David heard, but was too sleepy to answer. Something sharp pierced his doublet, under a shoulder, and he groaned. Again he was pulled to his feet and again they refused to bear him. After that he was only dimly aware of what went on, for his eyes would not stay open and sleep was ever just behind them. He heard his captors talking, although their voices seemed to come from a great distance. Then the voices dwindled and silence fell. David slept.
An hour later they waked him and pulled him to his feet. Still dazed with sleep, he remonstrated fretfully, and would not stand until again that sharp sting of a knife-point made him wince and come back to reality.
The Indian who spoke English was talking to him. “You plenty sleep, David man. You walk-walk. You no walk-walk we stick um knife very good!”
“Aye, I’ll walk. I’m rested now. What name you?”
“Sequanawah,” replied the Indian after a moment’s hesitation.
“You Wachoosett man?”
“You no talk. You make hurry,” was the gruff answer. “Quog quosh.”
On they went through the dark forest, now
