As was not unusual among the tribes and wandering bands of the
Aborigines, two chiefs shared, in nearly equal degrees, the principal
and primitive authority that was wielded over these children of the
forest. There were several who might claim the distinction of being
chief men, but the two in question were so much superior to all the rest
in influence, that, when they agreed, no one disputed their mandates,
and when they were divided the band hesitated, like men who had lost
their governing principle of action. It was also in conformity with
practice, perhaps we might add in conformity with nature, that one of
the chiefs was indebted to his mind for his influence, whereas the other
owed his distinction altogether to qualities that were physical. One
was a senior, well known for eloquence in debate, wisdom in council, and
prudence in measures; while his great competitor, if not his rival, was
a brave distinguished in war, notorious for ferocity, and remarkable, in
the way of intellect, for nothing but the cunning and expedients of the
war path. The first was Rivenoak, who has already been introduced to the
reader, while the last was called le Panth'ere, in the language of the
Canadas, or the Panther, to resort to the vernacular of the English
colonies. The appellation of the fighting chief was supposed to indicate
the qualities of the warrior, agreeably to a practice of the red man's
nomenclature, ferocity, cunning and treachery being, perhaps, the
distinctive features of his character. The title had been received from
the French, and was prized so much the more from that circumstance,
the Indian submitting profoundly to the greater intelligence of his
pale-face allies, in most things of this nature. How well the sobriquet
was merited will be seen in the sequel.

Rivenoak and the Panther sat side by side awaiting the approach of their
prisoner, as Deerslayer put his moccasined foot on the strand, nor did
either move, or utter a syllable, until the young man had advanced into
the centre of the area, and proclaimed his presence with his voice. This
was done firmly, though in the simple manner that marked the character
of the individual.

"Here I am, Mingos," he said, in the dialect of the Delawares, a
language that most present understood; "here I am, and there is the sun.
One is not more true to the laws of natur', than the other has proved
true to his word. I am your prisoner; do with me what you please. My
busines