easured tread. They came upon the charge, the scarlet of the King's
livery shining among the bright green foliage of the forest.

The scene that followed is not easily described. It was one in which
wild confusion, despair, and frenzied efforts, were so blended as to
destroy the unity and distinctness of the action. A general yell burst
from the enclosed Hurons; it was succeeded by the hearty cheers of
England. Still not a musket or rifle was fired, though that steady,
measured tramp continued, and the bayonet was seen gleaming in advance
of a line that counted nearly sixty men. The Hurons were taken at
a fearful disadvantage. On three sides was the water, while their
formidable and trained foes cut them off from flight on the fourth. Each
warrior rushed for his arms, and then all on the point, man, woman and
child, eagerly sought the covers. In this scene of confusion and
dismay, however, nothing could surpass the discretion and coolness of
Deerslayer. His first care was to place Judith and Hist behind trees,
and he looked for Hetty; but she had been hurried away in the crowd of
Huron women. This effected, he threw himself on a flank of the retiring
Hurons, who were inclining off towards the southern margin of the
point, in the hope of escaping through the water. Deerslayer watched his
opportunity, and finding two of his recent tormentors in a range, his
rifle first broke the silence of the terrific scene. The bullet brought
down both at one discharge. This drew a general fire from the Hurons,
and the rifle and war cry of the Serpent were heard in the clamor. Still
the trained men returned no answering volley, the whoop and piece of
Hurry alone being heard on their side, if we except the short, prompt
word of authority, and that heavy, measured and menacing tread.
Presently, however, the shrieks, groans, and denunciations that usually
accompany the use of the bayonet followed. That terrible and deadly
weapon was glutted in vengeance. The scene that succeeded was one of
those of which so many have occurred in our own times, in which neither
age nor sex forms an exemption to the lot of a savage warfare.

Chapter XXXI.

"The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay,
Tempts and then flies:
What is this world's delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright."

Shelley, "Mutability," 11. i-v.

The picture next presented, by the point of l