chief on an occasion of such interest. Conscious of
the wishes of the people, the stern and self-restrained warrior raised
his face, which had latterly been buried in his robe, and looked about
him with a steady eye. His firmly compressed and expressive lips then
severed, and for the first time during the long ceremonies his voice was
distinctly audible. "Why do my brothers mourn?" he said, regarding the
dark race of dejected warriors by whom he was environed; "why do my
daughters weep? that a young man has gone to the happy hunting-grounds;
that a chief has filled his time with honor? He was good; he was
dutiful; he was brave. Who can deny it? The Manitou had need of such a
warrior, and He has called him away. As for me, the son and the father
of Uncas, I am a blazed pine, in a clearing of the pale faces. My
race has gone from the shores of the salt lake and the hills of the
Delawares. But who can say that the serpent of his tribe has forgotten
his wisdom? I am alone--"

"No, no," cried Hawkeye, who had been gazing with a yearning look at the
rigid features of his friend, with something like his own self-command,
but whose philosophy could endure no longer; "no, Sagamore, not alone.
The gifts of our colors may be different, but God has so placed us as to
journey in the same path. I have no kin, and I may also say, like you,
no people. He was your son, and a red-skin by nature; and it may be that
your blood was nearer--but, if ever I forget the lad who has so often
fou't at my side in war, and slept at my side in peace, may He who made
us all, whatever may be our color or our gifts, forget me! The boy has
left us for a time; but, Sagamore, you are not alone."

Chingachgook grasped the hand that, in the warmth of feeling, the scout
had stretched across the fresh earth, and in an attitude of friendship
these two sturdy and intrepid woodsmen bowed their heads together, while
scalding tears fell to their feet, watering the grave of Uncas like
drops of falling rain.

In the midst of the awful stillness with which such a burst of feeling,
coming as it did, from the two most renowned warriors of that region,
was received, Tamenund lifted his voice to disperse the multitude.

"It is enough," he said. "Go, children of the Lenape, the anger of
the Manitou is not done. Why should Tamenund stay? The pale faces are
masters of the earth, and the time of the red men has not yet come
again. My day has been too long. In the morning I