Acknowledging James Fenimore (Cooper)
“Before these fields were shorn and till’d,
Full to the brim our rivers flow’d;
The melody of waters fill’d The fresh and boundless wood;
And torrents dash’d, and rivulets play’d, And fountains spouted in the shade.”
–Bryant
Gone were the canopy of trees. The rays of the sun beat down without mercy. High-flying drones relayed crystal-clear images to orbiting satellites and black-helmeted troopers scoured the forest floor. One of them named Magua anticipated great personal triumph ahead. The dark-haired beauty would be his.
Backed into a hidden cave, Cora despaired. “Can there be no escape,” she pleaded to her blonde half-sister, Alice. “Must the deranged take us?”
Overlooking the valley, the one known as La Longue Carabine huddled with Chingachgook, the last chief of the Mohicans. His frame sturdy, chiseled by by hardships and exertion, his nerves and muscles bound to singular purpose, he fashioned a knife into his wampum belt. With the eyes of a hunter, Hawkeye focused on Magua.
“Remember the words of the ancient one, Tamenund,” he said to Chingachgook, pulling his long carbine out of the rocks.
“The pale-faces are masters of the earth, and the time of the red man has not yet come again.”
~ Stephen J. Bergstrom
The Literary Fiction of Stephen J. Bergstrom 
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