“Hugh!  The Mingos are squaws!  Three of their scalps hang at my girdle.  They do not know how to strike the Great Serpent of the Delawares.  Their hearts have no blood; and their thoughts are on their return path, across the waters of the Great Lake.”

“Have you been among them, chief? and what has become of the warrior who was in the river?”

“He has turned into a fish, and lies at the bottom with the eels!  Let his brothers bait their hooks for him.  Pathfinder, I have counted the enemy, and have touched their rifles.”

“Ah, I thought he would be venturesome!” exclaimed the guide in English.  “The risky fellow has been in the midst of them, and has brought us back their whole history.  Speak, Chingachgook, and I will make our friends as knowing as ourselves.”

The Delaware now related in a low earnest manner the substance of all his discoveries, since he was last seen struggling with his foe in the river.  Of the fate of his antagonist he said no more, it not being usual for a warrior to boast in his more direct and useful narratives.  As soon as he had conquered in that fearful strife, however, he swam to the eastern shore, landed with caution, and wound his way in amongst the Iroquois, concealed by the darkness, undetected, and, in the main, even unsuspected.  Once, indeed, he had been questioned; but answering that he was Arrowhead, no further inquiries were made.  By the passing remarks, he soon ascertained that the party was out expressly to intercept Mabel and her uncle, concerning whose rank, however, they had evidently been deceived.  He also ascertained enough to justify the suspicion that Arrowhead had betrayed them to their enemies, for some motive that it was not now easy to reach, as he had not yet received the reward of his services.

Pathfinder communicated no more of this intelligence to his companions than he thought might relieve their apprehensions, intimating, at the same time, that now was the moment for exertion, the Iroquois not having yet entirely recovered from the confusion created by their losses.

“We shall find them at the rift, I make no manner of doubt,” continued he; “and there it will be our fate to pass them, or to fall into their hands.  The distance to the garrison will then be so short, that I have been thinking of a plan of landing with Mabel myself, that I may take her in, by some of the by-ways, and leave the canoes to their chances in the rapids.”

“It will never succeed, Pathfinder,” eagerly interrupted Jasper.  “Mabel is not strong enough to tramp the woods in a night like this.  Put her in my skiff, and I will lose my life, or carry her through the rift safely, dark as it is.”

“No doubt you will, lad; no one doubts your willingness to do anything to serve the Sergeant’s daughter; but it must be the eye of Providence, and not your own, that will take you safely through the Oswego rift in a night like this.”