“Four white men, one Indian.”
“Were they—were they seeking me, Sequanawah?”
The Indian’s countenance became blank and he shook his head. “Me not know. Maybe so. Maybe hunt.”
No more than that would he tell, but David had learned enough to know that his father had sought him, as he had believed. For the rest of the day he sat beside his wigwam and conjectured on what lie Woosonametipom had told the searching party, who, besides his father, had made the journey, what conclusion they had come to, and what further steps they would take. Already a week had passed and nothing further had transpired looking to his rescue. He wondered how fared the war with King Philip and what things had happened to the southward. Doubtless by now the chief of the Wampanoags had been properly subdued. As to the latter he questioned both John and Sequanawah, but each professed ignorance. Twice he held converse with the sachem, once when Metipom paused where David was shooting at a mark set against the palisade wall and once when the chief summoned him to his lodge and, through an
