Her voice, low as it was, had risen in her emotion, and the boy's keen hearing had caught the movement of a man's foot on the wooden deck. They kept still, breathless, for a moment; then as all was still again, Claw-of-the-Eagle asked sadly, in a tone that mourned as wind through the pine trees:
"Then thou wilt not come with me? I had built a lodge for thee, Matoaka, with a smoke hole wide enough to let in the whole moon thou lovest. My arrows had killed young deer and turkeys and I had smoked and hung meat for thee to last through all popanow (winter). A young maid is lonely till she follows her brave—all this I came to the village of Japezaws to pipe to thee. Now I have run wounded through the forests and swum the black stream to tell it to thee, and thou bidst me turn back alone. But if thou hast no wish to enter Claw-of-the-Eagle's lodge let him at least escort thee safely to the wigwam of thy father."
"I thank thee, Claw-of-the-Eagle, for all thou hast done," she whispered, "and all thou wouldst do for me. There is no braver warrior in the thirty tribes and no better hunter since Michabo. But I have listened to my manitou and he hath said to me, 'Remember the word thou gavest to thy white Brother.'"
Claw-of-the-Eagle knew that it was useless to plead and yet he pleaded: "Come back with me, Matoaka; what are the white men to thee and me?"
But she whispered: "Go, Claw-of-the-Eagle, go quickly ere the sailors awake. Hasten back to old Wansutis that she may bind up thy wound, and to Powhatan and tell him that he must buy Pocahontas's freedom from the English by returning their men he holdeth prisoners."
While she was still speaking the young brave's mind was working rapidly. At first the respect he owed her as the daughter of the great werowance was uppermost and he thought he must needs do her bidding and leave her. Little by little, however, he began to think of her as a young maiden, strong and courageous, but not so strong as a man, who now stood in need of the help of a brave. He hated the English more than ever, and Pocahontas's promise to aid them seemed to him only a girlish foolishness. Let them all perish on their island or return across the sea whence they had come. Why should she go with them? Why should he let her go? Who knew what treatment she would receive away from her own people? If he should rescue her and bring her back to her father, would he not thus win great favor in the eyes of Powhatan, who would not refuse her to him as his squaw? If she would not come willingly, he would carry her off against her will for her good.
Rescue Pocahontas! And in addition—kill the hated white men! Had they not wounded him and carried her off? There were not many of them and they were all asleep. While he and Pocahontas had talked he had pulled himself out of the water and thrown his legs over the stern. Now he rose and whispered:
"Before I go I would know what their canoe is like. Be not afeared for me; there is no danger, only do not stir."
She wished to remonstrate with him, but he was already a few paces ahead of her, treading as lightly as if the deck were gravel that would roll about and betray him with its noise, and she did not dare call out to him. She saw him draw near to a sleeping sailor and stoop; but it was too dark for her to see that he had placed his hand over the man's mouth and with the knife in his other hand, had stabbed him to the heart.
The sailor's dying struggles were noiseless and when they were over Claw-of-the-Eagle moved softly on to the next.