most contented of us must
allow."

"The tender limbs of my daughters are unequal to these hardships," said
Munro, looking at the light footsteps of his children, with a parent's
love; "we shall find their fainting forms in this desert."

"Of that there is little cause of fear," returned the scout, slowly
shaking his head; "this is a firm and straight, though a light step, and
not over long. See, the heel has hardly touched the ground; and there
the dark-hair has made a little jump, from root to root. No, no; my
knowledge for it, neither of them was nigh fainting, hereaway. Now, the
singer was beginning to be footsore and leg-weary, as is plain by
his trail. There, you see, he slipped; here he has traveled wide and
tottered; and there again it looks as though he journeyed on snowshoes.
Ay, ay, a man who uses his throat altogether, can hardly give his legs a
proper training."

From such undeniable testimony did the practised woodsman arrive at the
truth, with nearly as much certainty and precision as if he had been a
witness of all those events which his ingenuity so easily elucidated.
Cheered by these assurances, and satisfied by a reasoning that was so
obvious, while it was so simple, the party resumed its course, after
making a short halt, to take a hurried repast.

When the meal was ended, the scout cast a glance upward at the setting
sun, and pushed forward with a rapidity which compelled Heyward and the
still vigorous Munro to exert all their muscles to equal. Their route
now lay along the bottom which has already been mentioned. As the Hurons
had made no further efforts to conceal their footsteps, the progress of
the pursuers was no longer delayed by uncertainty. Before an hour had
elapsed, however, the speed of Hawkeye sensibly abated, and his head,
instead of maintaining its former direct and forward look, began to turn
suspiciously from side to side, as if he were conscious of approaching
danger. He soon stopped again, and waited for the whole party to come
up.

"I scent the Hurons," he said, speaking to the Mohicans; "yonder is open
sky, through the treetops, and we are getting too nigh their encampment.
Sagamore, you will take the hillside, to the right; Uncas will bend
along the brook to the left, while I will try the trail. If anything
should happen, the call will be three croaks of a crow. I saw one of the
birds fanning himself in the air, just beyond the dead oak--another sign
that we are approaching