The cabin in which I had been confined that night lay at the northern end of the village, and it was only a few moments until we reached the outskirts of the place. I started back in alarm, for before us there trod to and fro upon his beat a sentry. We could not pass him without being seen; but the chief by my side reassured me in a word.
"It is a friend," he whispered. "Once I saved his life from the Tuscaroras, and he has not forgotten; the Eagle need not fear." And with head still bent, he stole silently by the motionless figure, who, with his back turned toward us, stood gazing intently into the night. He must have heard us as we passed, but if so he made no sign as we trod softly by, and in a few moments we had reached the friendly shadow of the trees.
Never for an instant did Windango relax his swinging trot, as he hurried through the forest. Twice I tripped upon some root or branch, and came to the ground; but I was up in an instant, and after his dark shadow, which I could partly discern before me. Through bushes and vines we tore, the briars scratching my hands and face; into trees I bumped, and stumbled into gulleys, as I hurried on after the chief.
Five good miles we must have trodden thus, and then crashing through a cluster of undergrowth and trees, we halted upon the banks of the river, the Roanoke the natives called it. Here, from underneath some bushes and vines, the Indian brought out a canoe, and placed it upon the water. Turning to me he spoke:
"Windango has kept his word, and has repaid the Eagle for the life of Winona, which he saved from the wild beast in the forest. It is not safe that the Eagle should remain longer with the Cherokees, for to-night they plot his life, and while it may be that Windango could save him for this once, yet in the end they would slay him. Let the Eagle depart," and with a wave of his hand, he motioned me toward the canoe.
"The Eagle will not forget Windango," I answered, as with a clasp of his hard hand, I stepped into the boat, and picking up the paddle dipped it into the water. "The memory of him will be as the sun upon the tired traveler after the storm has passed. But how shall the Eagle know when he has reached the lodges of the pale ones?"
"It is three suns' journey," answered the Indian. "The Eagle will see upon the banks of the river upon his right a broad rock which juts out into the water, and over it a withered oak. Let him alight there, and take the trail which he will see; in an hour he will be at the lodges of the pale men."
"The Eagle thanks his brother," I said, and with a wave of my paddle, I pushed the little canoe into the stream, and made rapidly towards the east, down its wide current.
I had left the Indian behind, and with strong strokes, I made haste toward Dunraven. Overhead brooded the night, dark, silent; before me lay the great river, and somewhere beyond those dark trees was Margaret. My foot struck something in the bottom of the canoe, which rang against the board. Stooping, I picked it up; it was my gold-hilted sword—the companion of my wanderings—and beside it lay some food and a jar of water, placed there by the same kind hand. Buckling the blade about my waist, around which was still fastened the blue wampum belt, I resumed my task, my mind engrossed in thought.
Why had not the Cherokees attacked the settlement of Dunraven, if they knew so well where it lay? It was only a few miles away, and I knew them too well to think they stood in awe of four men, however brave. No, there was something deeper than this somewhere. This was the secret of those steel hatchets and knives which I had seen among the Indians; he had bought their friendship with these trinkets, and bribed them to hold me a captive among them.