The Last of the Mohicans Read online

  by James Fenimore Cooper

  adapted by Les Martin

  Heyward moved back toward Natty. He took a paddle. Soon he picked up Natty’s rhythm. The silence was broken only by the rippling water. Then came a distant roaring.

  Heyward looked over the side. The water was swirling. Rocks jutted through white foam.

  The roaring grew louder.

  Heyward turned his eyes forward. He sucked in his breath.

  A giant waterfall was dead ahead. The canoe was heading straight for it.

  Fifty feet more and the waterfall would hit them. Crush them. Drown them all.

  Text copyright © 1993 by Random House, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 1993 by Shannon Stirnweis. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

  www.steppingstonesbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Martin, Les, 1934–

  The last of the Mohicans / by James Fenimore Cooper ; adapted by Les Martin ; illustrated by Shannon Stirnweis.

  p. cm.

  “A Stepping Stone book.”

  SUMMARY: A simplified retelling of the classic tale set in 1757 about the exploits of Hawkeye, a colonial scout, and his friends Chingachgook, a chief of the Mohicans, and his son Uncas during the French and Indian War.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-75838-5

  1. United States—History—French and Indian War, 1755–1763—Juvenile fiction. 2. Mohegan Indians—Juvenile fiction. [1. United States—History—French and Indian War, 1755–1763—Fiction. 2. Mohegan Indians—Fiction. 3. Indians of North America—East (U.S.)—Fiction. 4. Frontier and pioneer life—Fiction.] I. Stirnweis, Shannon, ill. II. Cooper, James Fenimore, 1789–1851. Last of the Mohicans. III. Title. PZ7.M36353Las 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2004009364

  RANDOM HOUSE and colophon are registered trademarks and A STEPPING STONE BOOK and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Historical Note

  About the Authors

  Chapter 1

  Major Duncan Heyward was a brave young British officer. He had fought well for his country in Europe.

  Now he was far from Europe. But he was still serving his country. He was in North America, where the forces of England fought those of France.

  Each side had settlements there. The French controlled the eastern part of Canada. They called it New France. Below New France, England had colonies down the Atlantic coast to Georgia. Both countries claimed the vast territory to the west. That was what they were fighting for.

  This was a new kind of war for Major Heyward. There were no open battlefields. There were no great armies facing each other. The two sides fought in a wilderness of forests, rivers, and lakes. Each side used native American Indians as well as its own troops.

  So far, the French were better than the English at this warfare. Their leader, General Montcalm, had fewer soldiers than the English. But he knew how to fight in the wilderness. He moved swiftly on the lakes and rivers. He fought from the cover of the forests. And he had many more Indians on his side. Now, in 1757, he was on the attack. He wanted to destroy the forts that the English had built.

  Major Heyward was on his way to one of those forts. Fort William Henry, on the shore of Lake George, was under threat of attack. But Heyward had no soldiers with him. He was with two young women. They rode on horseback along a twisting forest path. Ahead of them an Indian guide moved on foot.

  The young women were sisters, but they looked as different as night and day.

  One had dark hair and dark eyes. Her name was Cora. The other was blond and blue-eyed. Her name was Alice.

  They were different in other ways, too. Cora was bold and spirited. She said what she thought and did what she thought was best. Alice was gentle and sweet tempered. She put her trust in the goodness of others. She put her fate in their hands.

  The sisters loved each other. They loved their father as well. They were on their way to join him. He was Colonel Munro, who commanded Fort William Henry.

  “I wish you did not insist on joining your father,” Heyward said to them as they slowly rode along. “It is much too dangerous. Even now the French may be attacking the fort. Enemy Indians may be roaming these woods.”

  “Nonsense,” said Cora. “You said yourself that no one would notice us. That’s why you sent your soldiers marching to the fort along the main road—so they would draw the attention of any enemies.”

  “Besides, I always feel safe with you, Duncan,” Alice said. Her blue eyes gazed into his gray ones.

  “I thought this way would be safe,” said Heyward. “But now—”

  He stopped abruptly. He saw that their Indian guide was listening. He knew that the Indian understood English. So Heyward could not say aloud what he feared. He trusted the Indian less and less as they moved deeper and deeper into the forest.

  We should be near the fort by now, Heyward thought. But there was no sign of it.

  Then, suddenly, Heyward forgot his vague suspicions.

  He was face to face with real danger.

  On the path three men appeared as if from nowhere. All held rifles at the ready.

  Chapter 2

  Major Heyward kept his face calm. But his hand went to his pistol.

  He did not know what to make of the three men in his path. He was taking no chances.

  One of them was white. His face, though, was burned nut-brown from the sun. He was tall and lean. He wore a hunting shirt of forest green and buckskin pants. On his feet were Indian moccasins decorated with beads. On his head was a hat of animal skin shorn of fur. His long dark hair hung down below the hat. In his hands was the longest rifle Heyward had ever seen.

  Slightly behind him stood two Indians. Their rifles were far shorter. Tomahawks were tucked into loincloths around their middles. Otherwise the Indians were naked. Their heads were shaved, except for tufts of hair in the center. Heyward knew why Indians wore those tufts. They were prizes for any enemy who beat them in battle. Indians took scalps as trophies of victory.

  When Heyward first arrived in America, all Indians had looked alike to him. But by now he could tell them apart.

  He saw that one of the Indians was middle-aged but still strong as a bull. The Indian had an air of power. He looked like a man born to command.

  The other Indian was younger, twenty perhaps. His face was noble. His body reminded Heyward of statues of Greek gods in museums. He was the most splendid Indian that Heyward had ever seen.

  Heyward opened his mouth to question the three. But the white stranger spoke first.

  “Who are you?” the man demanded.

  Heyward relaxed. He had feared that this man was French. Many French lived on close terms with Indians. But this man spoke perfect English.

  “I am Duncan Heyward, major in His Majesty’s army,” Heyward answered.

  “And what might you be doing here?” the stranger went on.

  Heyward held up his hand. “Before I tell you more, who are you?”

  The stranger smiled. “I go by different names. Indian foes call me
the Long Rifle. Indian friends call me Hawkeye.”

  “And your English name?” asked Heyward.

  “Natty Bumppo,” the man said. “The name my parents gave me before they died.”

  “And who are the Indians?” asked Heyward.

  Natty gestured toward the older Indian. “This is Chingachgook, who raised me like a son.”

  He turned toward the younger one. “This is Uncas, son of Chingachgook. He is like a younger brother to me.”

  “What is their tribe?” Heyward demanded. He had to know which side of the war they were on.

  “They are Mohicans,” Natty said.

  Heyward was puzzled. “I’ve never heard of such a tribe.”

  Natty nodded. “Not surprising. Yet once the Mohicans were the greatest of tribes. The proudest, the purest, the most ancient. They came from the west. They won the eastern coast from the Iroquois. They ruled the Delaware Indian nation.”

  “What happened to them?” Heyward asked, fascinated.

  “The white men happened to them,” Natty said. Behind him Chingachgook nodded, his face stonelike.

  “The white men gave them whiskey that robbed them of their strength,” Natty went on. “Diseases that robbed them of their health. Trinkets that robbed them of their land.”

  Again Chingachgook nodded.

  “Now only two of the tribe are left,” Natty said. “Chingachgook, last chief of the Mohicans. And Uncas, his son.”

  “A sad story,” said Cora Munro, who had been listening. She looked at Chingachgook with respect. Her gaze traveled to Uncas. He answered her gaze with his. Both found it hard to turn their eyes away.

  Natty’s voice broke the spell. “Now, Major, what are you doing in this forest?”

  “I am taking these two ladies to their father at Fort William Henry,” Heyward said. “He is the commander there.”

  “And who told you to come this way?” Natty asked.

  “Our Indian guide, Magua,” said Heyward, lowering his voice. The guide had sat down under a tree a good distance away. But Heyward knew how sharp his Indian guide’s hearing could be.

  Natty lowered his voice as well. “His tribe?”

  “The Mohawks, our friends,” Heyward replied.

  Chingachgook gave the guide a quick look. He slowly shook his head. Natty nodded in agreement.

  “Are you sure he’s a Mohawk?” Natty demanded.

  “Once he was a Huron,” Heyward admitted. “But he joined the Mohawks when he came south from Canada.”

  For the first time Chingachgook spoke. “Once a Huron, always a Huron.”

  “But—” said Heyward.

  “There is no time for buts,” Natty said urgently. “I just hope there is time to save your lives.”

  Chapter 3

  “Time to save our lives?” said Heyward. “What do you mean?”

  “Yes, tell us,” Cora Munro said.

  “Please,” her sister Alice said.

  But Natty had already turned to Chingachgook and Uncas. He spoke in Mohican to them. They nodded, then faded into the forest.

  Natty turned back to Heyward. “Your guide has taken you in the wrong direction. He is leading you into a trap.”

  “Perhaps he made a wrong turn,” Heyward said.

  “No Indian gets lost in the woods,” Natty said. “His friends must be hiding nearby. Listen to me. Go to him. Convince him you suspect nothing. Chingachgook and Uncas will sneak up on him. We can hold him hostage and be safe from attack.”

  “I’ll capture him myself,” Heyward said. He had a soldier’s pride.

  “He’d kill you the moment you got off your horse.” Natty shrugged.

  Heyward did not argue. The guide Magua was tall and strong. He looked as if he could move like lightning.

  Heyward rode to where Magua sat.

  “The hunter says the fort is still far away,” Heyward said. “The ladies are tired. We’ll rest here for the night.”

  Magua’s lips curled with contempt for the white man’s worrying about women. His eyes glowed with anger. “You trust that white man more than me? Then let him be your guide.”

  “Don’t be foolish. I know you are the best of guides,” soothed Heyward. He reached into his saddle pouch. He took out a packet of dried corn. “Here is a good evening meal for you.”

  Magua reached up to take it. But instead he grabbed Heyward’s arm. He gave a vicious yank. As Heyward fell from his horse, Magua leaped to his feet. He vanished into the forest.

  There was a loud shot. Heyward, on his hands and knees, turned toward Natty. Natty’s long rifle was smoking.

  “He moved too fast—even for my deerslayer here,” Natty muttered.

  Chingachgook and Uncas came out of the forest. They joined Natty in hunting Magua’s trail. Heyward tagged along.

  Natty pointed to a sumac bush. “These leaves should be yellow now in July, but they are stained red. Blood red.”

  “You hit him!” Heyward said.

  Natty shook his head. “Just grazed him. The kind of wound that makes an animal run faster. Otherwise we’d have found his body.”

  Natty peered into the forest. It was easy to see why he was called Hawkeye.

  “The Huron will return with his friends. We have to get out of here,” Natty said. He headed back to Cora and Alice. “Ladies, get off your horses.”

  “Why should they?” asked Heyward.

  “Horses leave too clear a trail,” Natty said. “The Hurons will be hunting us.”

  “But what will you do with them?” Heyward asked.

  “Perhaps the best thing would be to kill them,” Natty said.

  Alice gasped. “Never! I have had my horse since I was a child. I love him.”

  Cora cut in firmly, “We must listen to Mr. Bumppo. Our lives are in his hands. This is a savage land. He knows how to survive in it.”

  Cora got off her horse. Alice’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she followed. Heyward could not stand to see Alice cry. “I will not let you kill the horses,” he declared.

  Natty’s voice was hard. “If you want to live, you must follow my orders, Major. Understood?”

  Heyward bit his lip. He was an officer of the Crown. But he was like a child in this wilderness. “Understood.”

  Natty looked at the horses again. “Maybe we should not kill them. No sense telling the Hurons we are on foot. Instead Chingachgook and Uncas can hide them. Tomorrow you can use them. I will tell you how to get to the fort. In daylight you can ride fast enough to make it there.”

  Natty looked at his Indian friends. They nodded. The plan was settled.

  Natty and the Mohicans led the horses through the forest. They moved swiftly. Alice, Cora, and Heyward struggled to keep up with them.

  The sun had set. A full moon had risen. Through ghostly trees a river shimmered silver.

  They reached the river. It was shallow near its bank. The Mohicans led the horses splashing upstream.

  “The Hurons cannot follow a trail in the water,” Natty said. “My friends will hide the horses well. Meanwhile, we will go to our hiding place.”

  Natty pulled aside thick bushes. A canoe was hidden there. Natty slid it into the water and pointed to the front. Heyward and the women sat there. Natty pushed it off and got in back. He picked up a paddle. It bit into the water with smooth power.

  Heyward moved back toward Natty. He took a paddle. Soon he picked up Natty’s rhythm. The silence was broken only by the rippling water. Then came a distant roaring.

  Heyward looked over the side. The water was swirling. Rocks jutted through white foam.

  The roaring grew louder.

  Heyward turned his eyes forward. He sucked in his breath.

  A giant waterfall was dead ahead. The canoe was heading straight for it.

  Fifty feet more and the waterfall would hit them. Crush them. Drown them all.

  Chapter 4

  Heyward stopped paddling. But Natty kept on. Was he mad?

  They came closer to the falls. Now
Heyward could see where they were going. He started paddling again.

  The waterfall came down in two huge streams. Between them was a gap. In that gap was the mouth of a cave. On a stone ledge in front of it the Mohicans were waiting.

  The canoe moved through a cloud of spray. It reached the ledge. Natty and the others climbed out. The Mohicans climbed in. They had tethered the horses behind the wall of falling water. They would hide the canoe downstream.

  Natty led the others into the cave. With a flint he lit a brushwood fire. He hung a blanket over the entrance so no one outside could spot the light. Soon Chingachgook and Uncas returned.

  “Only we know of this place,” Natty said. “We will be safe for a night.”

  “But what if you’re wrong?” said Heyward. He refused to follow Natty blindly. This man was not even a soldier, much less an officer. “If the Hurons find us, we’ll be trapped.”

  Natty smiled. “A fox never chooses a lair with only one escape. There is a way out in the back. Even better, the cave is divided into two parts. I’ll show you.”

  Natty went to the rear of the cave. He parted a pile of brushwood. A second cave was hidden behind. It was a perfect hideout from intruders.

  They settled down for the night. The women huddled under their shawls. The Mohicans guarded the entrance. Heyward sat by Natty near the fire.

  “The Mohicans’ names—what do they mean?” asked Heyward.

  “Chingachgook means ‘Great Serpent,’ ” said Natty.

  “A snake? Not very nice,” said Heyward.

  “Among the Indians it is,” explained Natty. “It means he knows the twists and turns of human nature. And he can strike at any weakness.”

  “And Uncas?” asked Heyward.

  “ ‘Running Deer,’ ” said Natty. “Indeed, he is as swift and brave as a young stag.”

  “I should have paid more attention to Indian names,” said Heyward. “Our false guide told me what his name meant: ‘Cunning Fox.’ ”

  “Magua is one, all right,” said Natty. “But now let me ask you something. Why are you taking these women to Fort William Henry? It is in danger.”