[Illustration:  “DO NOT SHOOT, MARK!”]

Pocahontas saw that he was not badly wounded; but the blood running down his face and into his mouth and nose made it impossible for him to breathe deeply enough to swim under water.  His weakness from his other wound, too, made his motions slower.  Before he would be able to put a safe distance between him and the pinnace the sailor would have fired again.

But he would not fire at her—­the thought flashed through her brain!

With a few rapid strokes she had reached the brave and flung her arm under his wounded shoulder, bearing him up.

“Now, Claw-of-the-Eagle,” she cried, “let us make for the shore.  They will not dare fire at me.”

And Argall and his men watched their hostage and the murderer of their companions making their escape, while they seemed powerless to prevent it.  Though Claw-of-the-Eagle’s strokes grew slower and slower, Pocahontas’s strength was aiding him.  Once on shore, the Englishmen knew that even though delayed by his wound, the two could hide so that no white man could find them.  Besides, it was likely that other Indians might be lurking in the forest.

“Fooled!  Fooled!” cried out Argall, hitting one fist against the other in his disappointment.

But Mark was not one who willingly gave up a chase he had begun.  He saw that the two had reached a willow tree with roots that lay twisted about each other across the surface of the river.  For one second the youth and maiden, close together, hung on to this natural shelf, gaining strength to pull themselves up on to the ground.  He realized how disastrous it would be to injure the daughter of the Powhatan.  Nevertheless, he determined to take a chance.

To the horror of his captain, he took careful aim and fired.  This time the bullet found its mark—­it hit the young brave in the back of his head and penetrated the brain.

In horror Pocahontas tried to catch him in her arms before he sank heavily, with no sound, out of sight.  Gone! so quickly!  Dead!  The boy who had been her friend, who had tried to save her!

She could not weep as she floated along with no conscious movement.  Then slowly she turned and swam back towards the pinnace, the sailors wondering if she was in truth returning to them.  She let herself be helped over the side by Captain Argall.

“I will go with thee to Jamestown, now,” was all that she said.  She gave no explanation of what had happened and refused to answer their questions, or to tell them why she had chosen to go with them when she might have regained her freedom.

They had hoisted the anchor and started off after laying their dead comrades together.  The sun was rising but the air was still chill and the sailors brought their dry coats to Pocahontas to throw over her and placed food before her.  She would not touch it nor turn her face away from the river behind her.