At length he shouldered his rifle, and cried with a clear huntsman’s call that echoed through the woods:
“He-e-e-re, he-e-e-re, pups—away, dogs, away!—ye’ll be footsore afore ye see the end of the journey!”
The hounds leaped from the earth at this cry, and scenting around the grave and silent pair, as if conscious of their own destination, they followed humbly at the heels of their master.
A short pause succeeded, during which even the youth concealed his face on his grandfather’s tomb.
When the pride of manhood, however, had sup pressed the feelings of nature, he turned to renew his en treaties, but saw that the cemetery was occupied only by himself and his wife.
“He is gone!” cried Effingham.
Elizabeth raised her face, and saw the old hunter standing looking back for a moment, on the verge of the wood.
As he caught their glances, he drew his hard hand hastily across his eyes again, waved it on high for an adieu, and, uttering a forced cry to his dogs, who were crouching at his feet, he entered the forest.
This was the last they ever saw of the Leather-Stocking, whose rapid movements preceded the pursuit which Judge Temple both ordered and conducted.
He had gone far toward the setting sun—the foremost in that band of pioneers who are opening the way for the march of the nation across the continent.