Part I

THE DECEIT

Magua walked ever in the fore. Behind him one of his companions led Mr. Gamut, whose arms had been bound behind his back. Alice followed closely behind, bent almost double over her gelding's neck. The patient Narragansett walked steadily after the swaying David Gamut as though his bound hands held a lead rope, beside the horse walked Duncan. His arms were bound like the singing master's and he was pulled along by one of his thick-set guards. The others, including the one with the scars, wove in and out of the trees with their muskets held careless-like across their chests. Cora rode last. She was sitting astride, something she had not done in many months, and while she felt freer in that sense, her wet skirts hampered both herself and her horse and she could not forget the circumstances of the ride. Also burned in her memory were Nathaniel's parting words.

So she rode carelessly. She used the little cues of her posture and the pressure of her calves to direct her mount to the softest parts of the earth so that the hoof prints left would be deep and clear. She let Mary Ann shy and startle at every little thing and she herself clung to the passing branches for balance when the mare jostled her, instead of keeping her seat like she could have done.

But only once did Cora consider herself successful in leaving a mark. It was when a small flock of birds flew up out of a thicket and caused Mary Ann to twist around and bolt that she let herself fall to the ground. Before her guard could reach her she pulled off the gloves she had been wearing and tossed them under a bush and then stood and called after her horse.

Mary Ann really was a well trained horse so she came when her mistress called. Cora used an overhanging tree limb to pull herself onto the mare's back and in the process snapped it clean off. After that her guard led Mary Ann by the bridle and Cora had no other chance to leave a trail.

When the sun was high in the sky and their shadows had disappeared they summited a steep, flat-topped hill. There they halted and ate a midday meal while the horses browsed on the grass and shrubbery.

Duncan had gone off to speak with Magua, who sat under a tree resting, and left Cora with Alice and Mr. Gamut. Alice lay on the grass in the sun. Her eyes were closed and silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Mr. Gamut sat composedly with his head bowed in prayer. Cora, though, watched the woods.

She remembered quite clearly Uncas' insistence that he would also stay and Duncan's contradictory statements about just what had happened in the outer cave after she had left.

Nothing stirred in the woods but Cora continued to watch.

Finally Duncan returned and explained all that had passed between himself and their former guide.

"You understand the nature of his wishes," he concluded, as he led her towards the place where she was expected, "and must be prodigal of your offers of powder and blankets. Nor would it be amiss to add some boon from your own hand, with that grace you so well know how to practise. Remember, Cora, that on your presence of mind and ingenuity even your life, as well as that of Alice, may in some measure depend."

"Duncan, and yours too."

"Mine is of little moment;" he replied coolly, "it is already sold to the king, and it is a prize to be seized by any enemy who may possess the power. I have no father to expect me, and but few friends to lament the fate which I have courted with the insatiable longings of youth after distinction. But hush! We approach him. Magua, the lady with whom you wish to speak is here."

Magua stood slowly and waved Duncan away. When he had gone she turned to Magua, to whom the French name Le Renard Subtil seemed to have been bestowed.

"What would Le Renard say to me?"

"Listen," he said, laying too a familiar hand upon her shoulder; she shrugged it off. "I was born among the Hurons of the lakes." He then explained how the Canadians had come and brought whiskey with them and how they had invited him to drink with them. How he had become violent because of it and how his people had banished him. How he had been forced into the Mohawk nation and had then volunteered to join the British Army along with his adoptive brethren.

"Something like this I had heard before," Cora said, wondering where the story was leading.

"Was it the fault of Le Renard that his head was not made of rock?" He exclaimed, "Who gave him the fire-water? Who made him a villain?"

A clearer understanding of the situation began to dawn upon her and she responded, "Am I answerable for the thoughtless and unprincipled men who do exist, and whose shade of countenance is similar to mine?"

"I am not a fool, I know that such as you never open your lips to the burning stream."

"What then, have I, to do or say in the matter of your misfortunes, not say, your errors."

The Huron-turned-Mohawk responded angrily. He described how her father had issued a proclamation that any man who entered his camp drunk would be whipped; he had done all that had been asked of him by the British, he said, but when someone had offered him alcohol he had accepted and under its influence he had left the safety of the woods and entered the camp and stirred up trouble with his words. He had even entered her father's tent that night.

"What did he do?" Magua said. "Let his daughter say."

"He forgot not his words, and did justice by punishing the offender."

"Justice! Is it justice to make evil and then punish for it? I was not myself; it was whiskey that spoke and acted for me but he did not believe it. I was bound before all the garrison and beaten like a dog!"

Cora was silent. She understood now all that had happened. The man before her was a victim of the prevalent practice of creating a dependency upon whisky in the tribal populations to weaken them. He had been driven from his home, and to survive he had become one of Mohawk people, a weakness he despised in himself. When the war between the two great colonising powers had begun he had fought with the British only because his tribe was formally allied with that power. He had no real loyalty to anyone except himself.

When her father had made the proclamation, one that she knew had been accepted with great displeasure by all but the women and some of the officers of the fort, Magua had accepted it but had somehow come under the misconception that the punishment was for the deeds done while drunk, not the act of disobedience. The hatred that had simmered in Magua's heart had suddenly found an outlet when Colonel Webb had ordered him to escort Cora and her siblings north. They were all in his power, except Will, and no offers of goods or money would satisfy his thirst for revenge.

"What would you have?" She nearly added the word Traitor to her sentence but could not bring it to her lips.

"Good for good; bad for bad."

Her right hand clenched within her false-pocket as she forced herself from reaching for her useless pistol, strapped to her thigh. "Name your intention, Magua," she said, struggling to keep her voice even. "Is it to lead us prisoners to the woods, or do you contemplate even some greater evil? Is there no means of softening your heart? At least, release my gentle sister, and pour out all your malice on me."

"Listen," he said again. "The light eyes may go back to the Andiatarocte, and tell Monro what has been done, if you will swear by the god of your fathers to tell no lie."

"What must I promise?"

"When I left my people my wife was given to another. I have made peace with my tribe and they have welcomed me back to my home. Let the daughter of Monro follow, and live in my home forever."

She stared at him in open mouthed horror. Then she swallowed, and responded with what she thought could pass as composure, "What pleasure would you find in sharing your home with a wife you do not love, who would never love you." He made no reply, but only looked down upon her steadily. "It would be better to take gold and buy the love of a Huron girl," she tried.

"Death is final, but my revenge shall be eternal," he said, unmoved and with no little triumph. "To have the daughter of Monro draw my water, hoe my corn, and cook my venison, while her father slept among his cannon— That will be my revenge. I shall hold the heart of Monro and he will not be able to protect it!"

"Monster!" she whispered. "Well did the French name thee! But thou overrate thy power! You shall find it is, in truth, the heart of my father that you hold, and that I shall defy you till I die!"

Magua only smiled at her and waved her away. She briefly considered refusing, considered striking him, but before she could he turned on his heel and joined his companions, who were eating their own meal.

Cora stood looking after him as he coolly left her under the tree. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Lord, she prayed, Thou say to love our enemies and to turn the second cheek, but I can not. Let Thy justice fall upon his head.

"Cora," Duncan cried out when he reached her. She did not turn around. Instead she felt an irrational urge to turn and bury her face in his shoulder and cry but she brushed it aside. She would not cry. She would not be hysterical. She would be strong. She had to be. For Alice.

Duncan gently turned her so that she faced him and asked, "What is it that he has said to you?"

She did not answer, but pulled away from him and approached her sister. Alice had ceased to weep and now she sat upright.

"What did he have to say, Cora?" she entreated.

But Cora only hugged her and said, "Read our fortunes in their faces, sister." Within the confines of her own mind she prayed for Uncas to somehow reappear.

It was not many minutes later that their captors rushed upon them and dragged them to the few trees that stood upon the hill. The Indians bound them there. Even Alice had fought, but even Duncan's furry-driven power was overwhelmed.

As the Indians, with the exception of her scarred guard, began to gather wood and light a fire, Magua approached.

He pointed to the group kindling fire and the pile of splintered wood, "Look how you will die," he laughed. "What says the daughter of Monro, now? Your head is too good to find a pillow in my cabin; will you like it better when it rolls about this hill a plaything for the wolves? Your bosom cannot nurse my children; you will see it spit upon by Indians!"

She sucked in a breath. Before she could retort, Duncan exclaimed, "My God, what means this monster?"

"Nothing," she said.

"Nothing!" Magua echoed. "I—"

"Leave me," Cora cried, "you mingle bitterness in my prayers; you stand as though between me and my God." To Alice and her male companions, she quoted the song they had sung the night before, "God has been our guard while this life has lasted, and He will be our eternal home! Let us be thankful to these men that they will be the instrument that sends us to our loving Saviour."

There was a brief silence, during which Cora held weeping Alice's eyes with her own as she attempted to convey the depth of her love. Then Magua broke the silence that had blanketed the whole hill.

"Look, your sister weeps. She is too young to die. Send her to Monro, to comb his grey hairs and keep life in the heart in the life of an old man."

"What does he mean, Cora?"

Cora turned and met the traitor's gaze. He was waiting for her response, and she saw that he was truly in earnest.

"Alice," she said finally, "he offers us both life, nay, more than us both; he offers to restore Duncan, as well as you, and Mister Gamut, to our friends—to our father, to our brother—if I will bow down this rebellious, stubborn pride of mine, and consent—"

Cora stopped, unable to voice the offer that had been made to her.

"Say on," Alice said; "to what, dearest Cora? O, that the proffer had been made to me; to cheer our brother and father, to give Duncan life, how cheerfully could I die!"

"Die? Would that had been all that was asked of me; death is easy, sister." She added, almost to herself, "Perhaps the alternative is not less so."

In a clearer tone, though with a voice still trembling with a mixture of anger, disgust, and broken dreams, she continued, "He would have me follow him into the wilderness; to remain there with him: in short to become his wife. Tell me then, Alice, and you too Duncan, counsel me; is life to be bought by such a sacrifice?"

There was silence from them.

She asked again, "Will you accept it from my hands at that price?"

"Would I?" Duncan exclaimed, astonished, angered, and almost befuddled by the question. "Cora, Cora, jest not with such words! Name it not again; it is worse to me than a hundred torturous deaths."

Cora laughed hollowly but her eyes snapped with her just outrage. "I knew that would be your answer, brother, but think of my sister. She is worth a thousand deaths to me. Alice, what do you say? You know me best."

For many minutes Alice did not speak. Magua began to grow impatient and it showed in his eyes.

The hot midday sun had cut through the humid air to dry the women's skirts. As Cora waited for her sister's answer she found that she noticed the little things. Like the stiff scratchiness of her dried skirt, the sweat droplet that rolled down the side of her neck, and the way the sun turned Alice's blonde locks to spun gold. She noticed Mr. Gamut's soundless prayer, the twittering of the birds, the tenseness of Duncan's face, his frown, the scarred warrior's passive expression as he stared at her.

"No, no, no," Alice whispered, shaking her head firmly. She looked directly at Cora. "Better to die as we have lived; together."

"Then die!" Magua roared when he had fully understood the words. He hurled his tomahawk at Alice's face. In his fury it missed its intended target and only struck the tree by her cheek.