CHAPTER 30.

     Oh! let me only breathe the air,
        The blessed air that's breath'd by thee;
     And, whether on its wings it bear
        Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!
     MOORE.

Pathfinder was accustomed to solitude; but, when the _Scud_ had actually
disappeared, he was almost overcome with a sense of his loneliness.
Never before had he been conscious of his isolated condition in the
world; for his feelings had gradually been accustoming themselves to the
blandishments and wants of social life; particularly as the last were
connected with the domestic affections. Now, all had vanished, as it
might be, in one moment; and he was left equally without companions
and without hope. Even Chingachgook had left him, though it was but
temporarily; still his presence was missed at the precise instant which
might be termed the most critical in our hero's life.

Pathfinder stood leaning on his rifle, in the attitude described in the
last chapter, a long time after the _Scud_ had disappeared. The rigidity
of his limbs seemed permanent; and none but a man accustomed to put his
muscles to the severest proof could have maintained that posture, with
its marble-like inflexibility, for so great a length of time. At length
he moved away from the spot; the motion of the body being preceded by a
sigh that seemed to heave up from the very depths of his bosom.

It was a peculiarity of this extraordinary being that his senses and his
limbs, for all practical purposes, were never at fault, let the mind
be preoccupied with other interests as much as it might. On the present
occasion neither of these great auxiliaries failed him; but, though
his thoughts were exclusively occupied with Mabel, her beauty, her
preference of Jasper, her tears, and her departure, he moved in a direct
line to the spot where June still remained, which was the grave of her
husband. The conversation that followed passed in the language of the
Tuscaroras, which Pathfinder spoke fluently; but, as that tongue is
understood only by the extremely learned, we shall translate it freely
into the English; preserving, as far as possible, the tone of thought
of each interlocutor, as well as the peculiarities of manner. June had
suffered her hair to fall about her face, had taken a seat on a stone
which had been dug from the excavation made by the grave, and was
hanging over the spot which contained the body of Arrowhead, unconscious
of the presence of any other. She believed, indeed, that all had left
the island but herself, and the tread of the guide's moccasined foot was
too noiseless rudely to undeceive her.

Pathfinder stood gazing at the woman for several minutes in mute
attention. The contemplation of her grief, the recollection of her
irreparable loss, and the view of her desolation produced a healthful
influence on his own feelings; his reason telling him how much deeper
lay the sources of grief in a young wife, who was suddenly and violently
deprived of her husband, than in himself.

"Dew-of-June," he said solemnly, but with an earnestness which denoted
the strength of his sympathy, "you are not alone in your sorrow. Turn,
and let your eyes look upon a friend."

"June has no longer any friend!" the woman answered. "Arrowhead has gone
to the happy hunting-grounds, and there is no one left to care for June.
The Tuscaroras would chase her from their wigwams; the Iroquois are
hateful in her eyes, and she could not look at them. No! Leave June to
starve over the grave of her husband."

"This will never do--this will never do. 'Tis ag'in reason and right.
You believe in the Manitou, June?"

"He has hid his face from June because he is angry. He has left her
alone to die."

"Listen to one who has had a long acquaintance with red natur', though
he has a white birth and white gifts. When the Manitou of a pale-face
wishes to produce good in a pale-face heart He strikes it with grief;
for it is in our sorrows, June, that we look with the truest eyes into
ourselves, and with the farthest-sighted eyes too, as respects right.
The Great Spirit wishes you well, and He has taken away the chief, lest
you should be led astray by his wily tongue, and get to be a Mingo in
your disposition, as you were already in your company."

"Arrowhead was a great chief," returned the woman proudly.

"He had his merits, he had; and he had his demerits, too. But June you
are not desarted, nor will you be soon. Let your grief out--let it out,
according to natur', and when the proper time comes I shall have more to
say to you."

Pathfinder now went to his own canoe, and he left the island. In the
course of the day June heard the crack of his rifle once or twice; and
as the sun was setting he reappeared, bringing her birds ready cooked,
and of a delicacy and flavor that might have tempted the appetite of an
epicure. This species of intercourse lasted a month, June obstinately
refusing to abandon the grave of her husband all that time, though she
still accepted the friendly offerings of her protector. Occasionally
they met and conversed, Pathfinder sounding the state of the woman's
feelings; but the interviews were short, and far from frequent. June
slept in one of the huts, and she laid down her head in security, for
she was conscious of the protection of a friend, though Pathfinder
invariably retired at night to an adjacent island, where he had built
himself a hut.

At the end of the month, however, the season was getting to be too far
advanced to render her situation pleasant to June. The trees had lost
their leaves, and the nights were becoming cold and wintry. It was time
to depart.

At this moment Chingachgook reappeared. He had a long and confidential
interview on the island with his friend. June witnessed their movements,
and she saw that her guardian was distressed. Stealing to his side, she
endeavored to soothe his sorrow with a woman's gentleness and with a
woman's instinct.

"Thank you, June, thank you!" he said; "'tis well meant, though it's
useless. But it is time to quit this place. To-morrow we shall depart.
You will go with us, for now you've got to feel reason."

June assented in the meek manner of an Indian woman, and she withdrew to
pass the remainder of her time near the grave of Arrowhead. Regardless
of the hour and the season, the young widow did not pillow her head
during the whole of that autumnal night. She sat near the spot that held
the remains of her husband, and prayed, in the manner of her people, for
his success on the endless path on which he had so lately gone, and for
their reunion in the land of the just. Humble and degraded as she would
have seemed in the eyes of the sophisticated and unreflecting, the
image of God was on her soul, and it vindicated its divine origin by
aspirations and feelings that would have surprised those who, feigning
more, feel less.

In the morning the three departed, Pathfinder earnest and intelligent
in all he did, the Great Serpent silent and imitative, and June meek,
resigned, but sorrowful. They went in two canoes, that of the woman
being abandoned: Chingachgook led the way, and Pathfinder followed,
the course being up stream. Two days they paddled westward, and as many
nights they encamped on islands. Fortunately the weather became mild,
and when they reached the lake it was found smooth and glassy as a pond.
It was the Indian summer, and the calms, and almost the blandness of
June, slept in the hazy atmosphere.

On the morning of the third day they passed the mouth of the Oswego,
where the fort and the sleeping ensign invited them in vain to enter.
Without casting a look aside, Chingachgook paddled past the dark waters
of the river, and Pathfinder still followed in silent industry. The
ramparts were crowded with spectators; but Lundie, who knew the persons
of his old friends, refused to allow them to be even hailed.

It was noon when Chingachgook entered a little bay where the _Scud_ lay
at anchor, in a sort of roadstead. A small ancient clearing was on the
shore; and near the margin of the lake was a log dwelling, recently
and completely, though rudely fitted up. There was an air of frontier
comfort and of frontier abundance around the place, though it was
necessarily wild and solitary. Jasper stood on the shore; and when
Pathfinder landed, he was the first to take him by the hand. The meeting
was simple, but very cordial. No questions were asked, it being apparent
that Chingachgook had made the necessary explanations. Pathfinder never
squeezed his friend's hand more cordially than in this interview; and he
even laughed cordially in his face as he told him how happy and well he
appeared.

"Where is she, Jasper? Where is she?" the guide at length whispered, for
at first he had seemed to be afraid to trust himself with the question.

"She is waiting for us in the house, my dear friend, where you see that
June has already hastened before us."

"June may use a lighter step to meet Mabel, but she cannot carry a
lighter heart. And so, lad, you found the chaplain at the garrison, and
all was soon settled?"

"We were married within a week after we left you, and Master Cap
departed next day. You have forgotten to inquire about your friend
Saltwater."

"Not I, not I; the Sarpent has told me all that: and then I love to hear
so much of Mabel and her happiness, I do. Did the child smile or did she
weep when the ceremony was over?"

"She did both, my friend; but--"

"Yes, that's their natur', tearful and cheerful. Ah's me! They are very
pleasant to us of the woods; and I do believe I should think all right,
whatever Mabel might do. And do you think, Jasper, that she thought of
me at all on that joyful occasion?"

"I know she did, Pathfinder; and she thinks of you and talks of you
daily, almost hourly. None love you as we do."

"I know few love me better than yourself, Jasper: Chingachgook is
perhaps, now, the only creatur' of whom I can say that. Well, there's
no use in putting it off any longer; it must be done, and may as well
be done at once; so, Jasper, lead the way, and I'll endivor to look upon
her sweet countenance once more."

Jasper did lead the way, and they were soon in the presence of Mabel.
The latter met her late suitor with a bright blush, and her limbs
trembled so, she could hardly stand; still her manner was affectionate
and frank. During the hour of Pathfinder's visit (for it lasted no
longer, though he ate in the dwelling of his friends), one who was
expert in tracing the working of the human mind might have seen a
faithful index to the feelings of Mabel in her manner to Pathfinder and
her husband. With the latter she still had a little of the reserve
that usually accompanies young wedlock; but the tones of her voice
were kinder even than common; the glance of her eye was tender, and she
seldom looked at him without the glow that tinged her cheeks betraying
the existence of feelings that habit and time had not yet soothed into
absolute tranquillity. With Pathfinder, all was earnest, sincere, even
anxious; but the tones never trembled, the eye never fell; and if the
cheek flushed, it was with the emotions that are connected with concern.

At length the moment came when Pathfinder must go his way. Chingachgook
had already abandoned the canoes, and was posted on the margin of the
woods, where a path led into the forest. Here he calmly waited to be
joined by his friend. As soon as the latter was aware of this fact, he
rose in a solemn manner and took his leave.

"I've sometimes thought that my own fate has been a little hard," he
said; "but that of this woman, Mabel, has shamed me into reason."

"June remains, and lives with me," eagerly interrupted our heroine.

"So I comprehend it. If anybody can bring her back from her grief, and
make her wish to live, you can do it, Mabel; though I've misgivings
about even your success. The poor creatur' is without a tribe, as well
as without a husband, and it's not easy to reconcile the feelings to
both losses. Ah's me!--what have I to do with other people's miseries
and marriages, as if I hadn't affliction enough of my own? Don't speak
to me, Mabel,--don't speak to me, Jasper,--let me go my way in peace,
and like a man. I've seen your happiness, and that is a great deal, and
I shall be able to bear my own sorrow all the better for it. No,--I'll
never kiss you ag'in, Mabel, I'll never kiss you ag'in. Here's my hand,
Jasper,--squeeze it, boy, squeeze it; no fear of its giving way, for
it's the hand of a man;--and now, Mabel, do you take it,--nay, you must
not do this,"--preventing Mabel from kissing it and bathing it in her
tears,--"you must not do this--"

"Pathfinder," asked Mabel, "when shall we see you again?"

"I've thought of that, too; yes, I've thought of that, I have. If the
time should ever come when I can look upon you altogether as a sister,
Mabel, or a child,--it might be better to say a child, since you're
young enough to be my daughter,--depend on it I'll come back; for
it would lighten my very heart to witness your gladness. But if I
cannot,--farewell--farewell,--the Sergeant was wrong,--yes, the Sergeant
was wrong!"

This was the last the Pathfinder ever uttered to the ears of Jasper
Western and Mabel Dunham. He turned away, as if the words choked him,
and was quickly at the side of his friend. As soon as the latter saw him
approach, he shouldered his own burthen, and glided in among the trees,
without waiting to be spoken to. Mabel, her husband, and June all
watched the form of the Pathfinder, in the hope of receiving a parting
gesture, or a stolen glance of the eye; but he did not look back.
Once or twice they thought they saw his head shake, as one trembles in
bitterness of spirit; and a toss of the hand was given, as if he knew
that he was watched; but a tread, whose vigor no sorrow could enfeeble,
soon bore him out of view, and was lost in the depths of the forest.

Neither Jasper nor his wife ever beheld the Pathfinder again. They
remained for another year on the banks of Ontario; and then the pressing
solicitations of Cap induced them to join him in New York, where Jasper
eventually became a successful and respected merchant. Thrice Mabel
received valuable presents of furs at intervals of years; and her
feelings told her whence they came, though no name accompanied the gift.
Later in life still, when the mother of several youths, she had occasion
to visit the interior; and found herself on the banks of the Mohawk,
accompanied by her sons, the eldest of whom was capable of being her
protector. On that occasion she observed a man in a singular guise,
watching her in the distance, with an intentness that induced her to
inquire into his pursuits and character. She was told he was the
most renowned hunter of that portion of the State,--it was after the
Revolution,--a being of great purity of character and of as marked
peculiarities; and that he was known in that region of country by the
name of the Leatherstocking. Further than this Mrs. Western could not
ascertain; though the distant glimpse and singular deportment of
this unknown hunter gave her a sleepless night, and cast a shade of
melancholy over her still lovely face, that lasted many a day.

As for June, the double loss of husband and tribe produced the effect
that Pathfinder had foreseen. She died in the cottage of Mabel, on the
shores of the lake; and Jasper conveyed her body to the island, where he
interred it by the side of that of Arrowhead.

Lundie lived to marry his ancient love, and retired a war-worn and
battered veteran; but his name has been rendered illustrious in our own
time by the deeds of a younger brother, who succeeded to his territorial
title, which, however, was shortly after merged in one earned by his
valor on the ocean.
The End

A concluding word from Robert J. Kuniegel

TR AMERICAN PATRIOT hopes you enjoy our books.  Theodore Roosevelt lived his life in a manner that is the only way possible to make government responsive to the people.  He has written how to make meaningful reform possible not only for his generation but for future generations, if we read what he has said.  We only need to interest others in reading what he has said to transform our government. 

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David Boyd, repeating what he had read, once said, “The person we become is because of our experiences in life, the people we meet, and the books we read. ” It is time to have others meet Theodore Roosevelt.  It is time for a Theodore Roosevelt revival, “Fear God and do your own part”.  Dare to help make Theodore Roosevelt the standard and not the exception.  America needs to adopt a wise, fearless and honest role model as the standard we revere, so that our public servants know what we expect.  The first step to honest government is no harder than setting proper standards of conduct for our public servants through the use of a proper role model.  Can you find one quality in Theodore Roosevelt that is not right in a public servant?  If you think you can, I bet your conjecture is based upon something other than truth and honest reasoning and this American would love an opportunity to debate any such conjecture.