Tears gathered in the eyes of Agnes. "Oh, Fred," she whispered; "this is terrible. Let's go away."
"Sister," the boy said, "you must not talk that way; we will go away as soon as we can. But you have fear in your heart, and that is bad. Only courage and boldness will now by the grace of God save us. Be brave."
"Pardon me," Agnes stammered; "it was wrong of me to show fright. I will never do it again. God is with us, all is well."
"Thank you, dear sister," Fred said; "that makes it easier for me. And now let us bury our good guide."
Softly he touched the body, when suddenly the Indian moved. The wound in the back was serious, but the knife had not struck a vital organ. Only the loss of blood had been severe, as without flinching he held his foe in the death grip.
"The Mohican is alive!" Agnes exclaimed; "perhaps we can save his life."
Tenderly they lifted his body and laid it on the grass. The Mohican opened his eyes, but there was in them a glassy stare. Agnes rubbed his arms and patted his hair.
After a few moments a smile stole over the guide's face. He had recognized the girl.
"My good friend and brother," Fred spoke to him in the Mohican language; "I am so sorry. We thank you—-we thank you—-as the rain falls from the sky in summer. The pale face children are safe because of your valor. The Mohican fought like the brave warrior he always was. The men will sing of his bravery in the wigwam, and the women will tell his tale when the dusk falls. Never will be forgotten the brave Mohican guide who fought and conquered his foe in battle."
The Mohican tried to speak, but his tongue would not move. He grasped the lad's hand firmly.