There was a light step beneath which the dry twiggs on the ground
crackled slightly, and the wary captain grasped his matchlock and
bade his men be on their guard. Again the twigs crackled, and now
there came from the shadow of the woods not a train of Indians,
but one little girl--Ma-ta-oka, or Pocahontas.
"Be guarded, my father," she said, as Smith drew her to his side.
"The corn and the good cheer will come as promised, but even now,
my father, the chief of the Pow-ha-tans is gathering all his
power to fall upon you and kill you. If you would live, get you
away at once."
The captain prepared to act upon her advice without delay, but he
felt so grateful at this latest and most hazardous proof of the
little Indian girl's regard that he desired to manifest his
thankfulness by presents--the surest way to reach an Indian's
heart.
"My daughter," he said kindly, "you have again saved my life,
coming alone, and at risk of your own young life, through the
irksome woods and in this gloomy night to admonish me. Take this,
I pray you, from me, and let it always tell you of the love of
Captain Smith."
And the grateful pioneer handed her his much-prized pocket
compass--an instrument regarded with awe by the Indians, and
esteemed as one of the instruments of the white man's magic.
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