tant, however, Deerslayer determined to leave all to the drift, until
he believed himself beyond the reach of bullets. This was nervous work,
but it was the wisest of all the expedients that offered, and the young
man was encouraged to persevere in it by the circumstance that he felt
his face fanned by the air, a proof that there was a little more wind.

Chapter XXVIII.

"Nor widows' tears, nor tender orphans' cries
Can stop th' invader's force;
Nor swelling seas, nor threatening skies,
Prevent the pirate's course:
Their lives to selfish ends decreed
Through blood and rapine they proceed;
No anxious thoughts of ill repute,
Suspend the impetuous and unjust pursuit;
But power and wealth obtain'd, guilty and great,
Their fellow creatures' fears they raise, or urge their hate."

Congreve, "Pindaric Ode," ii.

By this time Deerslayer had been twenty minutes in the canoe, and he
began to grow a little impatient for some signs of relief from his
friends. The position of the boat still prevented his seeing in any
direction, unless it were up or down the lake, and, though he knew that
his line of sight must pass within a hundred yards of the castle, it,
in fact, passed that distance to the westward of the buildings. The
profound stillness troubled him also, for he knew not whether to ascribe
it to the increasing space between him and the Indians, or to some new
artifice. At length, wearied with fruitless watchfulness, the young man
turned himself on his back, closed his eyes, and awaited the result
in determined acquiescence. If the savages could so completely control
their thirst for revenge, he was resolved to be as calm as themselves,
and to trust his fate to the interposition of the currents and air.

Some additional ten minutes may have passed in this quiescent manner, on
both sides, when Deerslayer thought he heard a slight noise, like a low
rubbing against the bottom of his canoe. He opened his eyes of course,
in expectation of seeing the face or arm of an Indian rising from the
water, and found that a canopy of leaves was impending directly over
his head. Starting to his feet, the first object that met his eye was
Rivenoak, who had so far aided the slow progress of the boat, as to
draw it on the point, the grating on the strand being the sound that had
first given our hero the alarm. The change in the drift of the canoe had
been altogether owing to the baffling nat