But, blinded by the glare of the fire, Spikeman remarked not a trunk of a tree in his path, and, stumbling over it, fell to the ground, bruised and torn, and before he could rise, found himself again held fast.  Cursing his ill luck, he made no further resistance, but sullenly suffered himself to be led back.  Philip Joy, on seeing Spikeman break away, started from his place of concealment; so that the two were confronted on the latter’s return.  The sight of Philip awoke a hope in Spikeman’s bosom, who begged him to intercede with the savage.

“I have done so already,” answered Philip; “but he will not listen to me, and has deprived me of my arms.”

“Speak to him again—­he will regard what you say.  Save my life, and I will make recompense a thousandfold for any wrong I have done you or him.”

The Pequot, smiling, stood by, quietly listening to the colloquy, and before Philip could address him, said: 

“Did Sassacus promise his white brother to let the dog (pointing to Spikeman) run away?”

“You did; but care no more for your word than if you were no chief.”

“My brother’s, is a pappoos speech.  Sassacus never broke his word; he only tried whether the dog was as brave as he was bad.  White man,” he added, turning to the Assistant, “thou art free.  A great chief disdains to give thee the death of a warrior.  Go back to thy people, and tell them what return the Sagamore of the Pequots makes for thy breach of hospitality.  His promise to his brother saves thy life this time.  But, beware!  A Sagamore does not forget.  Be a snail that keeps its head within its shell.  If the snail puts it out, Sassacus will step upon it.  Depart.”

He gave directions to a couple of his sanops to conduct the Assistant to the verge of the forest, and, turning away, walked to his lodge.  He was followed by Philip, who had now recovered from his amazement, and, understanding the conduct of the chief, felt ashamed at his own want of discernment and distrust.

“Is my brother satisfied?” inquired the Pequot.

“Sagamore,” answered Philip, “I wronged thee.  It shall be a lesson to make me more cautious in judging of thy actions.”

“It is well.  My brother will hereafter remember that the thoughts of a chief do not always shine in his face or sound in his words.  My brother will forgive me,” he added, smiling, “for shutting his eyes a little while very tight.  It was that my brother might be the more pleased when he opened them.”

“A trusty friend, this Indian, after all, in his way, (thought Philip, as he gazed on the face of the Pequot, which had settled into its usual gravity), and loves a jest, too.  Who would have thought it?  Methinks he has the better of it with Master Spikeman, though I misdoubt if he considers the score as settled.”