An Excerpt From The Mohicanland Chronicles

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Posted by Mohicanland Historian on September 17, 1999 at 21:42:47:

The citizens of Mohicanland gathered silently along the banks of the now quiet river and speculated on the strange sight that met their eyes. Uncle Wiscone and his Delaware warriors, fearful of evil spirits, peered warily from behind the trees and bushes that lined the banks and were still in the face of the Unknown. The Bee Holder, with his Swarm, watched solemnly as the waterlogged raft bearing the Old Crone and her little wattle hut moved slowly up the river. Sheriff Twigg, with Miss Marcia leaning lightly on his arm, waited to see if any action was indicated, but there seemed nothing he could do.

The raft drifted gently onward under the protection of the overtowering branches lining the bank. It seemed at times to hesitate, as if it were propelled by an unknown intelligence that sought the safest path. And then it would slightly alter its course and continue on. Eventually the raft neared a low embankment where a sandy point projected into the river and offered a shallow beaching place.

The panting dogs, exhausted from their trials in the swirling waters, lay quietly down with their paws crossed before them and expectantly waited as the strange scene unfolded before them. She Who Tracks knelt beside the pups and gently stroked their faithful heads, while Gnome and his new friend, Jeanne D'Arc seated themselves close together on a fallen log and watched, their faces filled with wonder. It was an awed and reverent citizenry who saw the scene unfold before their hopeful eyes.

The ark appeared to sustain a gentle shove, first from one side and then from the other. It ground onto the sodden sand and came to a halt, safe and sound. The Old Crone sat serenely at the door of her wattle hut, a gentle smile on her wrinkled face. She knew her rescuers.

The gentle wind parted the clouds for a moment, and the autumn moon appeared, bathing the town and the river and the waiting crowd of frontier folk in a misty silver light. And in that moment - for only a moment it was - three figures were seen to rise out of the water. They observed for a moment, and confident that the raft with its small occupant was now safely home, they gave a friendly wave to the wondering crowd lining the river bank, and disappeared silently into the dark and trackless forest.

They were seen but a moment before the clouds drifted across the moon again, but to this day, the descendants of Mohicanland pass down the well-loved story that the three were a hunter and two Indians.

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