ception, until apprised of the designs of Magua. Raising his rifle, then, with the utmost care, and renewing his aim three several times, he fired. The bullet cut the wood within a few inches of the vessel, and age neral exclamation of satisfaction announced that the shot was considered a singular proof of great skill in the use of the weapon. Even Hawk-eye nodded his head, as if he would say, it was better than he had exected. But, instead of manifesting an intention to contend with the successful marksman, he stood leaning on his rifle for more than a minute, like a man who was completely buried in deep thought. From this reverie he was, however, speedily awakened, by one of the young Indians who had furnished the arms, and who now touched his shoulder, saying, in exceedingly broken English—
"Can the pale-face beat it?"
"Yes, Huron!" exclaimed the scout, raising the short rifle in his right hand, and shaking it at Magua, with as much apparent ease as though it were a reed; "yes, Huron, I could strike you now, and no power of 'arth could prevent the deed!
