on was quieted in inward congratulations for the
opportune relief and insignificance it conferred on himself.

[Footnote 64: From Chapter XXIII of "The Last of the Mohicans."]

When at the distance of a few hundred feet from the lodges, the newly
arrived warriors halted. The plaintive and terrific cry which was
intended to represent equally the wailings of the dead and the triumph
of the victors, had entirely ceased. One of their number now called
aloud, in words that were far from appalling, tho not more
intelligible to those for whose ears they were intended than their
expressive yells. It would be difficult to convey a suitable idea of
the savage ecstasy with which the news thus imparted was received. The
whole encampment in a moment became a scene of the most violent bustle
and commotion. The warriors drew their knives, and flourishing them,
they arranged themselves in two lines, forming a lane that extended
from the war-party to the lodges. The squaws seized clubs, axes, or
whatever weapons of offense first offered itself to their hands, and
rushed eagerly to act their part in the cruel game that was at hand.
Even the children would not be excluded; but boys, little able to
wield the instruments, tore the tomahawks from the belts of their
fathers, and stole into the ranks, apt imitators of the savage traits
exhibited by their parents.

Large piles of brush lay scattered about the clearing, and a wary and
aged squaw was occupied firing as many as might serve to light the
coming exhibition. As the flame arose, its power exceeded that of the
parting day, and assisted to render objects at the same time more
distinct and more hideous. The whole scene formed a striking picture,
whose frame was composed of the dark and tall border of pines. The
warriors just arrived were the most distant figures. A little in
advance stood two men, who were apparently selected from the rest as
the principal actors in what was to follow. The light was not strong
enough to render their features distinct, tho it was quite evident
that they were governed by very different emotions. While one stood
erect and firm, prepared to meet his fate like a hero, the other bowed
his head, as if palsied by terror or stricken with shame.

The high-spirited Duncan felt a powerful impulse of admiration and
pity toward the former, tho no opportunity could offer to exhibit his
generous emotions. He watched his slightest movement, however, with
eager eyes; a