parture to-morrow. If by sunrise
of the next morning their canoes are far up the river, headed for the
Blue Mountains, if by the same hour the guns which you have retained in
defiance of the express decree of the Assembly, be given up to those at
the Court House, then will I overlook your hiding the man with the red
hair, and the Assembly will listen to your complaints as to your hunting
grounds. Disobey, and my warriors shall come, each with a
stick-that-speaks in his hand. I have spoken," and the Governor beckoned
to the servants who held the horses.

The half king rose also. "My white father shall be obeyed," he said with
gloomy dignity. "He is stronger than we. Otee has been angry with the
red men for many years. He is gone over to the palefaces and helps their
god against the red men. My young men shall take their guns back to the
palefaces to-morrow, and shall bring back fire-water, and we will drink,
and forget that the days of Powhatan are past and that Otee fights
against us. Also when the Pamunkey is red with to-morrow's sunset, my
brothers from the Blue Mountains shall turn their faces homewards. My
father is content?"

"I am content," said the Governor.

"There is a thing which my brothers have to say to my white fathers,"
continued the half king. "Will they hear the great chief, Black Wolf?"

The Governor pulled out a great watch, glanced at it, and sighed
resignedly. "Gentlemen, have patience a moment longer. Harquip, I will
listen to the Ricahecrian until the shadow of that tree reaches the
fire. What says he?"

The half king spoke to the strangers in their own tongue--their ranks
broke, and an Indian stalked forward to the centre of the circle. His
tall, powerful, nearly nude figure was thickly tatooed with
representations of birds and beasts; he wore an armlet of a dull,
yellow metal ("Gold! by the Eternal!" ejaculated the Governor to Colonel
Verney); over his naked, deeply scarred breast hung three strings of
hideous mementoes of torture stakes; the belt that held tomahawk and
scalping knife was fringed with human hair; beside his streaming
scalplock was stuck the dried hand of an enemy. The face beneath was
cunning, relentless, formidable. He spoke in his own language, and the
half king translated.

"Black Wolf is a great chief. In his village in the Blue Mountains are
fifty wigwams--the largest is his. There are a hundred braves--he leads
the war parties. The Monacans run like deer, the hearts