I sat with my head upon my hands watching Winona, as with her nimble fingers she fashioned a pair of moccasins from some soft deerskin. Two months had I been here, the prisoner of the Cherokees.
Manteo had started back with a party of savages the morning after our capture, bearing a short note from me to White, briefly telling him that we were prisoners among the savages, and that our ransom was fixed at a half-dozen hatchets, two swords, and some beads; also telling him that Lady Margaret Carroll was a prisoner in the hands of Lord Dunraven, further up in the wilderness; that I was helpless to stir hand or foot to aid her until the ransom was forthcoming, and imploring him to make what speed he could in sending the articles. I had heard nothing of the party since, and knew not what to think. It might be that in a country teeming with enemies they had fallen in some fight with a hostile band.
Often in the dead of night I would toss and groan upon my pillow as I thought of Margaret, a prisoner in the hands of Dunraven somewhere in the depths of the unbroken forest, cut off from the world and all help, at the mercy of one who feared neither man nor devil. My fevered brain would conjure up every taunting phantom of fear and anguish that the ingenuity of man could devise.
I would think of her struggling in his embraces, his kisses upon her lips, calling upon me for help and succor, with none to hear her cries, and at such times I would arise from my sleepless couch and with a silent guard, who never left me, I would pace the streets of the village until day. Often haggard and weary, I would never lie down to sleep, but would sit all night staring into the camp fire, building air castles and wondering what Margaret did. She was Bobby's but she could not prevent me from thinking of her, and weaving happy dreams, that at a touch would crumble and fall into dust.
The Cherokees ever watched my slightest motion; a brave would follow me all day long, throughout all my journeys, and at night would sleep in the doorway of my hut, so that I could not step outside without awakening him. Several times I had accompanied the Indians upon their hunts, but never did I have an opportunity to escape. Ever there kept at my side one of the warriors, and twist and turn as I would I could not shake him off. He clung to me with the tenacity of a leech, and so finally in disgust I gave up the effort, and returned quietly to the village.
I had watched every chance to free myself, but I could never find a propitious opportunity. Someone was ever at my heels, and so I waited as best I might for Manteo to return. I had craved pardon for my suspicion of him before he left, and with his stately air he had answered:
"It is nothing; the Eagle for a moment thought that Manteo would betray him, but he knows better now, and Manteo's heart is glad. He but struck up his brother's thunder tube because he knew that if a Cherokee had fallen, then would the Eagle have been burned at the stake." And with a smile he left me.
I had another friend in the sweet Indian maid, Winona. Often would I find in my hut, when I returned from a long stroll, some choice fruit, or a fat turkey, browned to a crisp. Once a deerskin doublet had hung on the wall, at another time there had been a wampum belt, and I knew whose deft fingers had been at work. When I had fretted myself into a fever, it was Winona who brought me cool-water and nourishing food, and with her light hands had soothed my fevered brow and waited upon me until I had been myself again.
Often she would sing some wild love song of the savages to me, sitting opposite and looking at me with a strange, sweet light in her dark eyes, which had almost frightened me, for I feared that she had grown to love me. I grieved that her warm young heart should be disappointed and wounded, for there was but one woman for me, wild or civilized, and that was the blue-eyed maid, who somewhere in yonder dim region which loomed before me, chafed and fretted, a prisoner of Lord Dunraven.
And so it was with a heavy heart this bright morning that I sat opposite the Indian girl, and saw that same warm, tender light in her great black eyes—those eyes that were the envy of her girlish companions, and the despair of all the young bucks of the village, who scowled at me as I passed them on the street.