Middleton smiled again, and perhaps with a slight air of derision; but, good-naturedly turning to the trapper, he continued—
“It is a long, and might prove a painful story. Bloodshed and all the horrors of Indian cruelty and of Indian warfare are fearfully mingled in the narrative.”
“Ay, give it all to us, stranger,” continued Paul; “we are used to these matters in Kentuck, and, I must say, I think a story none the worse for having a few scalps in it!”
“But he told you of Uncas, did he?” resumed the trapper, without regarding the slight interruptions of the bee-hunter, which amounted to no more than a sort of by-play. “And what thought he and said he of the lad, in his parlour, with the comforts and ease of the settlements at his elbow?”
“I doubt not he used a language similar to that he would have adopted in the woods, and had he stood face to face, with his friend—”
“Did he call the savage his friend; the poor, naked, painted warrior? he was not too proud then to call the Indian his friend?”
“He even boasted of the connection; and as you have already heard, bestowed a name on his first-born, which is likely to be handed down as an heir-loom among the rest of his descendants.”
“It was well done! like a man: ay! and like a Christian, too! He used to say the Delaware was swift of foot—did he remember that?”
“As the antelope! Indeed, he often spoke of him by the appellation of Le Cerf Agile, a name he had obtained by his activity.”
“And bold, and fearless, lad!” continued the trapper, looking up into the eyes of his companion, with a wistfulness that bespoke the delight he received in listening to the praises of one, whom it was so very evident, he had once tenderly loved.