The two men stood at gaze, Vytal fettered by the realization that his own death would in all probability mean the decimation of the whole colony, and Frazer by the rigid Fate before him.
For once the soldier hesitated. Instinct hinted that threats of alarum were empty, but reason demanded caution. The possibility that an overwhelming force lay near at hand in ambush was by no means slight.
Suddenly Vytal uttered a low order to Manteo, who thereupon, step by step, retreated almost imperceptibly toward the woods.
“Halt!” Again the horn touched Frazer’s lips. “I forbid you,” he said, “to arouse the settlers.” But Manteo only looked to Vytal for a sign.
“Remain,” said the latter, calmly, and the deadlock was now complete.
“It is strange, Master Frazer,” observed the poet, still covering Towaye with his pistol, “that your horn forbears so long. In troth, I begin to doubt its efficacy.”
Frazer laughed. “At any instant I am ready to prove it, Sir Poet. ’Troth, ’tis only a feeling of kindness that delays your doom, mingled perhaps with a slight curiosity. Doom, say I? Yea, doom. This colony will perish. Perchance you know not that John White, your governor, hath come to the very shore of Roanoke and departed.[9] His own men played mutineers. He could not seek you at Croatan. Ay, on my oath, ’fore God, a ship came and went away. ’Tis common report in England. Roanoke is deserted, say they; Virginia, a savage wilderness.”
Glancing at Vytal, whose face had gone livid as death, he laughed derisively. “Therefore I blame you not, Sir Soldier,” he added, with feigned contempt, “for planning this secret desertion.”
“Desertion!” cried Marlowe. “Fool! Think you John Vytal would desert?” But his outburst was suddenly interrupted by Vytal. “Look to your lock! Have a care, Towaye! an the arrow rises another inch, you fall.” Marlowe regained his aim, yet his thoughts returned immediately to Frazer. “Fool,” he repeated. “’Tis I who—”
“Hush!” said Vytal.