Emerging from the forest, many smoking torches could be seen approaching, and the beating of drums and the shouts of the advancing crowd produced a noise that was almost deafening. The embers of several camp fires lit up the thirty or forty rough bark huts which were grouped before us into a semicircle. At our heels there tagged a crowd of men, women, and children, who shouted and danced with glee, as surrounded by our guards we entered the village. Fierce savage faces peered at us from the doorways; little half-naked boys and girls shouted to each other in wonder at my white skin; the wrinkled squaws hissed and grunted. I only saw hatred, curiosity, surprise; nowhere pity or sympathy for a friendless stranger. Yes, in one face I saw pity, sympathy, or was it admiration? It seemed to me, that as I saw the face for an instant I could discern something akin to that in the dark eyes. It was a young Indian maid of perhaps nineteen or twenty summers, who stood in the doorway of one of the largest huts. Slender, shapely, graceful as a young fawn, with black eyes, large and liquid, and straight black hair, she might have stood as a model for some picture, representing savage beauty. She was clad in a mantle of soft deerskin, with leggins of the same material fringed with bear claws, and upon her small feet were moccasins of the same soft skin. I took all this in at a glance, as I stood motionless among my guards, for they had halted here. A few words were spoken to the girl. She stood aside, and the brave dragged Manteo and myself to the entrance and thrust us inside, leaving several warriors at the open door, while the babble of tongues wrangled and argued upon the outside, as they craned and twisted to get a glimpse of me. For several minutes we lay there; then a wrinkled old warrior pushed by the braves who stood at the door and bending down he cut the thongs that bound Manteo, and motioned for him to follow; they strode out of the place, leaving me alone. An old hag came in to bring me a pot of some kind of meat, and with her came the pretty maid whom I had seen outside, who brought me a skin to lie upon. I thanked her in the native tongue, at which she looked at me with wide open eyes. "How knowest thou our tongue?" she asked, while the old crone stood peering at me as though I were a ghost. "It matters not," I answered. "And who art thou, my pretty maid, who dost remember a poor prisoner?" The rich color surged up into her dark face as she answered shyly, "I am Winona, daughter of the chief Windango." At that moment there entered the same wrinkled old chief. "What dost thou here, Winona?" he said sternly. "This is no place for thee." "I came but with Occoma, father," she answered. "She brought the pale man some venison." "Begone!" he said, and turning his back upon her, he bent over and cut the thongs that bound me. "Come," he said.