I had seen in the Carolinas, only a hundred times greater, and it lay
some five hundred feet below us. Every part of the hollow was filled
with men. Thousands there must have been, around their fires and
teepees, and coming or going from the valley. They were silent, like
all savages, but the low hum rose from the place which told of human
life.

I tried to keep my eyes steady, though my heart was beating like a
fanner. The men were of the same light colour and slimness as those I
had seen on the edge of the mist in Clearwater Glen. Indeed, they were
not unlike Shalah, except that he was bigger than the most of them. I
was not learned in Indian ways, but a glance told me that these folk
never came out of the Tidewater, and were no Cherokees of the hills or
Tuscaroras from the Carolinas. They were a new race from the west or
the north, the new race which had so long been perplexing us. Somewhere
among them was the brain which had planned for the Tidewater a sudden
destruction.

Shalah slipped noiselessly backward, and I followed him down the scree
slope, across the ravine, and then with infinite caution through the
sparse woods till we had put a wide shoulder of hill between us and the
enemy. After that we started running, such a pace as made the rush back
to the Rappahannock seem an easy saunter. Shalah would avoid short-cuts
for no reason that I could see, and make long circuits in places where
I had to go on hands and feet. I was weary before we set out, and soon
I began to totter like a drunken man. The Indian's arm pulled me up
countless times, and his face, usually so calm, was now sharp with
care. "You cannot fail here, brother," he would say, "On our speed hang
the lives of all." That put me on my mettle, for it was Elspeth's
safety I now strove for, and the thought gave life to my leaden limbs.