Page:The last of the Mohicans (1826 Volume 3).djvu/170

 The soaring hawk is not more certain of the dove, than I am this moment of you, did I choose to send a bullet to your heart! Why should I not! Why!—because the gifts of my colour forbid it, and I might draw down evil on tender and innocent heads! If you know such a being as God, thank him, therefore, in your inward soul—for you have reason!"

The flushed countenance, angry eye, and swelling figure of the scout, produced a sensation of secret awe in all that heard him. The Delawares held their breath in intense expectation; but Magua himself, even while he distrusted the forbearance of his enemy, remained as immovable and calm, where he stood, wedged in by the crowd, as though he grew to the fatal spot.

"Beat it," repeated the young Delaware at the elbow of the scout.

"Beat what, fool!—what!" exclaimed Hawk-eye, still flourishing the weapon angrily above his head, though his eye no longer sought the person of Magua.

"If the white man is the warrior he pretends," said the aged chief, "let him strike nigher to the mark."