I searched for The Last of the Mohicans fics, and, I found two!!! Two stories based on the book that were not rated M! All together I found four! Out of however many LotM fics there are, there are only 4 based on the book! (Others are the movie fandom) Only four with an Uncas/Cora pairing!

So here is my retaliation, a LotM story. I don't know how long this will be, (maybe around ten to fifteen chapters?) don't know if I will change the ending, don't know how I will do trying to take my favorite parts from one of my favorite books and rewrite them from Uncas's pov. (I've read it six times. I think?)

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Disclaimer: I have copied the diologue from J.F. Cooper's work. This continues throughout this entire fic, if I add diologue, I will say so in my A/N at the beginning.

Bold is English, regular is Deleware, italics are, in this chapter, flashbacks. Except this authors note of course.

"...and when Uncas follows in my footsteps, there will no longer be any of the blood of the Sagamores," at the sound of my name, I paused in the undergrowth, "for my boy is the last of the Mohicans."

"Uncas is here! who speaks to Uncas?"

I slipped between my father and friend and seated myself on the bank of the rapid stream. No exclamation of surprise escaped my father, nor was any question asked me for several minutes. In the peaceful lull, I allowed my mind to wander back to the trail I had followed during morning.

Swiftly I follow the indistinct trail created by a careless Mingo warrior in the course of the last night, but I stop dead when my eyes catch on an irregularity in the leaves; the print of a horse's iron shoe.

Carefully I brush fallen leaves and twigs from the near vicinity of the print, and a clear trail is revealed in the dirt. I study it in confusion; five horses had passed through only a few hours since; four had worn the white-man's iron shoe. If that was not strange enough, two of the four animals moved with a gait I had only ever seen belonging to a bear; the third left tracks like that of an elk, but the fourth...the fourth I could not make out.

I widened my search and to my greatest surprise, found the print of a moccasin. 'Hugh! What fools were these, who traveled the woods infested by Maquas? Led no less by an Indian. Was the warrior who wore the patched moccasin mad?'

I turn away and continue on the trail of the Maqua brave.

But as the Great Spirit would decree, I would come across the same trail thrice more before I found the Maqua's camp. Again I wondered what fool the white-men followed.

From my position high in the ancient oak tree, whose limbs encompassed several rods, I watch the group pass beneath me. A white-man dressed in the scarlet of the Englishman's Great Father leads upon a mighty black beast; behind him lopes a smaller beast of the color of a smooth creek-stone, on his back rides a maiden; immediately after came a brightly adorned man riding a grayish mare and at his side trotted a foal. Slightly behind and to the left glided an Indian brave. I strain my eyes to see his paints, but to no avail. He passes.

Then the last member of the company rides beneath me, a woman with flowing dark hair. She handles her steed well and her eyes rove the forest around her. My eyes follow after her with interest, for she is the woman who spoke to me two days before at Fort Edward.

Silently I drop down to the ground as a tree begins to obscure my view of the Dark-hair. To my astonishment she stiffens and turns in her saddle looking directly at me, slowly she raises her hand in a salute before turning again. I stare at the place from which the Dark-hair disappeared till a drifting leaf grazes my shoulder.

At length my father turns to me, and demands,–

"Do the Maquas dare to leave the prints of their moccasins in these woods?"

I push my reminisces away; "I have been on their trail," I reply, "and know that they number as many as the fingers of my two hands; but they lie hid, like cowards."

"The thieves are out-lying for scalps and plunder!" Hawkeye exclaimed. "That bushy Frenchman, Montcalm, will send his spies into our very camp, but he will know what road we travel!"

"'Tis enough!" returned Chingachgook glancing his eye towards the setting sun; "They shall be driven like deer from their bushes. Hawkeye, let us eat tonight, and show the Maquas that we are men tomorrow."

"I am as ready to do the one as the other; but to fight the Iroquois 'tis necessary to find the skulkers; and to eat, it is necessary to get the game – talk at the devil and he will come; there is a pair of the biggest antlers I have seen this season, moving the bushes below the hill! Now, Uncas," he continued and a half whisper, and laughing with a kind of inward sound, like one who had learned to be watchful, "I will bet my charger three times full of powder against a foot of wampum, that I take him atwixt the eyes, and nearer to the right then to the left."

"It cannot be!" I said, springing to my feet with eagerness; "all but the tips of his horns are hid!"

"He's a boy!" Said Hawkeye to my father, shaking his head while he spoke. "Does he think when a Hunter sees a part of the creatur', he can't tell where the rest of him should be!"

He adjusted his rifle, about to make an exhibition of that skill, on which he so much valued himself, when I struck up the piece with my hand,exclaiming–

"Hawkeye! will you fight the Maquas?"

"These Indians know the nature of the woods, as it might be by instinct!" Returned the scout, dropping his rifle, and turning away like a man who was convinced of his error. "I must leave the buck to your arrow, Uncas, or we may kill a deer for them thieves, the Iroquois to eat."

The instant my father seconds this invitation by an expressive gesture of the hand, I throw myself on the ground, and approach the animal with wary movements. When within a few yards of the cover, I fit in an arrow to my bow with utmost care. In another moment I hear the twang of the cord, and see a white streak glancing into the bushes. The wounded buck plunged from the cover, to my very feet. Avoiding the horns of the infuriated animal, I dart to his side, and plunge my knife across the throat, it bounds to the edge of the river and falls, dyeing the waters with its blood.

"Hugh!" ejaculated his companion, turning quickly, like a hound who scented game.

At my father's exclamation I pause and half turn.

"By the Lord, there is a drove of them!" exclaims Hawkeye; "if they come within range of a bullet I will drop one, though the whole Six Nations should be lurking within sound! What do you hear, Chinachgook? For to my ears the woods are dumb."

"There is but one deer, and he is dead," says my father, bending his body till his ear nearly touches the earth. "I hear the sounds of feet!"

"Perhaps the wolves of driven the buck to shelter, and are following on his trail."

"No. The horses of what men are coming!" returns he, raising himself with dignity, and resuming his seat on the log with his former composure. "Hawkeye, they are your brothers, speak to them."

"That will I, and in English that the king needn't be ashamed to answer," returned the hunter, speaking in the language of what he boasted; "but I see nothing, nor do I heat the sounds of man or beast; it is strange that an Indian should understand white sounds better than a man who, his very enemies will own, has no cross in his blood, although he may have lived with the redskins long enough to be suspected! Ha! There goes something like the cracking of a dry stick, too– now I hear the bushes move– yes, yes, there is a trampling that I mistook for the falls – and-but here they come themselves! God keep them for the Iroquois!"

I hope this gives more people a taste of The Leather Stocking Tales by J.F. Cooper.