he handling of me, my store of cartouches had
disappeared from my pockets. My pistols were loaded and ready for use,
but that was the extent of my defences, for I was no more good with
Ringan's sword than with an Indian bow.

A young lad brought me some maize porridge and a skin of water. I could
eat little of the food, but I drank the water to the last drop, for my
throat was as dry as the nether pit. After that I lay down on my couch
again, for it seemed to me that I would need to treasure every atom of
my strength. The meal had put a little heart in me--heart enough to
wait dismally on the next happening.

Presently the chief whom they called Onotawah stood at the tent door,
and with him a man who spoke the Powhatan tongue.

"Greeting, brother," he said.

"Greeting," I answered, in the stoutest tone I could muster.

"I come from the council of the young men, where the blood of our kin
cries for the avenger. The Sons of the West Wind have seen the courage
of the stranger, and would give him the right of combat as a free man
and a brave. Is my brother ready to meet our young men in battle?"

I was about as fit to right as an old horse to leap a fence, but I had
the wit to see that my only hope lay in a bold front. At any rate, a
clean death in battle was better than burning, and my despair was too
deep to let me quibble about the manner of leaving this world.

"You see my condition," I said. "I am somewhat broken with travel and
wounds, but, such as I am, I am willing to meet your warriors. Send
them one at a time or in battalions, and I am ready for them."

It was childish brag, but I think I must have delivered it with some
spirit, for I saw approbation in his eye.

"When we fight, we fight not as butchers but as men-at-arms," he said.
"The brother of one of the dead will take on himself the cause of our
tribe. If he slay you, our honour is avenged. If he be slain, we save
you alive, and carry you with us as we march to the rising sun."

"I am content," I said, though I was very little content. What earthly
chance stood I against a lithe young brave, accustomed from his
childhood to war? I thought of a duel hand-to-hand with knives or
tomahawks, for I could not believe that I would be allowed to keep my
pistols. It was a very faint-hearted combatant who rose and staggered
after Onotawah into the clear morning. The cloudy weather had gone, and
the glen where we lay was filled with sun and bright colours. Eve