"And who is this Chingachgook, of whom you talk so much, Deerslayer!"
asked Hurry, as he moved off in the direction of the righted
sapling; "a loping red-skin, at the best, I make no question."

"Not so, Hurry, but the best of loping red-skins, as you call 'em.
If he had his rights, he would be a great chief; but, as it is,
he is only a brave and just-minded Delaware; respected, and even
obeyed in some things,'tis true, but of a fallen race, and belonging
to a fallen people. Ah! Harry March, 'twould warm the heart within
you to sit in their lodges of a winter's night, and listen to the
traditions of the ancient greatness and power of the Mohicans!"

"Harkee, fri'nd Nathaniel," said Hurry, stopping short to face his
companion, in order that his words might carry greater weight with
them, "if a man believed all that other people choose to say in
their own favor, he might get an oversized opinion of them, and
an undersized opinion of himself. These red-skins are notable
boasters, and I set down more than half of their traditions as pure
talk."

"There is truth in what you say, Hurry, I'll not deny it, for I've
seen it, and believe it. They do boast, but then that is a gift
from natur'; and it's sinful to withstand nat'ral gifts. See; this
is the spot you come to find!" This remark cut short the discourse,
and both the men now gave all their attention to the object
immediately before them. Deerslayer pointed out to his companion
the trunk of a huge linden, or bass-wood, as it is termed in the
language of the country, which had filled its time, and fallen by
its own weight. This tree, like so many millions of its brethren,