Raven had no sooner made his unsuccessful and puerile effort, than
he was succeeded by le Daim-Mose, or the Moose; a middle aged warrior
who was particularly skilful in the use of the tomahawk, and from whose
attempt the spectators confidently looked for gratification. This man
had none of the good nature of the Raven, but he would gladly have
sacrificed the captive to his hatred of the pale-faces generally,
were it not for the greater interest he felt in his own success as
one particularly skilled in the use of this weapon. He took his stand
quietly, but with an air of confidence, poised his little axe but
a single instant, advanced a foot with a quick motion, and threw.
Deerslayer saw the keen instrument whirling towards him, and believed
all was over; still, he was not touched. The tomahawk had actually bound
the head of the captive to the tree, by carrying before it some of his
hair, having buried itself deep beneath the soft bark. A general yell
expressed the delight of the spectators, and the Moose felt his heart
soften a little towards the prisoner, whose steadiness of nerve alone
enabled him to give this evidence of his consummate skill.

Le Daim-Mose was succeeded by the Bounding Boy, or le Garcon qui Bondi
who came leaping into the circle, like a hound or a goat at play. This
was one of those elastic youths whose muscles seemed always in motion,
and who either affected, or who from habit was actually unable, to
move in any other manner than by showing the antics just mentioned.
Nevertheless, he was both brave and skilful, and had gained the respect
of his people by deeds in war, as well as success in the hunts. A
far nobler name would long since have fallen to his share, had not a
French-man of rank inadvertently given him this sobriquet, which he
religiously preserved as coming from his Great Father who lived beyond
the Wide Salt Lake. The Bounding Boy skipped about in front of the
captive, menacing him with his tomahawk, now on one side and now on
another, and then again in front, in the vain hope of being able
to extort some sign of fear by this parade of danger. At length
Deerslayer's patience became exhausted by all this mummery, and he spoke
for the first time since the trial had actually commenced.

"Throw away, Huron," he cried, "or your tomahawk will forget its ar'n'd.
Why do you keep loping about like a fa'a'n that's showing its dam how
well it can skip, when you're a warrior grown, yourself, and a w