The Last of the Mohicans

  Natty stepped forward. “You did not send the right messengers. Give me your message. Webb will get it.”

  “You saved my daughters,” Munro said. “I can’t send you back into danger.”

  “It’s no more danger than I’m used to,” Natty said.

  “I’ve seen this man in action,” Heyward said. “If anyone can get through, Natty can.”

  “Write your message—and I’ll be on my way,” Natty said.

  Colonel Munro was used to judging men. He looked Natty up and down. Then he wrote his message. He handed it to Natty.

  Silently Chingachgook and Uncas moved to Natty’s side. Natty shook his head. He spoke to them in Mohican. Uncas started to argue. But he stopped when his father nodded.

  “My Indian friends want to go with me,” Natty explained. “But a lone man has a better chance of sneaking through. They’ll wait here for me.”

  “We’ll be delighted to house them,” the colonel said.

  “It’s the least we can do,” said Heyward. “I owe Uncas my life.”

  “I owe him mine as well,” Cora said.

  “You must be proud of your son,” Munro said to Chingachgook.

  “He is young—and sometimes foolish,” said Chingachgook. He spoke gruffly, but he could not hide his pride.

  Meanwhile, Uncas was looking at Cora. Cora was looking back. Uncas was Indian. Cora was English. The gap between them was big. But something bigger was drawing them together.

  Colonel Munro looked at them. He coughed. They broke off their gazes.

  “Time for me to go,” said Natty.

  “I’ll have my soldiers start firing,” said Munro, getting back to business. “That should distract the French.”

  Natty went with Munro and Heyward to the walls of the fort. Munro gave orders. Rifles and cannons started to fire. Natty slipped out the gate.

  The two officers watched him go. Then Heyward turned to Munro.

  “Sir, I want to ask you something,” he said. “Before we rejoin the ladies.”

  Munro smiled. “Could it be about my daughter?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Heyward.

  “I think you will be a fine husband for Cora,” Munro said.

  Heyward turned slightly red. “Sir, it is Alice I wish to wed.”

  Munro raised an eyebrow. “I always thought it was Cora you—”

  “These last days have shown me how much I love Alice,” Heyward said. “She is so gentle, so sweet. She needs someone strong to protect her. Cora does not have that need. She needs a different kind of man.”

  Munro nodded. “Perhaps you are right. And I’m sure you would make Alice happy. If she says yes, so do I.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Heyward said. “Now I have more reason than ever to hope Natty gets through.”

  Colonel Munro’s face was grim. “God help us all if he doesn’t.”

  Chapter 9

  Two days later they saw Natty again. But not the way they hoped.

  Natty’s face was angry. His arms were tied behind him. His long rifle was gone. And a French officer was at his side.

  The Frenchman carried a white flag. It signaled that he had come in peace. He left Natty at the fort gate.

  “Open the gate,” Colonel Munro commanded. “Let him in.”

  Once inside, Natty told his story to Munro and Heyward.

  “I reached General Webb,” said Natty. “I gave him your message. He wrote one to you. But coming back I was caught.” Natty grimaced. “I should have watched my step. The French and Indians are as thick as flies.”

  “And the message?” asked Munro.

  “The French general Montcalm has it,” said Natty.

  “Do you know what it said?” Heyward asked.

  “I didn’t read it,” said Natty. “But I saw Webb’s look when he got your request. Webb looked as if he were taking castor oil. I saw Montcalm’s look when he read Webb’s answer to you. Montcalm looked pleased as punch. Those looks were clear as deer tracks. They led me to one notion. Webb has told you to swim alone—or sink.”

  “Impossible!” said Heyward. “No British general would do such a thing.”

  “That’s what you say,” Natty said. “But I say that’s why Montcalm set me free. He wants you to hear my story. He wants to let you know that Webb’s message is no fake. Because Montcalm is going to slap that message in your face.”

  Natty was right. Within the hour another Frenchman came under a white flag. General Montcalm wanted to talk with Colonel Munro. The colonel went under the white flag to the French camp. Heyward went along. He could translate what the French commander said.

  Montcalm had to say very little to make his point. He merely handed over General Webb’s note.

  Munro’s face darkened when he read it. Webb had written that one English soldier was worth ten French and Indians. He said that Munro needed no more men. So Webb would send no troops. He would not weaken his own defenses.

  “Cowardly fool,” muttered Munro.

  “You have no hope,” Montcalm said.

  Munro drew himself erect. “No hope, perhaps. But we still have honor. We will not become French prisoners.”

  Montcalm made a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to be. I do not want prisoners. I merely want to destroy your fort. It is on land that we claim. I will let you and all your men march away.”

  “With our guns? Our uniforms? Our flags?” said Munro.

  “With everything—including honor,” said Montcalm, smiling.

  Munro thought of his men. He thought of his daughters. He looked at Heyward. He flashed a silent question with his eyes. Heyward nodded in reply.

  Munro turned to Montcalm. He gave the only answer he could. “I agree.”

  Munro and Montcalm shook hands. They saluted. Both were in their dress uniforms. They were perfect pictures of officers and gentlemen.

  There was one blot on the picture, though. Near Montcalm stood his Indian allies. Heyward recognized one of them. Magua’s eyes met his. Magua smiled. Heyward’s blood ran cold.

  When Natty heard the news, his face was a picture of disgust. “You think Montcalm will keep his word?” he demanded of Munro.

  “Montcalm gave his word of honor,” Munro said. “It is something you may not understand.”

  “I don’t know how you fight in Europe,” said Natty. “But I know how we fight here. Montcalm’s Indians will want scalps. Especially with that devil Magua stirring them up. Montcalm may be a gentleman. But he is still a soldier. He needs those Indians to win this war. And the Indians know it.”

  Munro shook his head. “The Indians would not dare disobey a general of France.” He turned to Heyward. “Do you agree, Major?”

  Munro was Heyward’s superior. He was Alice’s father as well. Heyward tried to forget Magua’s smile. “Yes, sir.”

  Heyward turned to Natty. “You should trust Montcalm, too. He returned your long rifle, didn’t he?”

  Natty patted his awesome weapon. “It’ll be loaded and primed tomorrow,” he promised.

  Chapter 10

  The British troops left the fort with fifes and drums playing. Montcalm had told them they must go back to England. But they could go with honor.

  With the British marched local soldiers. By law they were Englishmen, though the English called them colonials. They called themselves Americans.

  They marched glumly. They were under English orders. They had to carry unloaded rifles. They did not trust the French. They trusted the Indians still less.

  Women and children went, too. They had come to the fort for safety. Now that safety was gone. Cora and Alice rode on horseback among them, soothing fears. They said that Montcalm had given his word. No harm would come.

  Three men were not in the march. Natty, Chingachgook, and Uncas. An open road was not for them. They kept to the cover of the trees. But they stayed within earshot of the marching music. They kept their ears open for the first sound of trouble.

  It was not long in coming.

/>   The first sound was the whoosh of arrows from the forest on both sides of the road. Then rifle shots. The fifes and drums fell silent. There were screams and groans and desperate commands. Then came the cry of charging Indians.

  Confusion swept over the column. Hurons were everywhere. Heyward fought for his life. His sword rose and fell. It parried and thrust. He did not know how long he fought. He lost count of the Indians he downed. Sweat blinded his eyes. His arm felt ready to fall off. Then all was silence. The silence of the grave.

  Heyward looked around him. A handful of soldiers stood as dazed as he. The rest lay dead.

  Heyward looked at the nearest corpses. He quickly looked away. They were missing their scalps.

  Then Heyward saw a horseman approaching. It was Colonel Munro.

  The colonel seemed twenty years older and his voice quavered with shock.

  “I rode to Montcalm,” he said. “I told him to stop it. He said, ‘C’est la guerre.’ ”

  “ ‘It’s war,’ ” Heyward translated automatically. “Natty was right.”

  “And I was wrong,” said Munro. “My God. All these dead. And Cora and Alice missing. We must look for them.”

  But someone already was. Heyward saw an Indian going through the corpses. His hand tightened on his sword hilt.

  Then he saw who it was. “Uncas,” he said.

  Natty and Chingachgook came out of the forest. They joined the two officers.

  “We came as fast as we could,” Natty said. “But there was not much we could do. My deerslayer bagged a few, though. And Uncas jumped right into the fight.”

  Chingachgook shook his head. “He wanted to save your women. One especially. The dark-haired one. His blood runs hot with youth.”

  Uncas returned from his search. “Cora and Alice are not here,” he said. “But I found their trail.”

  The others followed him. He showed where a glove of Cora’s lay. He followed the footprints of two pairs of small feet.

  “Women’s feet,” Uncas said. “See how lightly they tread? And look at these.”

  He pointed to other footprints. Larger and deeper.

  “An Indian,” remarked Natty.

  “Magua,” said Uncas.

  “Surely you can’t tell that from a footprint,” Heyward said.

  “Each man walks his own way,” Uncas said. “I followed his trail that time he captured you. I do not forget tracks.”

  Natty patted his shoulder. “Soon you’ll be a better woodsman than I am.”

  “We must catch up with them,” said Munro. “Free them from that devil.”

  Natty shook his head. “The sun is setting. It will be too dark to follow the trail. We must wait until morning.”

  “By that time they’ll have gone too far,” Munro protested.

  “Maybe so,” Natty said. “But there is no help for it. There’s no stopping the sunset. There’s no hurrying the sunrise. And we’ll still have a chance to catch them. If you’re willing to take a gamble. And do what I say.”

  “What choice do we have?” asked Heyward.

  The colonel nodded. “You’re in command, Mr. Bumppo. Or should I call you by your other name? The name that fits you better. Hawkeye.”

  Chapter 11

  They slept in the ruins of the fort. The French had burned it to the ground.

  Natty shook Heyward and Munro awake. The stars were still out. But the east was pale with dawn.

  “A whole night lost,” groaned Munro. “How can we make up that time?”

  “We’ll do more than read Magua’s trail,” said Natty. “We’ll read his mind.

  “Magua will go north—to the Hurons,” Natty continued. “He wants to show his people English scalps. And Englishwomen. He wants to be a hero. Even more, he wants to be a chief.”

  “So we know he’s going north,” said Heyward. “What good does that do us? He is still far ahead of us.”

  “His way north runs along Lake George,” said Natty. “We can canoe it. We’ll make much better time than Magua. He’s on foot. The women will slow him down still more. The trail we found yesterday told us that.”

  Natty led the Englishmen to the lake. Chingachgook and Uncas were waiting there. The Mohicans had bargained with local Indians. They had a long canoe.

  They got into the canoe. Natty, the Mohicans, and Heyward took paddles. Colonel Munro sat in the center. He looked old and frail. The deaths of his men wounded him. The loss of his daughters ate at his heart.

  They pushed off. The canoe cut through the water as the rising sun lit the lake. The water sparkled like a million jewels. Heyward was dazzled. This was one of the most beautiful spots on earth.

  Suddenly he stiffened. The beauty vanished. A war canoe was coming from the shore. It was filled with Indians.

  “Hurons,” said Natty. “Paddle faster.”

  But the Hurons kept gaining.

  Natty thrust his paddle into Munro’s hands. “Can you help?”

  Strength flooded back into the colonel. “Of course,” he said. He dug his paddle hard into the water.

  Natty picked up his long rifle. “They think they’re safe at this distance. They don’t know my deerslayer.”

  He raised his rifle. He barely seemed to aim it. He squeezed the trigger. In the far-off canoe a Huron clutched his chest. He fell into the water.

  Heyward smiled. The Hurons had a new tale to tell about la Longue Carabine.

  Natty reloaded. He raised his rifle again. Another shot. Another Huron toppled over.

  Natty put down his rifle. “That’s enough. No sense wasting powder.”

  He was right. The race was over. They left the Hurons out of sight.

  It was afternoon when they reached the end of the lake. Their muscles ached. Sweat soaked their clothes. But Uncas bounded out of the canoe.

  He was the first into the forest. He was leading the search for Magua’s trail. His shout brought the others running.

  With a fallen log he had changed the course of a shallow stream. He wanted to see its bottom. In the streambed were footprints. Two pairs were small.

  “Hats off to you, youngster,” said Natty. “You make me feel as if my eyes were getting old.”

  Even Chingachgook could not keep back a smile. “You show promise, my son,” he said.

  Uncas was already moving ahead. The hard part had been picking up the trail. The rest would be easy.

  It was. They swiftly followed the trail the rest of the day. They slept in the forest that night. At dawn they started again. It was late afternoon when an Indian village came into sight. The village was large. Its huts were made of earth, with rounded roofs.

  “We have to watch our step,” Natty said. “We don’t know what tribe this is.”

  Uncas was already crawling toward the village. Soon he returned.

  “It is a tribe of the Delaware,” he reported. “On a blanket I saw the tribe totem. The tortoise.”

  Heyward smiled. “Then we can get help. You told me the Mohicans once ruled the Delaware.”

  Chingachgook’s face was grim. “That was long ago. Men forget fast. And the tribes of the Delaware are like fallen leaves. They are scattered wide. Many fight for the French. They are on the side of their old foes. The Hurons.”

  “Magua may even have stopped here,” Natty said. “He may still be here.”

  “I will find out,” Uncas said. Before anyone could stop him, he was gone.

  “Too hotheaded,” said his father, shaking his head.

  “And too warm-hearted, I think,” said Natty. “When he thinks of Cora.” Natty shrugged. “We can only wait. And hope he returns.”

  Chapter 12

  Darkness fell. Owls hooted. A sliver of a moon moved through the stars. But Uncas did not return.

  No one slept that night. At sunrise Natty said, “We must go into the village after him.”

  He turned to Heyward. “Change out of your uniform. I have spare clothes. You can be a French trapper. You speak the language.”


  Then he said to Chingachgook, “Stay here. Protect the colonel. Don’t worry. I’ll get Uncas out.”

  Chingachgook nodded. “I trust you, Hawkeye.”

  Natty handed the Mohican his long rifle. “I trust you, too, old friend. Keep my deerslayer safe. I can’t take it with me. Indians know it too well.”

  Natty carried Chingachgook’s rifle into the village. Heyward carried a rifle, too. But they were met by a dozen Delaware rifles and more.

  Heyward raised his hand in peace. “I come from your French father in Quebec,” he said in French.

  “Welcome,” an Indian answered in French. From his manner, he was a chief. “You are our guests.”

  Heyward took out trinkets. Colored glass beads, buttons, and sewing needles. He held them out to the chief. But then he almost dropped them.

  He saw Cora.

  She was standing between two Indian women. Heyward blessed her quick wits. She gave no sign of knowing him.

  He handed the trinkets to the chief. “I see you have another guest,” he said.

  The chief grunted. “No guest. A prisoner. An enemy. English.”

  “Let me question her,” Heyward said. “She may know something useful.”

  The chief frowned. “No use. I have tried. She speaks no French.”

  “I speak English,” Heyward said.

  “Good luck then,” the chief said.

  Heyward and Natty went to Cora. There was no time to waste words.

  “Tell me what happened,” Heyward said.

  “Magua left me here,” Cora said. “These Indians are his allies. Magua was worried about Mr. Bumppo and his friends. They might chase and catch him. Then he could use me as a hostage. He could make them let him go. Or else he would have me killed.”

  “A cunning fox, indeed,” Heyward said. He swallowed hard. “What has he done with Alice?”

  “He took her with him,” Cora said. “That way he kept power over me. I would not try to escape.”

  “Where did he go?” asked Natty.

  “To a Huron village,” said Cora. “It is nearby. He wanted to get warriors to protect him and his prizes. Then he would return for me.”