The first speaker shook his head. “No,” he said, “Manteo is our friend; an Indian is not treacherous to his friends. I have feared, ever since Governor White left us, that we should have trouble with Wanchese; for if an Indian is not one’s friend, he is his bitter enemy. I wish we could have removed our village at once. The delay was unavoidable, as you all know.”
Gage had one of those weak natures, to which it is almost impossible to form a positive and quick decision. As he paced up and down at a short distance from the others, the group was joined by several persons, among whom was Barnes, more put out than he chose to acknowledge at the turn things had taken. He had had no opportunity to fire on the Indian as he had planned, and then, worst of all, a redskin had got the best of him. Altogether, he was in a much worse humor than usual, if that were possible.
Why did such unwholesome, unprincipled men come away from their own land, where the laws could hold them in check?
Barnes was saying in a strong, fierce way, “I tell you what it is, lads, it’s each man for himself. We haven’t any one over us. I, for one, sha’n’t put my red scalp in the keeping of any Indian. I’d be for taking the one that has come here and quartering him, and sending a piece to his fine painted chief, and the rest to Wanchese. It’ll make peace with him quicker than anything else we can do.”
The tall governor, Gage, had been absent hardly five minutes from the group, when he returned, still undecided, to find the aspect of things totally changed.
He began mildly, “I think, my dear fellows, we had better get our things together, and start at daybreak. Ranteo will wait, I have no doubt.”
A growl rather than a murmur ran through the little group; then Barnes spoke out:—
“We’re not going, sir, one step with that rascal. He can wait till we scalp him; it’s all he deserves; stealing in among us like a thief in the night. We are going to be men, and fight for our homes, our women, and children; aren’t we, lads?”
“Ay, ay,” was the reply. But one strong voice, from a man scarcely more than a lad, who had just come up, said, “Do you call yourselves men? It is cowards I should call you if you would touch one who has come among us to save us from ruin, and who trusts us. For shame, fellows! If you touch him, it must be over my dead body.”
“I shouldn’t mind that at all,” said Barnes dryly, drawing out his hunting-knife.