in his land of these white men with their wonderful
medicine; but why must he kill this leader of them, why not keep him
always a prisoner?

She saw that the slaves had lost no time in obeying the command given
them--they were dragging in the two great stones that had not been used
for many moons. These were set in the open space before Powhatan and she
knew exactly what was to follow.

Was there any possible way of escape? John Smith asked himself. If there
had been but one loading in his pistol he would have fired at the
werowance and trusted to the confusion to rush through the crowd and out
of the lodge. But it was empty. No use struggling, he thought; he had
seen men who met death thus discourteously and he was not minded to be
one of them. So, when at a quick word from Powhatan two young braves
seized him, he made no resistance. They threw him down on the ground,
then lifted his head up on the stones, while another savage, a stone
hatchet in his hand, strode forward and took his stand beside him.

"Well," thought John Smith, "life is over; I have travelled many a mile
to come to this end. What will befall Jamestown? At least I didn't fail
them. I'm glad of that now."

He saw Powhatan lean forward and give a sign; then the red-painted face
of his executioner leered at him and he watched the tomahawk descending
and instinctively closed his eyes.

* * * * *

But it did _not_ descend. After what seemed an hour of suspense he
opened his eyes again to see why it delayed. The man who held it still
poised in the air was gazing impatiently towards the werowance, at
whose feet knelt the young girl Smith had noticed by the palisade. The
child was pleading for his life, he could see that. Were these savages
then acquainted with pity, and what cause had she to feel it for him?

But the werowance would not listen to her pleadings and ordered her
angrily away. His voice was terrifying and the other squaws, fearing his
rage might be vented on the child, tried to pull her up to the seat
beside them. Powhatan nodded to the executioner to obey his command.

With a bound Pocahontas flung herself down across Smith's body, got his
head in her arms and laid down her own head against his. The tomahawk
had stopped but a feather's breadth from her black hair, so close that
the Indian who held it could scarcely breathe for fear it might have
injured the daughter of The Powhatan.

For a moment it see