“Look this a-way, Billy Kirby,” said Leather-Stocking, “and let them clear the mark, and I’ll show you a man who’s made better shots afore now, and that when he’s been hard pressed by the savages and wild beasts.”

* * * * *

Although Natty Bumppo[69] had certainly made hundreds of more momentous shots, at his enemies or his game, yet he never exerted himself more to excel.  He raised his piece three several times; once to get his range; once to calculate his distance; and once because the bird, alarmed by the deathlike stillness that prevailed, turned its head quickly to examine its foes.  But the fourth time he fired.  The smoke, the report, and the momentary shock, prevented most of the spectators from instantly knowing the result; but Elizabeth, when she saw her champion drop the end of his rifle in the snow, and open his mouth in one of its silent laughs, and then proceed very coolly to recharge his piece, knew that he had been successful.  The boys rushed to the mark, and lifted the turkey on high, lifeless, and with nothing but the remnant of a head.

“Bring in the critter,” said Leather-Stocking, “and put it at the feet of the lady.  I was her deputy in the matter, and the bird is her property.” ...  Elizabeth handed the black a piece of silver as a remuneration for his loss, which had some effect in again unbending his muscles, and then expressed to her companion her readiness to return homeward.

[Footnote 69:  Another name of Leather-Stocking.]

* * * * *

From “The Pilot.”

=_283._= LONG TOM COFFIN.

The seaman who was addressed by this dire appellation arose slowly from the place where he was stationed as cockswain of the boat, and seemed to ascend high in air by the gradual evolution of numberless folds in his body.  When erect, he stood nearly six feet and as many inches in his shoes, though, when elevated in his most perpendicular attitude, there was a forward inclination about his head and shoulders, that appeared to be the consequence of habitual confinement in limited lodgings....  One of his hands grasped, with a sort of instinct, the staff of a bright harpoon, the lower end of which he placed firmly on the rock, as, in obedience to the order of his commander, he left the place, where, considering his vast dimensions, he had been established in an incredibly small space.

...  The hardy old seaman, thus addressed, turned his grave visage on his commander, and replied with a becoming gravity,—­

“Give me a plenty of sea-room, and good canvas, where there is no occasion for pilots at all, sir.  For my part, I was born on board a chebacco-man, and never could see the use of more land than now and then a small island, to raise a few vegetables, and to dry your fish—­I’m sure the sight of it always makes me feel uncomfortable, unless we have the wind dead off shore.”