“Aye, I know of you, brother. Monapikot, a Pegan, has told us your story.”
“Monapikot! He is hereabouts?”
“I said not so.” The Indian lowered his voice. “Better it is to talk little, David, for we know not who hears.”
“You are a friend? Will you not cut these cords of mine, Memecho? ”
“Aye, so soon as you cut mine! I cannot help you, brother, for I am both bound and wounded.”
David’s heart sank. And yet even the presence and the voice of a friend was something to be thankful for, and after a moment he said:
“I grieve for you, Memecho. How happened this wound? ”
“I fought with the English by Wickabaug Pond some hours ago. They sought the Quaboags to make a treaty with them and were set upon in ambush and had many killed and wounded. I, who led the English captains, was shot in the first volley from the swamp beside me, and, when I had fallen, could not follow back along the path and so was taken and brought hither.”
“Is your wound of consequence, brother?”
