Many of the chiefs urged immediate steps.

"It is easy," said one, "to pull up a young oak sapling, whereas who may
uproot a full-grown tree?"

Nautauquas, son of Powhatan, was among the most eager for action. He had
won for himself the name of a great brave and a mighty hunter though
still so young. Many a scalp hung to the ridgepole of his lodge and many
a bear and wildcat had he slain at great risk to his life. Now here was
a new way to distinguish himself--to go forth against dangers he could
not even foresee. What magic these pale-faced strangers used to protect
themselves was unknown; therefore if he and his band should overcome
them and wipe away all traces of their short stay, it would be a tale
for winter firesides and a song for singers of brave deeds as long as
his nation endured.

"Let me go, my father," he pleaded. "Thou, who thyself hast conquered
thirty tribes, grudge not this fame to thy son."

"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