on the skull of the Huron, at the same moment that the knife of Uncas
reached his heart.

The battle was now entirely terminated with the exception of the
protracted struggle between "Le Renard Subtil" and "Le Gros Serpent."
Well did these barbarous warriors prove that they deserved those
significant names which had been bestowed for deeds in former wars.
When they engaged, some little time was lost in eluding the quick and
vigorous thrusts which had been aimed at their lives. Suddenly darting
on each other, they closed, and came to the earth, twisted together like
twining serpents, in pliant and subtle folds. At the moment when the
victors found themselves unoccupied, the spot where these experienced
and desperate combatants lay could only be distinguished by a cloud of
dust and leaves, which moved from the center of the little plain toward
its boundary, as if raised by the passage of a whirlwind. Urged by the
different motives of filial affection, friendship and gratitude, Heyward
and his companions rushed with one accord to the place, encircling the
little canopy of dust which hung above the warriors. In vain did Uncas
dart around the cloud, with a wish to strike his knife into the heart
of his father's foe; the threatening rifle of Hawkeye was raised and
suspended in vain, while Duncan endeavored to seize the limbs of the
Huron with hands that appeared to have lost their power. Covered as they
were with dust and blood, the swift evolutions of the combatants seemed
to incorporate their bodies into one. The death-like looking figure of
the Mohican, and the dark form of the Huron, gleamed before their eyes
in such quick and confused succession, that the friends of the former
knew not where to plant the succoring blow. It is true there were short
and fleeting moments, when the fiery eyes of Magua were seen glittering,
like the fabled organs of the basilisk through the dusty wreath by which
he was enveloped, and he read by those short and deadly glances the fate
of the combat in the presence of his enemies; ere, however, any hostile
hand could descend on his devoted head, its place was filled by the
scowling visage of Chingachgook. In this manner the scene of the combat
was removed from the center of the little plain to its verge. The
Mohican now found an opportunity to make a powerful thrust with his
knife; Magua suddenly relinquished his grasp, and fell backward without
motion, and seemingly without life. His adversar