"After the canoe which those canoes pursue."
"If my brother wishes to take the warpath against the Algonquin dogs," said the Indian quietly, "he must not follow the Pamunkey, but the Powhatan."
"They passed this village yesterday, going up the Pamunkey!" cried Landless.
"A false trail. Let my brother come a little further and I will show him."
He stepped in front of the white man, and moving rapidly across the field of flax, dived into the forest again. Following the stream in its windings they came to where it debouched into a wide and muddy creek, which, in its turn, flowed into an expanse of water that lay like molten silver beyond the fringe of trees.
"The Pamunkey!" exclaimed Landless.
The Indian nodded and led the way to a thicket of dwarf willow and alder that grew upon the very brink of the creek.
"While the palefaces slept, Monakatocka was busy. Look!" he said, parting the bushes and pointing.
Within the thicket, drawn up upon the sloping mud, were two large canoes, quite empty save for a debris of broken oars.
Landless gasped. "How do you know them to be the same?"