"My people have said that there shall be no more wolves in the woods," said Uncas; "and they have commanded our young men to slay the hungriest of them all."
"It is well!" coldly returned the other.
A gleaming of admiration, and perhaps of humanity, came over the grim countenance of Uncas, as he gazed at the repose which reigned in the firm features of his victim. For an instant, his purpose wavered.
"The Mohicans are a great tribe!" he added; "and the race of Uncas is getting few. We will paint our brother so that the lying Narragansetts shall not know him, and he will be a warrior on the main land."
This relenting of his enemy had a corresponding effect on the generous, temper of Conanchet. The lofty pride deserted his eye, and his look became milder and more human. 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."