“What says he?” inquired Endicott, whose attention had been attracted by the longer speech, and somewhat raised tone of the Sagamore’s voice.

“He says,” answered Samoset, drawing readily on his invention, “that a great Sachem ought not to be put into a box for killing wolves who run into his wigwam.”

A pleased expression lighted up the face of the captive chief at the answer, which he perfectly understood, as indeed he had much that had been spoken.  His avoiding to use the English language, as through ignorance, having had for him, at least, the advantage of putting his examiners off their guard, and inducing them to speak more freely in his hearing.  The tone of Samoset’s voice, and the reply, satisfied the Pequot that he was secure of the interpreter’s fidelity, and he stretched out both his arms, as though grasping his recovered liberty.

Endicott bent his brow at the reply, as a suspicion darted through his jealous mind; but the stolid mien of the Indian, who bore the look as if he had been a statue carved out of the heart of the cedars of his native hills, baffled his penetration.

“Why do I distrust him?” he murmured, under his thick moustache.  “Yet is distrust the mother of safety, and in our situation a duty.”

“Let him return now,” said Winthrop, “and take order that every comfort be supplied consistent with safe keeping.  Noble Sassacus,” he added, “it grieves me that we meet and part thus.”

The savage, who, through the whole interview, could not mistake the favorable sentiments of Winthrop, answered as before, in his own Pequot tongue.

“Sassacus understands the thoughts of chiefs, for he is one himself.  The voice of the long knife (alluding to the rapier worn by Winthrop) is not so unpleasant to him as those of these counsellors, and he hopes that what he is about to say will be listened to as the words of a great Sagamore.  Sassacus is very tired of lying in a box, but not afraid to die.  Let him depart to his own country, or if the white chief will kill, let him, with his long knife, pierce the bosom of Sassacus, for the blood of a chief should be shed by a chief.”

“It may not be, noble savage,” said Winthrop, mournfully.  “Such is not our custom.  Yet be not cast down, but rely upon our justice.”

The withdrawal of the captives was a signal for the discussion of what had been elicited by their examination.  It had confirmed suspicions before entertained, and more than that, revealed an intimacy betwixt the Knight and Pequots, a warlike and restless, though not numerous tribe, which filled the minds of the Assistants with apprehension.  If the influence of Sir Christopher (whom not one doubted to be a Catholic) extended as far as they suspected, he might make himself a formidable enemy.  He had been able to induce the chief of the Pequots to intrust to him his own sister, to be taught the Catholic faith, doubtless intending to