he lies upon his bed in his lodge
and says within himself: 'My war chief, the Panther, the son of
Wahunsonacock, who was chief of all the Powhatans, sits now within his
wigwam, sharpening flints for his arrows, making his tomahawk bright and
keen, thinking of a day three suns hence, when the tribes will shake off
forever the hand upon their shoulder,--the hand so heavy and white that
strives always to bend them to the earth and keep them there.' Tell me,
you Englishman who have led in war, another name for Nantauquas, and ask
no more what evil you have done him."

"I will not call you 'traitor,' Nantauquas," I said, after a pause.
"There is a difference. You are not the first child of Powhatan who has
loved and shielded the white men."

"She was a woman, a child," he answered. "Out of pity she saved your
lives, not knowing that it was to the hurt of her people. Then you were
few and weak, and could not take your revenge. Now, if you die not, you
will drink deep of vengeance,--so deep that your lips may never leave
the cup. More ships will come, and more; you will grow ever stronger.
There may come a moon when the deep forests and the shining rivers know
us, to whom Kiwassa gave them, no more." He paused, with unmoved face,
and eyes that seemed to pierce the wall and look out into unfathomable
distances. "Go!" he said at last. "If you die not in the woods, if you
see again the man whom I called my brother and teacher, tell him. ..
tell him nothing! Go!"

"Come with us," urged Diccon gruffly. "We English will make a place for
you among us"--and got no further, for I turned upon him with a stern
command for silence.

"I ask of you no such thing, Nantauquas," I said. "Come against us,
if you will. Nobly warned, fair upon our guard, we will meet you as
knightly foe should be met."

He stood for a minute, the quick change that had come into his face
at Diccon's blundering words gone, and his features sternly impassive
again; then, very slowly, he raised his arm from his side and held out
his hand. His eyes met mine in sombre inquiry, half eager, half proudly
doubtful.

I went to him at once, and took his hand in mine. No word was spoken.
Presently he withdrew his hand from my clasp, and, putting his finger
to his lips, whistled low to the Indian girl. She drew aside the hanging
mats, and we passed out, Diccon and I, leaving him standing as we had
found him, upright against the post, in the red firelight.

Should we