“Wait!” was Powhatan’s only answer.

The shamans and priests had advised the werowance thus.  Not yet had they fathomed Okee’s intentions in regard to these newcomers, though they had climbed to the top of the red sandy hills at Uttamussack where stood the three great holy lodges filled with images, and they had fasted and prayed that Okee would reveal to them what he desired.  Powhatan, in spite of his years, felt the urge of action, and his heart leaped up when his favorite son gave voice to his own wishes.  He longed to take the warpath, to glide through the forest, to spy upon the strangers who had dared make a place for themselves in his dominion, and then to fall upon them, terrifying them with his awful war-cry as he had terrified so many of his enemies.  Yet he dared not do this yet:  he was not only a great war chief, but a leader of his people in peace.  Okee had not yet spoken.  Perchance the men with strange faces and strange tongues would of their own accord acknowledge his sovereignty, and there might be no need of sacrificing against them the lives of his young men.

All this he was thinking when he bade Nautauquas wait; but there was no one who read his mind, yet no one who dared to disobey him.

When Nautauquas came out from his father’s lodge he took his bow and quiver and went into the forest to hunt.  In his disappointment he had a hatred of more words and a longing for deeds.  He ran swiftly and had reached a spot where he felt sure that he would find a flock of wild turkeys, when he saw Pocahontas ahead of him.  She too was hurrying, bent evidently on some errand that absorbed her, for she did not stop to peer up at the birds or to pull the flowers as she was wont to do.

“Matoaka,” he called, “whither goest thou?”

“To see the strangers and their great white birds again which I beheld from Kecoughtan, Brother.  I cannot rest for my eagerness to know what they are like nearby.”

“Hast thou not heard our father’s word that no one shall go near the island where the strangers be?” he asked.

“My father meaneth not me,” she answered proudly.  “As thou knowest, he permitteth me much that is forbidden to others.”

“But not this, little Sister.  Only just this moment did he forbid me to go thither.  His mind is set thereon; tempt not his anger.  Even though he loves thee well, if thou disobeyest his command in this matter he will deal harshly with thee.  Turn back with me, Matoaka, and thou shalt help me shoot.”

Pocahontas was reluctant to give up her long-planned expedition, but she let herself be persuaded.  She remembered that Powhatan that very day had ordered one of his squaws beaten until she lay at death’s door.  Moreover, it was a great joy to hunt with Nautauquas and to see which of them would bring down the most turkeys.  They were needed by the squaws who had been complaining that the braves were growing lazy and did not keep them supplied with meat.