"I thought you at Orapax, Nantauquas!" he
exclaimed.
"I was there, my brother," said the Indian, and his voice was sweet,
deep, and grave, like that of his sister. "But Opechancanough
would go to Uttamussac, to the temple and the dead kings. I lead
his war parties now, and I came with him. Opechancanough is
within the lodge. He asks that my brother and Captain Percy come
to him there."
He lifted the mat for us, and followed us into the lodge. There was
the usual winding entrance, with half a dozen mats to be lifted one
after the other, but at last we came to the central chamber and to
the man we sought.
He sat beside a small fire burning redly in the twilight of the room.
The light shone now upon the feathers in his scalp lock, now upon
the triple row of pearls around his neck, now upon knife and
tomahawk in his silk grass belt, now on the otterskin mantle
hanging from his shoulder and drawn across his knees. How old he
was no man knew. Men said that he was older than Powhatan, and
Powhatan was very old when he died. But he looked a man in the
prime of life; his frame was vigorous, his skin unwrinkled, his eyes
bright and full. When he rose to welcome us, and Nantauquas
stood beside him, there seemed not a score of years between them.
The matter upon which we had come was not one that brooked
delay.
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