parated in pursuit. The war now divided, both
wings of the broken Hurons seeking protection in the woods again, hotly
pressed by the victorious warriors of the Lenape. A minute might have
passed, but the sounds were already receding in different directions,
and gradually losing their distinctness beneath the echoing arches of
the woods. One little knot of Hurons, however, had disdained to seek a
cover, and were retiring, like lions at bay, slowly and sullenly up the
acclivity which Chingachgook and his band had just deserted, to mingle
more closely in the fray. Magua was conspicuous in this party, both by
his fierce and savage mien, and by the air of haughty authority he yet
maintained.

In his eagerness to expedite the pursuit, Uncas had left himself nearly
alone; but the moment his eye caught the figure of Le Subtil, every
other consideration was forgotten. Raising his cry of battle, which
recalled some six or seven warriors, and reckless of the disparity of
their numbers, he rushed upon his enemy. Le Renard, who watched the
movement, paused to receive him with secret joy. But at the moment when
he thought the rashness of his impetuous young assailant had left him
at his mercy, another shout was given, and La Longue Carabine was seen
rushing to the rescue, attended by all his white associates. The Huron
instantly turned, and commenced a rapid retreat up the ascent.

There was no time for greetings or congratulations; for Uncas, though
unconscious of the presence of his friends, continued the pursuit with
the velocity of the wind. In vain Hawkeye called to him to respect the
covers; the young Mohican braved the dangerous fire of his enemies, and
soon compelled them to a flight as swift as his own headlong speed. It
was fortunate that the race was of short continuance, and that the white
men were much favored by their position, or the Delaware would soon have
outstripped all his companions, and fallen a victim to his own temerity.
But, ere such a calamity could happen, the pursuers and pursued entered
the Wyandot village, within striking distance of each other.

Excited by the presence of their dwellings, and tired of the chase, the
Hurons now made a stand, and fought around their council-lodge with
the fury of despair. The onset and the issue were like the passage and
destruction of a whirlwind. The tomahawk of Uncas, the blows of Hawkeye,
and even the still nervous arm of Munro were all busy for that passing
moment,