The fine gray ash at the edge of our campfire. Potash ... There was a need for potash in England, and a fine market for it. One need not think only of furs, and the potash could be obtained by burning driftwood. A prosaic cargo, certainly, but a needful one. Suddenly, Sakim cried out, and I looked up from my daydreaming. We had rounded a bend, and coming toward us, so close there could be no escape, a dozen canoes ... perhaps forty men ... and all were armed. "Stand fast!" I said sharply. "Hold your fire!" Chapter 10 My first realization, after an immediate stab of fear, was that the Indians wore no paint. There were stories enough in England about Indians painting for war. "Put your weapons out of sight," I said, "below the gunwhales. I think they are peaceful." The canoes slowed their pace, gliding down to us, and then a hand lifted, palm outward, and I recognized Potaka. "It is my friend," I explained. Rufisco snorted. "No Indian is your friend," he said. "Keep your gun handy." I lifted my hand in a sign of peace, and Potaka glided close.
