at a single
view, giving up, as it might be, at a glance, a sufficiency to produce
the deepest impressions. As has been said, this was the first lake
Deerslayer had ever seen. Hitherto, his experience had been limited to
the courses of rivers and smaller streams, and never before had he seen
so much of that wilderness, which he so well loved, spread before
his gaze. Accustomed to the forest, however, his mind was capable
of portraying all its hidden mysteries, as he looked upon its leafy
surface. This was also the first time he had been on a trail where human
lives depended on the issue. His ears had often drunk in the traditions
of frontier warfare, but he had never yet been confronted with an enemy.

The reader will readily understand, therefore, how intense must have
been the expectation of the young man, as he sat in his solitary canoe,
endeavoring to catch the smallest sound that might denote the course of
things on shore. His training had been perfect, so far as theory could
go, and his self-possession, notwithstanding the high excitement, that
was the fruit of novelty, would have done credit to a veteran. The
visible evidences of the existence of the camp, or of the fire could not
be detected from the spot where the canoe lay, and he was compelled to
depend on the sense of hearing alone. He did not feel impatient, for
the lessons he had heard taught him the virtue of patience, and, most
of all, inculcated the necessity of wariness in conducting any covert
assault on the Indians. Once he thought he heard the cracking of a
dried twig, but expectation was so intense it might mislead him. In this
manner minute after minute passed, until the whole time since he left
his companions was extended to quite an hour. Deerslayer knew not
whether to rejoice in or to mourn over this cautious delay, for, if
it augured security to his associates, it foretold destruction to the
feeble and innocent.

It might have been an hour and a half after his companions and he had
parted, when Deerslayer was aroused by a sound that filled him equally
with concern and surprise. The quavering call of a loon arose from
the opposite side of the lake, evidently at no great distance from
its outlet. There was no mistaking the note of this bird, which is
so familiar to all who know the sounds of the American lakes. Shrill,
tremulous, loud, and sufficiently prolonged, it seems the very cry of
warning. It is often raised, also, at night, an exceptio