en and would weep when danger threatened them.
And Rolfe is his brother and his teacher. But Opechancanough is his
king, and the red men are his people, and the forest is his home. If,
because he loved Rolfe, and because the ways of the white men seemed to
him better than his own ways, he forgot these things, he did wrong,
and the One over All frowns upon him. Now he has come back to his home
again, to the forest and the hunting and the warpath, to his king and
his people. He will be again the panther crouching upon the bough"--

"Above the white men?"

He gazed at me in silence, a shadow upon his face. "Above the Monacans,"
he answered slowly. "Why did Captain Percy say 'above the white men'?
Opechancanough and the English have buried the hatchet forever, and the
smoke of the peace pipe will never fade from the air. Nantauquas meant
'above the Monacans or the Long House dogs.'"

I put my hand upon his shoulder. "I know you did, brother of Rolfe by
nature if not by blood! Forget what I said; it was without thought
or meaning. If we go indeed to-morrow, I shall be loath to leave you
behind; and yet, were I in your place, I should do as you are doing."

The shadow left his face and he drew himself up. "Is it what you call
faith and loyalty and like a knight?" he demanded, with a touch of
eagerness breaking through the slowness and gravity with which an Indian
speaks.

"Yea," I made reply. "I think you good knight and true, Nantauquas, and
my friend, moreover, who saved my life."

His smile was like his sister's, quick and very bright, and leaving
behind it a most entire gravity. Together we sat down by the fire and
ate of the sylvan breakfast, with shy brown maidens to serve us and with
the sunshine streaming down upon us through the trees that were growing
faintly green. It was a thing to smile at to see how the Indian girls
manoeuvred to give the choicest meat, the most delicate maize cakes,
to the young war chief, and to see how quietly he turned aside their
benevolence. The meal over, he went to divest himself of his red and
white paint, of the stuffed hawk and strings of copper that formed his
headdress, of his gorgeous belt and quiver and his mantle of raccoon
skins, while Diccon and I sat still before our wigwam, smoking, and
reckoning the distance to Jamestown and the shortest time in which we
could cover it.

When we had sat there for an hour the old men and the warriors came to
visit us, and the smoking