“The pale faces are dogs!  The Delawares women!  Magua leaves them on the rocks for the crows!”

Making a desperate leap, and falling short of his mark, Magua saved himself by grasping some shrub on the verge of the height.  With an effort he pulled himself up.  Hawk-eye, whose rifle shook with suppressed excitement, watched him closely.  As his body was thus collected together, he drew the weapon to his shoulder and fired.

The arms of the Huron relaxed and his body fell back a little, but his knees still kept their position.  Turning a relentless look on his enemy, he shook his hand at him in grim defiance.  But his hold loosened, and his dark person was seen cutting the air, with its head downwards, for a fleeting instant, until it glided past the fringe of shrubbery in its rapid flight to destruction.

* * * * *

The Spy

      Cooper’s first success, “The Spy,” appeared when he was
     thirty-two, and his novel-writing period extended over a
     quarter of a century.  The best tales—­the famous
     Leatherstocking series—­were begun two years after “The Spy.” 
     Susceptible patriotism has discovered in his writings an
     anti-English bias, but “The Spy” is rather a proof of balanced
     judgment in the midst of sharp national antagonisms.

I.—­Uncomfortable Visitors

Near the close of the year 1780 a solitary traveller was pursuing his way through one of the numerous little valleys of New York State which were then common ground for the British and Revolutionary forces.  Anxious to obtain a speedy shelter from the increasing violence of the storm, the traveller knocked at the door of a house which had an air altogether superior to the common farmhouses of the country.  In answer to his knocking, an aged black appeared, and, without seeming to think it necessary to consult his superiors, acceded to the request for accommodation.

The stranger was shown into a neat parlour, where, after politely repeating his request to an old gentleman who arose to receive him, and paying his compliments to three ladies who were seated at work with their needles, he commenced laying aside his outer garments, and exhibited to the scrutiny of the observant family party a tall and graceful person, apparently fifty years of age.  His countenance evinced a settled composure and dignity; his eye was quiet, thoughtful, and rather melancholy; the mouth expressive of decision and much character.  His whole appearance was so decidedly that of a gentleman that the ladies arose and, together with the master of the house, received anew and returned the complimentary greetings suitable for the occasion.

After handing a glass of excellent Madeira to his guest, Mr. Wharton, for so was the owner of this retired estate called, threw an inquiring glance on the stranger and asked, “To whose health am I to have the honour of drinking?”