t paradise is ordained for happiness; and that
men will be indulged in it according to their dispositions and gifts.
I, therefore, judge that a red-skin is not far from the truth when
he believes he is to find them glorious hunting grounds of which his
traditions tell; nor, for that matter, do I think it would be any
disparagement to a man without a cross to pass his time--"

"You hear it again?" interrupted Duncan.

"Ay, ay; when food is scarce, and when food is plenty, a wolf grows
bold," said the unmoved scout. "There would be picking, too, among the
skins of the devils, if there was light and time for the sport. But,
concerning the life that is to come, major; I have heard preachers say,
in the settlements, that heaven was a place of rest. Now, men's minds
differ as to their ideas of enjoyment. For myself, and I say it with
reverence to the ordering of Providence, it would be no great indulgence
to be kept shut up in those mansions of which they preach, having a
natural longing for motion and the chase."

Duncan, who was now made to understand the nature of the noise he had
heard, answered, with more attention to the subject which the humor of
the scout had chosen for discussion, by saying:

"It is difficult to account for the feelings that may attend the last
great change."

"It would be a change, indeed, for a man who has passed his days in
the open air," returned the single-minded scout; "and who has so often
broken his fast on the head waters of the Hudson, to sleep within sound
of the roaring Mohawk. But it is a comfort to know we serve a merciful
Master, though we do it each after his fashion, and with great tracts of
wilderness atween us--what goes there?"

"Is it not the rushing of the wolves you have mentioned?"

Hawkeye slowly shook his head, and beckoned for Duncan to follow him
to a spot to which the glare from the fire did not extend. When he
had taken this precaution, the scout placed himself in an attitude of
intense attention and listened long and keenly for a repetition of the
low sound that had so unexpectedly startled him. His vigilance, however,
seemed exercised in vain; for after a fruitless pause, he whispered to
Duncan:

"We must give a call to Uncas. The boy has Indian senses, and he may
hear what is hid from us; for, being a white-skin, I will not deny my
nature."

The young Mohican, who was conversing in a low voice with his father,
started as he heard the moaning of an owl, and,