brandishing their weapons, and yelling; but there seemed little
strength in the arms that flourished the tomahawk; the voices sounded
cracked and shrill, and the weak fury and noise died away when a nearer
approach showed the newcomers to be white. A very aged man, with a face
all wrinkles and a chest all scars, stepped from out the throng which
was now augmented by the women and children.

"My white fathers are far from the salt water. Seldom do the Pamunkeys
see their faces coming up the narrowing stream or through the forest.
They are welcome. Let my fathers tarry and my women shall bring them
chinquepin cakes and tuckahoe, pohickory and succotash, and my young
men--"

He paused, and a low wailing murmur like the sound of the wind in the
forest rose from the women.

"Where are your young men, your braves?" demanded the Surveyor-General.
"Here are only the very old and the very young--they who have not seen a
Huskanawing."

The Indian pointed to the crimson flood below. "There are my young men;
there are my braves. Among them were a werowance and a sagamore. They
two have strings of pearl thicker than the stem of the grape vine; they
are painted with puccoon, and the feathers of the bluebird and the
red-bird are upon them. They have hills of hatchets and of arrow heads,
sharp and clean, and very much tobacco, and they sing and dance in the
great wigwam of Okee, in the home of Kiwassa, in the land beyond the
setting sun. But the rest--they lie deep in the slime of the river; it
is red with their blood; their wives wail for them; their village is
left desolate.... When the time of the full sun power was past the
smoking of three pipes, came up the Pamunkey, swift as the swallow that
skims its waters, the Ricahecrian dogs who, passing down towards the
salt water twelve suns ago, slew the young men of a village that lieth
below us. My young men went out against them, but a cloud came up and
Kiwassa hid his face behind it. They came not back, their boats were
sunk, the Ricahecrians laughed and went their way, swift as swallows."

"Ask him," said the Colonel huskily.

"Had they a captive with them--a woman, a paleface woman?" demanded
Carrington.

"With hair like the sunshine and a white robe. And a man, the color of
the falling sycamore leaf, one of those who work in the fields of the
white fathers. The arms of the woman were bound, but his were not--he
fought with the Ricahecrian dogs."

"Luiz Sebastian!" said