sound that might denote the course of things on the shore.
His training had been perfect, so far as theory could go, and his
self-possession, notwithstanding the high excitement that was the fruit of
novelty, would have done credit to a veteran. The visible evidences of the
existence of the camp, or of the fire, could not be detected from the spot where
the canoe lay, and he was compelled to depend on the sense of hearing alone. He
did not feel impatient, for the lessons he had heard, taught him the virtue of
patience, and most of all inculcated the necessity of wariness in conducting any
covert assault on the Indians. Once he thought he heard the cracking of a dried
twig, but expectation was so intense it might mislead him. In this manner,
minute after minute passed, until the whole time since he left his companions
was extended to quite an hour. Deerslayer knew not whether to rejoice in, or to
mourn over this cautious delay, for if it augured security to his associates, it
foretold destruction to the feeble and innocent.
    It might have been an hour and a half after his companions and he had
parted, when Deerslayer was aroused by a sound that filled him equally with
concern and surprise. The quavering call of a loon arose from the opposite side
of the lake; evidently at no great distance from its outlet. There was no
mistaking the note of this bird, which is so familiar to all who know the sounds
of the American lakes. Shrill, tremulous, loud and sufficiently prolonged, it
seems the very cry of warning. It is often raised also, at night, an exception
to the habits of most of the other feathered inmates of the wilderness, a
circumstance which had induced Hurry to select it as his own signal. There had
been sufficient time certainly for the two adventurers to make their way by
land, from the point where they had been left, to that whence the call had come,
but it was not probable that they would adopt such a course. Had the camp been
deserted, they would have summoned Deerslayer to the shore, and did it prove to
be peopled, there could be no sufficient motive for circling it, in order to
re-embark at so great a distance. Should he obey the signal, and be drawn away
from the landing, the lives of those who depended on him might be the forfeit,
and should he neglect the call, on the supposition that it had been really made,
the consequences might be equally disastrous, though from a different cause. In
this indecision,