then. Should I persuade you to anything for which you would be sorry hereafter, my own regret would not be less than yours. You shall not have it to say, Judith—I scarce know by what name to call myself, now!”
“And why not? Why not, gal? Children take the names of their parents, nat'rally, and by a sort of gift, like, and why shouldn't you and Hetty do as others have done afore ye? Hutter was the old man's name, and Hutter should be the name of his darters;—at least until you are given away in lawful and holy wedlock.”