afeared for
me; there is no danger, only do not stir."

She wished to remonstrate with him, but he was already a few paces ahead
of her, treading as lightly as if the deck were gravel that would roll
about and betray him with its noise, and she did not dare call out to
him. She saw him draw near to a sleeping sailor and stoop; but it was
too dark for her to see that he had placed his hand over the man's mouth
and with the knife in his other hand, had stabbed him to the heart.

The sailor's dying struggles were noiseless and when they were over
Claw-of-the-Eagle moved softly on to the next.

There was something sinister to Pocahontas in the silence; she began to
divine that it was not mere curiosity which was keeping
Claw-of-the-Eagle, and yet she dared not go in search of him.

The second victim was despatched as easily as the first, and the third,
though he awoke before the blow was struck, was unable to avert it. The
young brave, whose lust for slaughter increased as he went on, felt
about for Captain Argall. Already the dawn was coming, and he could
distinguish the forms of the four other men. He bent over one of them;
his hand, burning with the fever from his wound and excitement, touched
the cheek of the man instead of the mouth. The sailor cried out
instantaneously even before he was awake; and Claw-of-the-Eagle,
realizing in a second that his game was up, slashed out with his knife
at him in passing as he ran for the stern.

He could have leapt overboard more easily, but though he had failed to
kill all his enemies, he meant to rescue Pocahontas. He dashed towards
her, followed by the sailor. Argall and the two others of the crew,
roused at the outcry, were at their heels. Claw-of-the-Eagle caught
Pocahontas in his arms and before she knew what was happening, he had
sprung with her into the river.

The sailor, who had been but slightly wounded by the young brave's
knife, had seized his musket as he ran. His forebears had been outlaws
with Robin Hood, skilful archers, and bowmen with Henry V at Agincourt,
whose arrows never failed to find French marks. The same keen eye and
strong arm were his with a musket.

"Do not shoot. Mark!" called out Argall breathlessly. He did not know
what had happened prior to his own awakening, though his feet had
stumbled over the dead bodies of his men. "The Indian princess is there
in the water. Shoot not, for the love of heaven, or we'll have all the
red hordes of America