ld pull off this
wolf."

"Tell me one thing," I asked. "Before you left Jamestown, had you heard
aught of my wife or of my enemy?"

He shook his head. "At sunrise, the commander came to rouse my brother,
crying out that you had broken gaol and were nowhere to be found, and
that the man you hate was lying within the guest house, sorely torn by
some beast of the forest. My brother and I followed your trail at once;
the town was scarce awake when we left it behind us,--and I did not
return."

By this we three were alone in the hollow, for all the savages, men and
women, had gone forth to meet the Indian whose word was law from the
falls of the far west to the Chesapeake. The sun now rode above the low
hills, pouring its gold into the hollow and brightening all the world
besides. The little stream flashed diamonds, and the carven devils upon
the black houses above us were frightful no longer. There was not a
menace anywhere from the cloudless skies to the sweet and plaintive
chant to Kiwassa, sung by women and floating to us from the woods beyond
the hollow. The singing grew nearer, and the rustling of the leaves
beneath many feet more loud and deep; then all noise ceased, and
Opechancanough entered the hollow alone. An eagle feather was thrust
through his scalp lock; over his naked breast, that was neither painted
nor pricked into strange figures, hung a triple row of pearls; his
mantle was woven of bluebird feathers, as soft and sleek as satin. The
face of this barbarian was dark, cold, and impassive as death. Behind
that changeless mask, as in a safe retreat, the supersubtle devil that
was the man might plot destruction and plan the laying of dreadful
mines. He had dignity and courage,--no man denied him that. I suppose he
thought that he and his had wrongs: God knows! perhaps they had. But if
ever we were hard or unjust in our dealings with the savages,--I say not
that this was the case,--at least we were not treacherous and dealt not
in Judas kisses.

I stepped forward, and met him on the spot where the fire had been. For
a minute neither spoke. It was true that I had striven against him many
a time, and I knew that he knew it. It was also true that without his
aid Nantauquas could not have rescued us from that dire peril. And it
was again the truth that an Indian neither forgives nor forgets. He was
my saviour, and I knew that mercy had been shown for some dark reason
which I could not divine. Yet I owed him than