As she travelled through the forest in the quick step that was almost a trot, the polish of her English life fell away from her as the leaves fell from the trees above her.  She forgot the happenings of the two years since she had been the “Lady Rebecca,” forgot her husband; and her baby was no longer the heir of the Rolfes about to be taken across the sea to be shown to his kinsmen; he was her papoose, and as she ran she called out to him all the pet names the Indian mothers loved.  When she thought that he might be crying with terror or hunger she began to pray, prayers that came from the depth of her heart that she might reach him before he really suffered.  But these prayers were not to the God of the Christians, but to the Okee her fathers had worshipped.

Many times the trail was almost invisible.  There was little passing of feet this way and in no place was there anything like a path.  But Pocahontas’s eyes, keener than even in the days when they had rivalled her brother’s in following in play the trail the pursued did his best to cover up, were never long at fault.  The ground, the bushes from which raindrops had been shaken, a broken twig—­all helped her read the way she was to go.  If she could only tell whether she were gaining!

What she would do when she came face to face with the thief she did not know.  If he were a strong man who defied her command to give up the grandson of Powhatan, how should she compel him?  She had started off so hastily that she had not armed herself with any weapon.  But she did not doubt that in some way or other she would wrest her child from him.

The sun was sinking; its beams, she saw, struck now the lower part of the tree trunks.  Seeing this, she quickened her step; once the night fell she would have to lie down and wait for morning for fear of missing the trail.

It was almost dark when she reached a sort of open space the size of three lodges width, where doubtless the coming of many wild beasts to drink of a spring that bubbled up in the centre had worn down the growth of young trees.  On one side of the ground where moss and creeping crowfoot grew, there were overhanging rocks which formed a small cave not much deeper than a man’s height.

No longer could she see a footprint in the dusk, so Pocahontas sadly prepared to spend the night in this shelter.  She leaned down and drank long from the spring, and taking off her moccasins, bathed her tired feet in it.  Then because she wanted a fire more for its companionship than for the warmth, she gathered twigs, and twirling one in a bit of rotten wood, soon produced a spark that lighted a cheerful blaze.

There was nothing to be gained by staying awake.  There was no one from whom she had anything to fear except possibly the thief, and the sooner they met the better pleased she would be.  She was drowsy from the warmth of the fire and tired from the long pursuit, so Pocahontas lay down at the entrance of the cave, half within and half without, and in a moment was fast asleep.