uddenly Captain Church heard a strange sound. He
grasped the old man by the arm to hold him back. They all listened.

"It is somebody pounding corn in a mortar," they agreed; and by that
they knew they were approaching the Chief Annawan camp.

Presently a great outcrop of rock loomed before them, and there was the
glow of fires. The corn pounding sounded plainer. Now Captain Church
took two of his scouts, and crawled up a long slope of brush and gravel
to the crest of the rock pile, that he might peer over. He saw the
Annawan camp. There were three companies of Wampanoags, down in front
of the rock pile, gathered about their fires. And right below, at the
foot of the cliff, he saw big Annawan himself.

Chief Annawan and several of his head men had made their own camp here.
They had leaned brush against a felled tree trunk to keep the wind from
the cliff face. The rocks overhung, forming a sort of cave that
narrowed upward in a split; and at the mouth of the cave Annawan and
his young son were lying watching the squaws cook meat in pans and
kettles upon the fires.

The guns of the party had been stacked along a stick set in two
crotches, and covered with a mat to keep the dampness off. Annawan's
feet, and his son's head, opposite, almost touched the gun butts.

It was a snug, well-protected kenneling place, surrounded by the swamp.

The face of the rock pile was so steep that there was no way of getting
down except by holding to the shrubs and small trees. That did not
look very promising. So Captain Church crept back to ask the old man
guide if there was not some other trail. The old man shook his head.

"No, great captain. All who belong to Annawan must come in by that
way, down the cliff. Whoever tries to come by another way will likely
be shot."

"Very well," said the captain. He made up his mind to beard the lion
in the den. "You and your daughter shall go down before us, so that
Annawan shall suspect nothing. We will follow close behind, in your
shadows."

This they set about to do. The old man and his daughter climbed the
slope of the rock pile, and passed over, and down by the narrow trail,
for the fires at the bottom. Captain Church, his hatchet in his hand,
followed close, stooping low and keeping in the shadow of his guides,
cast by the firelight. His six men trod after.

The corn pounding helped them. Whenever the squaw paused to shake the
corn together, they paused also, and c