Them Indians can shoot one time as well as another; nothing ever troubles them.
I say, John, here’s a shilling; take my rifle, and get a shot at the big turkey they’ve put up at the stump.
Mr. Oliver is over-anxious for the creatur’, and I’m sure to do nothing when I have over-anxiety about it.”
The Indian turned his head gloomily, and after looking keenly for a moment, in profound silence, at his companions, he replied:
“When John was young, eyesight was not straighter than his bullet.
The Mingo squaws cried out at the sound of his rifle.
The Mingo warriors were made squaws.
When did he ever shoot twice?
The eagle went above the clouds when he passed the wigwam of Chingachgook; his feathers were plenty with the women.
But see,” he said, raising his voice from the low, mournful tones in which he had spoken to a pitch of keen excitement, and stretching forth both hands, “they shake like a deer at the wolf’s howl.
Is John old?
When was a Mohican a squaw with seventy winters?
No! the white man brings old age with him—rum is his tomahawk!”
“Why, then, do you use it, old man?” exclaimed the young hunter; “why will one, so noble by nature, aid the devices of the devil by making himself a beast?”
“Beast! is John a beast?” replied the Indian slowly; “yes; you say no lie, child of the Fire-eater!
John is a beast.
The smokes were once few in these hills, The deer would lick the hand of a white man and the birds rest on his head.
They were strangers to him.
My fathers came from the shores of the salt lake.
They fled before rum.
They came to their grandfather, and they lived in peace; or, when they did raise the hatchet, it was to strike it into the brain of a Mingo.
They gathered around the council fire, and what they said was done.
Then John was a man.
But warriors and traders with light eyes followed them.
One brought the long knife and one brought rum.
They were more than the pines on the mountains; and they broke up the councils and took the lands, The evil spirit was in their jugs, and they let him loose.
Yes yes—you say no lie, Young Eagle; John is a Christian beast.”
“Forgive me, old warrior,” cried the youth, grasping his hand;
“I should be the last to reproach you.
The curses of Heaven light on the cupidity that has destroyed such a race.
Remember, John, that I am of your family, and it is now my greatest pride.”
The muscles of Mohegan relaxed a little, and he said, more mildly:
“You are a Delaware, my son; your words are not heard—John cannot shoot.”
“I thought that lad had Indian blood in him,” whispered Richard, “by the awkward way he handled my horses last night.
You see, coz, they never use harness.
But the poor fellow shall have two shots at the turkey, if he wants it, for I’ll give him another shilling myself; though, per haps, I had better offer to shoot for him.
They have got up their Christmas sports, I find, in the bushes yonder, where you hear the laughter—though it is a queer taste this chap has for turkey; not but what it is good eating, too.”
“Hold, Cousin Richard,” exclaimed Elizabeth, clinging to his arm; “would it be delicate to offer a shilling to that gentleman?”
“Gentleman, again!
Do you think a half-breed, like him, will refuse money?
No, no, girl, he will take the shilling; ay! and even rum too, notwithstanding he moralizes so much about it, But I’ll give the lad a chance for his turkey; for that Billy Kirby is one of the best marksmen in the country; that is, if we except the—the gentleman.”
“Then,” said Elizabeth, who found her strength unequal to her will, “then, sir, I will speak.”
She advanced, with an air of determination, in front of her cousin, and entered the little circle of bushes that surrounded the trio of hunters.
Her appearance startled the youth, who at first made an unequivocal motion toward retiring, but, recollecting himself, bowed, by lifting his cap, and resumed his attitude of leaning on his rifle.
Neither Natty nor Mohegan betrayed any emotion, though the appearance of Elizabeth was so entirely unexpected.
“I find,” she said, “that the old Christmas sport of shooting the turkey is yet in use among you.
I feel inclined to try my chance for a bird.
Which of you will take this money, and, after paying my fee, give me the aid of his rifle?”
“Is this a sport for a lady?” exclaimed the young hunter, with an emphasis that could not well be mistaken, and with a rapidity that showed he spoke without consulting anything but feeling.
“Why not, sir?