rading with the Indians, buying the fish that they
had caught and trying to talk to them in an unknown tongue.

"We have heard stories before and will hear them again," said the
older warriors incredulously. "Such tales are of the sort that old
women tell about the fires on winter nights."

"What does your friend the medicine man say of these rumors, Nashola?"
asked one of the boys of his own age, but Nashola did not answer. He
went no more up the hill to the big oak tree; he had held no speech
for weeks with Secotan. Yet he would suffer no one to ask him why.

A day came when the news could no longer be disbelieved. A boy of the
tribe, who had been digging for clams on the beach, came running home
with startling tidings.

"The white men--the winged canoes--as big as our lodges----" he
gasped. "Come quickly and see!"

Old men and young, squaws and papooses, every one deserted the little
settlement by the river and went in wild haste up the eastward hills
to look upon this strange wonder. It was a lowering day with overcast
skies and water of a sullen gray and with ominously little wind. In
speechless wonder the Indians stood gazing, for there indeed were
three white-sailed ships, moving slowly before the lazy breeze, stanch
little fishing vessels of English build, come to see whether this
unexplored stretch of coast would yield them any cargo. As they
watched, the largest one got up more sail, veered away upon a new
tack, and was followed by the others.

"What can they be? Are they come to destroy us all?" asked a trembling
old woman, and no one could answer.

"Hush," said another in a moment, "the medicine man is coming."

Secotan, who so seldom left his own lodge now, and who never mixed
with the village folk, was climbing slowly up the hill after them.
Nashola noticed that he had begun to look old, that his fierce hawk's
face was sunken, and that he walked very slowly, leaning upon his
staff. The men and women drew back respectfully as he advanced and
stood in a silent, waiting circle, while he shaded his eyes and gazed
long at the ships, now growing smaller in the distance.

"Are they friends or enemies, Secotan?" one of the hunters ventured
to ask, but the medicine man replied only:

"That must be as the gods decree."

"Then destroy them for us," cried the old squaw, Nashola's
grandmother. "Call up a storm that will break their wings and shatter
the sides of those giant canoes. Bring wind and rain and