He had thought when bidden to the sachem’s lodge that his friends had come for him or sent overtures by some friendly Indian. Now, wandering about the dog-infested village, he found himself wondering why they had not done either. Surely, he reasoned, his absence could have gone unnoted no later than nightfall two days previous. His father might wait until morning before giving the alarm, but after that, action would, it seemed to him, be speedy. After the challenge of the blue-marked arrow it was not likely that his father would fail to connect his disappearance with Woosonametipom. Surely, he concluded, the rescue party would arrive not later than this evening.
Having reached the gate of the fort, he paused and looked forth. Several Indians were listlessly stirring the soil of little patches of tobacco, beans, corn, and squashes set between the outcropping boulders and patches of brush. None challenged him, and he was considering stepping outside to test the sachem’s watchfulness when a mop of black hair thrust itself into sight from about a corner of the wall and a scowling countenance confronted him. “No can,” growled
