Centuries of summer suns had warmed the tops of the same noble oaks
and pines, sending their heats even to the tenacious roots, when
voices were heard calling to each other, in the depths of a forest,
of which the leafy surface lay bathed in the brilliant light of a
cloudless day in June, while the trunks of the trees rose in gloomy
grandeur in the shades beneath. The calls were in different tones,
evidently proceeding from two men who had lost their way, and
were searching in different directions for their path. At length
a shout proclaimed success, and presently a man of gigantic mould
broke out of the tangled labyrinth of a small swamp, emerging into
an opening that appeared to have been formed partly by the ravages
of the wind, and partly by those of fire. This little area, which
afforded a good view of the sky, although it was pretty well filled
with dead trees, lay on the side of one of the high hills, or low
mountains, into which nearly the whole surface of the adjacent
country was broken.

"Here is room to breathe in!" exclaimed the liberated forester,
as soon as he found himself under a clear sky, shaking his huge
frame like a mastiff that has just escaped from a snowbank. "Hurrah!
Deerslayer; here is daylight, at last, and yonder is the lake."

These words were scarcely uttered when the second forester dashed
aside the bushes of the swamp, and appeared in the area. After
making a hurried adjustment of his arms and disordered dress, he
joined his companion, who had already begun his disposition for a
halt.

"Do you know this spot!" demanded the one called Deerslayer,"
or do you shout at the sight of the sun?"