“Oh,” shuddered Nancy, “I saw them at the window,” and Dan added, “Aye, ’t was this one that kicked Nimrod.”  Nimrod confirmed his statement by growling fiercely and snapping at the heels of the taller of the two Indians.

“Call off thy dog,” said the Goodman sternly, and though Dan felt it would be no more than fair to allow Nimrod one good bite, considering all he had suffered, he obediently collared Nimrod and shut him inside the kitchen.  The faces of the Indians were like stone masks as they stood helpless before their captors with the light of the flaming torch shining upon them.

“Go in with thy family, Neighbor Pepperell,” said Stephen Day.  “There are enough of us and to spare to guard the savages.  Mayhap a night in the stocks will cool their hot blood and help them to remember what they have done with the slave lad.  If not, the judge will mete out to them the punishment they deserve.”

“Right willingly will I leave them in your hands,” answered the Goodman, “for truly I am spent.”

Whether the Indians understood their words, or not, they knew well the meaning of pointed guns, for they marched off toward the village without even a grunt of protest when Stephen Day gave the word of command.

The Goodman was so weary that his wife and children forbore asking questions until he was a little rested and refreshed.  He sank down upon the settle with Nimrod beside him, and Dan removed his muddy boots, and brought water for him to wash in, while Nancy and her mother hastened to put the long-delayed supper on the table.

“This puts new life into me,” declared the father when he had eaten a few spoonfuls of hotchpot, “and now I ’ll tell somewhat of the day’s work.  There was no general uprising among the Indians.  At least we saw no evidence of it.  ’T is more likely as I feared—­they are the same Indians that followed us from Plymouth, meaning to revenge themselves upon me for wounding one of them when they set upon us in the forest.”

“But how is it the lad was not with them?” asked his wife.

“That is a question which as yet hath no answer,” replied her husband.  “It may be they have killed him and hidden the body.”

At this fearful thought Nancy shuddered and covered her face with her hands.

“It may be,” went on the Goodman, “that they passed him on to some one else to avoid suspicion.  At any rate he was not with them, and we could find no trace.  Though the savages undoubtedly know some English, they refuse to say a word, and so his fate remains a mystery.”

“What further shall you do to find him?” asked the Goodwife.

“See if we cannot force the Indians to confess, for the first thing,” answered her husband.

His wife sighed.  “I fear no hope lieth in that direction,” she said.  “Their faces were like the granite of the hills.”

“What of the gun, Father?” asked Daniel.  “Didst thou find it?”