guards to fetch him and to carry him to Wansutis's lodge.

Pocahontas suddenly felt at ease again. Yes, she couldn't help it, she
said to herself, but she was glad the boy had not been beaten to pieces.
As soon as he was carried off the running of the gauntlet began again.
But Pocahontas had now had enough of it. It would continue, she knew,
until all of the captives were dead. She slid down from the back of the
lodge and led by curiosity, set off for Wansutis's wigwam. It was at the
edge of the village, and before the slow procession of the two guards,
the old woman and the boy had arrived, Pocahontas had hidden herself
behind a mossy rock, from which hiding place she had a view right into
the opening of the wigwam.

She watched the guards lay the unconscious boy gently down and Wansutis
as she knelt and blew upon the embers under the smoke hole till they
blazed up. Then she saw the old woman take a pot of water and heat it
and throw herbs into it. With this infusion she bathed the wounds,
anointing them afterwards with oil made from acorns. And while she
worked she prayed, invoking Okee to heal her son, to make him strong
that he might care for her old age.

Pocahontas was so eager to know whether the boy were alive that she
crept closer to the wigwam, and when at last he opened his eyes they
looked beyond the hearth and the crouching Wansutis, straight into those
of Pocahontas. She saw that he had regained his senses, so she put her
fingers to her lips. She did not want Wansutis to know that she had been
watched. Already the touch of the wrinkled fingers was as tender as
that of a mother, and Pocahontas felt sure that she would resent any
intrusion. Now that she had seen all there was to see, she stole away.