"It can't; Powhatan loves her so much that he will do anything to keep harm from coming to her."
Smith did not wait to argue further, but, taking a quick step toward the smiling girl, grasped her upper arm. In answer to her questioning look, he said:
"Go with us; we take to Jamestown; won't hurt."
The smiles gave way to an expression of alarm. She held back.
"No. no, no. Me no go; Powhatan feel bad-much bad."
"You must go!" said Smith, tightening his grip. "We not hurt you."
Bertram stood silent throughout the brief minutes. While he hardly liked the scheme that had been sprung so suddenly upon him, he thought it might turn out well, and therefore, he did not interfere.
And then Pocahontas, child that she was, began crying and striving to wrench her arm free from the iron fingers that had closed around it. She drew back so strongly that her feet slid forward beside each other. Had not Smith used much strength she would have got away from him. Impatient over her resistance, he next tried to scare her into submission. Scowling at her, he said in savage tones.
"Stop! Come with me, or I kill!"
This, it need not be said, was an idle threat, for the man had no thought of anything of the kind, though he was ready to use more violence to subdue the girl. Probably he would have struck her, for he was a quick-tempered man, and was fast losing his patience. Pocahontas would not stop her resistance, but as she found her moccasins sliding over the slippery leaves she struggled harder than ever, with the tears streaming down her cheeks. She begged and prayed but all her words were in her own tongue. In her panic she could not stop to try to put them in the language of which she had only slight knowledge.