imed 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 centre of the little plain towards 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 nor when 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 centre 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 adversary leaped on his feet, making the arches of the
forest ring with the sounds of triumph.

"Well done for the Delawares! victory to the Mohican!" cried Hawkeye,
once more elevating the butt of the long and fatal rifle; "a finishing
blow from a man without a cross will never tell against his honor, nor
rob him of his right to the scalp."

But, at the very moment when the dangerous weapon was in the act of
descending, the subtle Huron rolled swiftl