Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) (66 page)

“I’ll do it, Judith; I’ll do it,” returned the patient Deerslayer; “but if there’s many more letters to read, we shall see the sun ag’in afore you’ve got through with the reading of them! Two good hours have you been looking at them bits of papers!”

“They tell me of my parents, Deerslayer, and have settled my plans for life. A girl may be excused, who reads about her own father and mother, and that too for the first time in her life! I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“Never mind me, gal; never mind me. It matters little whether I sleep or watch; but though you be pleasant to look at, and are so handsome, Judith, it is not altogether agreeable to sit so long to behold you shedding tears. I know that tears don’t kill, and that some people are better for shedding a few now and then, especially women; but I’d rather see you smile any time, Judith, than see you weep.”

This gallant speech was rewarded with a sweet, though a melancholy smile; and then the girl again desired her companion to finish the examination of the chest. The search necessarily continued some time, during which Judith collected her thoughts and regained her composure. She took no part in the search, leaving everything to the young man, looking listlessly herself at the different articles that came uppermost. Nothing further of much interest or value, however, was found. A sword or two, such as were then worn by gentlemen, some buckles of silver, or so richly plated as to appear silver, and a few handsome articles of female dress, composed the principal discoveries. It struck both Judith and the Deerslayer, notwithstanding, that some of these things might be made useful in effecting a negotiation with the Iroquois, though the latter saw a difficulty in the way that was not so apparent to the former. The conversation was first renewed in connection with this point.

“And now, Deerslayer,” said Judith, “we may talk of yourself, and of the means of getting you out of the hands of the Hurons. Any part, or all of what you have seen in the chest, will be cheerfully given by me and Hetty to set you at liberty.”

“Well, that’s gin‘rous—yes, ’tis downright freehearted, and free-handed, and gin‘rous. This is the way with women; when they take up a fri’ndship, they do nothing by halves, but are as willing to part with their property as if it had no value in their eyes. Howsever, while I thank you both, just as much as if the bargain was made, and Rivenoak, or any of the other vagabonds was here to accept and close the treaty, there’s two principal reasons why it can never come to pass, which may be as well told at once, in order no onlikely expectations may be raised in you, or any onjustifiable hopes in me.”

“What reason can there be, if Hetty and I are willing to part with the trifles for your sake, and the savages are willing to receive them?”

“That’s it, Judith; you’ve got the idees, but they’re a little out of their places, as if a hound should take the back‘ard instead of the leading scent. That the Mingos will be willing to receive them things, or any more like ’em, you may have to offer, is probable enough; but whether they’ll pay valie for ’em is quite another matter. Ask yourself, Judith, if any one should send you a message to say that, for such or such a price, you and Hetty might have that chist and all it holds, whether you’d think it worth your while to waste many words on the bargain?”

“But this chest and all it holds, are already ours; there is no reason why we should purchase what is already our own.”

“Just so the Mingos calculate! They say the chist is theirs already; or as good as theirs, and they’ll not thank anybody for the key.”
²

“I understand you, Deerslayer; surely we are yet in possession of the lake, and we can keep possession of it until Hurry sends troops to drive off the enemy. This we may certainly do, provided you will stay with us, instead of going back and giving yourself up a prisoner again, as you now seem determined on.”

“That Hurry Harry should talk in this way, is nat’ral and according to the gifts of the man. He knows no better, and, therefore, he is little likely to feel or to act any better; but, Judith, I put it to your heart and conscience—would you, could you think of me as favorably as I hope and believe you now do, was I to forget my furlough and not go back to the camp?”

“To think more favorably of you than I now do, Deerslayer, would not be easy; but I might continue to think as favorably—at least it seems so—I hope I could; for a world wouldn’t tempt me to let you do anything that might change my real opinion of you.”

“Then don’t try to entice me to overlook my furlough, gal! A furlough is a sacred thing among warriors, and men that carry their lives in their hands, as we of the forests do; and what a grievous disapp’ intment would it be to old Tamenund, and to Uncas, the father of the Sarpent, and to my other fri‘nds in the tribe, if I was to disgrace myself on my very first warpath? This you will parceive, moreover, Judith, is without laying any stress on nat’ral gifts, and a white man’s duties, to say nothing of conscience. The last is king with me, and I try never to dispute his orders.”

“I believe you are right, Deerslayer,” returned the girl, after a little reflection, and in a saddened voice; “a man like you ought not to act as the selfish and dishonest would be apt to act; you must, indeed, go back. We will talk no more of this, then; should I persuade you to anything for which you would be sorry hereafter, my own regret would not be less than yours. You shall not have it to say, Judith—I scarce know by what name to call myself, now!”

“And why not?—why not, gal? Children take the names of their parents nat’rally and by a sort of gift, like; and why shouldn’t you and Hetty do as others have done afore ye? Hutter was the old man’s name, and Hutter should be the name of his darters; at least until you are given away in lawful and holy wedlock.”

“I am Judith, and Judith only,” returned the girl, positively, “until the law gives me a right to another name. Never will I use that of Thomas Hutter again; nor, with my consent, shall Hetty! Hutter was not his own name, I find; but had he a thousand rights to it, it would give none to me. He was not my father, thank Heaven; though I may have no reason to be proud of him that was!”

“This is strange,” said Deerslayer, looking steadily at the excited girl, anxious to know more, but unwilling to inquire into matters that did not properly concern him; “yes, this is very strange and oncommon ! Thomas Hutter wasn’t Thomas Hutter, and his darters weren’t his darters! Who, then, could Thomas Hutter be, and who are his darters?”

“Did you never hear anything whispered against the former life of this person, Deerslayer?” demanded Judith. “Passing, as I did, for his child, such reports reached even me.”

“I’ll not deny it, Judith; no, I’ll not deny it. Sartain things have been said, as I’ve told you; but I’m not very credible as to reports. Young as I am, I’ve lived long enough to l‘arn there’s two sorts of characters in the world. Them that is ’arned by deeds, and them that is ’arned by tongues; and so I prefer to see and judge for myself, instead of letting every jaw that chooses to wag become my Judge. Hurry Harry spoke pretty plainly of the whole family, as we journeyed thisaway, and he did hint something consarning Thomas Hutter’s having been a free-liver on the water in his younger days. By free-liver, I mean that he made free to live on other men’s goods.”

“He told you he was a pirate—there is no need of mincing matters between friends. Read that, Deerslayer, and you will see that he told you no more than the truth. This Thomas Hovey was the Thomas Hutter you knew, as is seen by these letters.”

As Judith spoke, with a flushed cheek and eyes dazzling with the brilliancy of excitement, she held the newspaper towards her companion, pointing to the proclamation of a colonial governor, already mentioned.

“Bless you, Judith!” answered the other, laughing; “you might as well ask me to print that—or, for that matter, to write it. My edication has been altogether in the woods; the only book I read, or care about reading, is the one which God has opened afore all his creatur’s in the noble forest, broad lakes, rolling rivers, blue skies, and the winds, and tempests, and sunshine, and other glorious marvels of the land! This book I can read, and I find it full of wisdom and knowledge.”

“I crave your pardon, Deerslayer,” said Judith earnestly, more abashed than was her wont, in finding that she had inadvertently made an appeal that might wound her companion’s pride. “I had forgotten your manner of life, and least of all did I wish to hurt your feelings.”

“Hurt my feelin‘s!—why should it hurt my feelin’s to ask me to read, when I can’t read? I’m a hunter—and I may now begin to say a warrior, and no missionary; and, therefore, books and papers are of no account with such as I. No, no, Judith,” and here the young man laughed cordially; “not even for wads, seeing that your true deerkiller always uses the hide of a fa’an, if he’s got one, or some other bit of leather suitably prepared. There’s some that do say, all that stands in print is true; in which case, I’ll own an unl’arned man must be somewhat of a loser; nevertheless, it can’t be truer than that which God has printed with his own hand, in the sky, and the woods, and the rivers, and the springs.”

“Well, then, Hutter or Hovey, was a pirate; and being no father of mine, I cannot wish to call him one. His name shall no longer be my name.”

“If you dislike the name of that man, there’s the name of your mother, Judith. Her name may serve you just as good a turn.”

“I do not know it. I’ve looked through those papers, Deerslayer, in the hope of finding some hint by which I might discover who my mother was; but there is no more trace of the past in that respect, than the bird leaves in the air.”

“That’s both oncommon and onreasonable. Parents are bound to give their offspring a name, even though they give ‘em nothing else. Now, I come of a humble stock, though we have white gifts and a white natur’; but we are not so poorly off as to have no name. Bumppo we are called, and I’ve heard it said,” a touch of human vanity glowing on his cheek, “that the time has been when the Bumppos had more standing and note among mankind than they have just now.”

“They never deserved them more, Deerslayer, and the name is a good one; either Hetty or myself would a thousand times rather be called Hetty Bumppo or Judith Bumppo, than to be called Hetty or Judith Hutter.”

“That’s a moral impossible,” returned the hunter, goodhumoredly, “unless one of you should so far demean herself as to marry me.

Judith could not refrain from smiling, when she found how simply and naturally the conversation had come round to the very point at which she aimed to bring it. Although far from unfeminine or forward in her feelings or her habits, the girl was goaded by a sense of wrongs not altogether merited, incited by the helplessness of a future that seemed to contain no resting place, and still more influenced by feelings that were as novel to her as they proved to be active and engrossing. The opening was too good, therefore, to be neglected, though she came to the subject with much of the indirectness, and, perhaps, justifiable address of a woman.

“I do not think Hetty will ever marry, Deerslayer,” she said; “if your name is to be borne by either of us, it must be borne by me.”

“There’s been handsome women, too, they tell me, among the Bumppos, Judith, afore now, and should you take up with the name, oncommon as you be, in this particular, them that knows the family won’t be altogether surprised.”

“This is not talking as becomes either of us, Deerslayer; for whatever is said on such a subject, between man and woman, should be said seriously, and in sincerity of heart. Forgetting the shame that ought to keep girls silent, until spoken to, in most cases, I will deal with you as frankly as I know one of your generous nature will most like to be dealt by. Can you—do you think, Deerslayer, that you could be happy with such a wife as a woman like myself would make?”

“A woman like you, Judith! But where’s the sense in trifling about such a thing? A woman like you, that is handsome enough to be a captain’s lady, and fine enough, and, so far as I know, edication enough, would be little apt to think of becoming my wife. I suppose young gals that feel themselves to be smart, and know themselves to be handsome, find a sartain satisfaction in passing their jokes ag’in them that’s neither, like a poor Delaware hunter.”

This was said good-naturedly, but not without a betrayal of feeling which showed that something like mortified sensibility was blended with the reply. Nothing could have occurred more likely to awaken all Judith’s generous regrets, or to aid her in her purpose, by adding the stimulant of a disinterested desire to atone, to her other impulses, and clothing all under a guise so winning and natural, as greatly to lessen the unpleasant feature of a forwardness unbecoming the sex.

“You do me injustice if you suppose I have any such thought or wish,” she answered, earnestly. “Never was I more serious in my life, or more willing to abide by any agreement that we may make tonight. I have had many suitors, Deerslayer—nay, scarce an unmarried trapper or hunter has been in at the lake these four years, who has not offered to take me away with him, and I fear some that were married, too—”

“Ay, I’ll warrant that!” interrupted the other; “I’ll warrant all that! Take ‘em as a body, Judith, ’arth don’t hold a set of men more given to theirselves, and less given to God and the law.”

“Not one of them would I—could I listen to; happily for myself, perhaps, has it been that such was the case. There have been well-looking youths among them, too, as you may have seen in your acquaintance, Henry March.”

“Yes, Harry is sightly to the eye, though, to my idees, less so to the judgment. I thought, at first, you meant to have him, Judith, I did; but, afore he went, it was easy enough to verify that the same lodge wouldn’t be big enough for you both.”

“You have done me justice in that, at least, Deerslayer. Hurry is a man I could never marry, though he were ten times more comely to the eye, and a hundred times more stout of heart than he really is.”