Produced by Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed

THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE

[Illustration: A GREAT SHEET OF FLAME LEAPED FROM THE ROADSIDE.]

  THROUGH
  SWAMP AND GLADE

  _A TALE OF
  THE SEMINOLE WAR_

  BY

  KIRK MUNROE

  AUTHOR OF "THE WHITE CONQUERORS," "AT WAR WITH
  PONTIAC," ETC., ETC.

  _ILLUSTRATED BY VICTOR PERARD_

  NEW YORK

  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
  1896

  COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY

  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

  Norwood Press
  J.S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith.
  Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

TO MY READERS

The principal incidents in the story of Coacoochee, as related in
the following pages, are historically true. The Seminole War, the
most protracted struggle with Indians in which the United States ever
engaged, lasted from 1835 to 1842. At its conclusion, though most of
the tribe had been removed to the Indian Territory in the far west,
there still remained three hundred and one souls uncaptured and
unsubdued. This remnant had fled to the almost inaccessible islands
of the Big Cypress Swamp, in the extreme southern part of Florida.
Rather than undertake the task of hunting them out, General Worth made
a _verbal_ treaty with them, by which it was agreed that they should
retain that section of country unmolested, so long as they committed no
aggressions. From that time they have kept their part of that agreement
to the letter, living industrious, peaceful lives, and avoiding all
unnecessary contact with the whites. They now number something over
five hundred souls, but the tide of white immigration is already
lapping over the ill-defined boundaries of their reservation, while
white land-grabbers, penetrating the swamps, are seizing their fertile
islands and bidding them begone. They stand aghast at this brutal
order. Where can they go? What is to become of them? Is there nothing
left but to fight and die? It would seem not.

  KIRK MUNROE.

  BISCAYNE BAY, FLORIDA, 1896.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

    CHAPTER                                               PAGE

        I. A BIT OF THE FLORIDA WILDERNESS                    1

       II. MR. TROUP JEFFERS PLOTS MISCHIEF                   9

      III. THE SLAVE-CATCHERS AT WORK                        17

       IV. CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF NITA PACHECO                26

        V. A FOREST BETROTHAL                                34

       VI. CRUEL DEATH OF UL-WE, THE STAGHOUND               43

      VII. COACOOCHEE IN THE CLUTCHES OF WHITE RUFFIANS      52

     VIII. RALPH BOYD THE ENGLISHMAN                         60

       IX. MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A SENTINEL            67

        X. FONTAINE SALANO'S TREACHERY AND ITS REWARD        74

       XI. "THE SEMINOLE MUST GO"                            82

      XII. CHEN-O-WAH IS STOLEN BY THE SLAVE-CATCHERS        88

     XIII. "WILEY THOMPSON, WHERE IS MY WIFE?"               96

      XIV. OSCEOLA SIGNS THE TREATY                         102

      XV. LOUIS PACHECO BIDES HIS TIME                      111

      XVI. OSCEOLA'S REVENGE                                119

     XVII. ON THE VERGE OF THE WAHOO SWAMP                  126

    XVIII. COACOOCHEE'S FIRST BATTLE                        133

      XIX. RALPH BOYD AND THE SLAVE-CATCHER                 141

       XX. AN ALLIGATOR AND HIS MYSTERIOUS ASSAILANT        148

      XXI. BATTLE OF THE WITHLACOOCHEE                      156

     XXII. THE YOUNG CHIEF MAKES A TIMELY DISCOVERY         165

    XXIII. SHAKESPEARE IN THE FOREST                        171

     XXIV. BOGUS INDIANS AND THE REAL ARTICLE               181

      XXV. A SWAMP STRONGHOLD OF THE SEMINOLES              190

     XXVI. TWO SPIES AND THEIR FATE                         200

    XXVII. ANSTICE SAVES THE LIFE OF A CAPTIVE              211

   XXVIII. THE MARK OF THE WILDCAT                          222

     XXIX. TREACHEROUS CAPTURE OF COACOOCHEE AND
           OSCEOLA                                          233

      XXX. IN THE DUNGEONS OF THE ANCIENT FORTRESS          245

     XXXI. A DARING ESCAPE                                  255

    XXXII. NITA HEARS THAT COACOOCHEE IS DEAD               264

   XXXIII. TOLD BY THE MAGNOLIA SPRING                      274

    XXXIV. FOLLOWING A MYSTERIOUS TRAIL                     285

     XXXV. FATE OF THE SLAVE-CATCHERS                       296

    XXXVI. PEACE IS AGAIN PROPOSED                          306

    XXVII. COACOOCHEE IS AGAIN MADE PRISONER                316

  XXXVIII. DOUGLASS FULFILS HIS MISSION                     326

    XXXIX. THE BRAVEST GIRL IN FLORIDA                      336

       XL. A DOUBLE WEDDING AND THE SETTING SUN             346

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                                    FACING
                                                                      PAGE

  A GREAT SHEET OF FLAME LEAPED FROM THE ROADSIDE
        _Frontispiece_

  THEN WITH A VICIOUS HISS THE RAW-HIDE SWEPT DOWN
  WITH THE FULL FORCE OF THE ARM THAT WIELDED IT                       58

  IT SUNK DEEP INTO THE WOOD OF THE TABLE AND STOOD
  QUIVERING AS THOUGH WITH RAGE                                       100

  "TO LEAB BEHINE DE ONLIEST FEDDERBED SHE DONE GOT"                  174

  THE GIRL STEPPED CLOSE TO THE YOUNG CHIEF AND SPOKE
  A FEW WORDS                                                         216

  HADJO LOST HIS HOLD OF THE ROPE AND CAME TUMBLING
  DOWN THE WHOLE DISTANCE                                             260

  NITA SAT BY HER FAVORITE SPRING                                     276

  "ALL IS LOST AND THE WAR IS ABOUT TO BREAK FORTH
  WITH GREATER FURY THAN EVER"                                        324

THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE

CHAPTER I

A BIT OF THE FLORIDA WILDERNESS

The scene is laid in Florida, that beautiful land of the far south, in
which Ponce de Leon located the fabled Spring of Eternal Youth. It is a
land of song and story, of poetry and romance; but one also of bitter
memories and shameful deeds. Its very attractiveness has proved its
greatest curse, and for weary years its native dwellers, who loved its
soil as dearly as they loved their own lives, fought desperately to
repel the invaders who sought to drive them from its sunny shores.

Although winter is hardly known in Florida, still there, as elsewhere,
spring is the fairest and most joyous season of the year, and it is
with the evening of a perfect April day that this story opens.

The warm air was pleasantly stirred by a breeze that whispered of the
boundless sea, and the glowing sun would shortly sink to rest in the
placid bosom of the Mexican Gulf. From the forest came sweet scents
of yellow jasmine, wild grape, and flowering plumes of the palmetto
mingled with richer perfumes from orange blossoms, magnolias, and
sweet bays. Gorgeous butterflies hovered on the edge of the hammock
and sought resting-places for the night amid the orange leaves.
Humming-birds, like living jewels, darted from flower to flower;
bees golden with pollen and freighted with honey winged their flight
to distant combs. From a ti-ti thicket came the joyous notes of a
mocking-bird, who thus unwittingly disclosed the secret of his hidden
nest. A bevy of parakeets in green and gold flashed from branch to
branch and chattered of their own affairs; while far overhead, flocks
of snowy ibis and white curlew streamed along like fleecy clouds from
feeding-grounds on the salt marshes of the distant coast to rookeries
in the cypress swamps of the crooked Ocklawaha. Some of these drifting
bird-clouds were tinted or edged with an exquisite pink, denoting the
presence of roseate spoonbills, and the effect of their rapid movement
against the deep blue of the heavens, in the flash of the setting sun
was indescribably beautiful.

Amid this lavish display of nature's daintiest handiwork and in all
the widespread landscape of hammock and savanna, trackless pine forest
that had never known the woodman's axe, and dimpled lakes of which a
score might be counted from a slight elevation, but one human being was
visible. A youth just emerged from boyhood stood alone on the edge of
a forest where the ground sloped abruptly down to a lakelet of crystal
water. He was clad in a loose-fitting tunic or hunting-frock of doeskin
girded about the waist by a sash of crimson silk. In this was thrust a
knife with a silver-mounted buckhorn handle and encased in a sheath of
snakeskin. His hair, black and glossy as the wing of a raven, was bound
by a silken kerchief of the same rich color as his sash. The snow-white
plume of an egret twined in his hair denoted him to be of rank among
his own people. He wore fringed leggings of smoke-tanned deerskin,
and moccasins of the same material. The lad's features were handsome
and clear cut, but his expression was gentle and thoughtful as might
become a student rather than a mere forest rover. And so the lad was a
student, though of nature, and a dreamer not yet awakened to the stern
realities of life; but that the mysteries of books were unknown to him
might be inferred from a glance at his skin. It was of a clear copper
color, resembling new bronze; for Coacoochee (little wild cat) belonged
to the most southern tribe of North American Indians, the Seminoles of
Florida. Indian though he was, he was of noble birth and descended from
a long line of chieftains; for he was the eldest son of Philip Emathla
(Philip the leader), or "King Philip," as the whites termed him, and
would some day be a leader of his tribe.

Now, as the lad stood leaning on a light rifle and gazing abstractedly
at the glistening clouds of home-returning birds that flecked the
glowing sky, his face bore a far-away look as though his thoughts
had outstripped his vision. This was not surprising; for to all men
Coacoochee was known as a dreamer who beguiled the hours of many an
evening by the camp-fire with the telling of his dreams or of the
folklore tales of his people. Not only was he a dreamer of dreams and
a narrator of strange tales; but he was a seer of visions, as had been
proved very recently when death robbed him of his dearly loved twin
sister Allala.

At the time Coacoochee was many miles away from his father's village,
on a hunting-trip with his younger brother Otulke. One night as they
slept the elder brother started from his bed of palmetto leaves with
the voice of Allala ringing in his ears. All was silent about him, and
Otulke lay undisturbed by his side. As the lad wondered and was about
to again lie down, his own name was uttered softly but plainly, and
in the voice of Allala, while at the same moment her actual presence
seemed to be beside him.

It was a summons that he dared not disobey; so, without rousing Otulke,
the young hunter sprang on the back of his pony and sped away through
the moonlight. At sunrise he stood beside the dead form of the dear
sister whose fleeting spirit had called him.

Since then he had often heard Allala's voice in the winds whispering
through tall grasses of the glades, or among nodding flags on the river
banks; in waters that sang and rippled on the lake shore; from shadowy
depths of the hammocks, and amid the soft sighings of cypress swamps.
Fus-chatte the red-bird sang of her, and pet-che the wood dove mourned
that she was gone. To Coacoochee, she seemed ever near him, and he
longed for the time when he might join her. But he knew that he must
be patient and await the presence of the Great Spirit, for he believed
that the hour of his own death had been named at that of his birth. He
also knew that until the appointed time he would escape all dangers
unharmed. He felt certain that Allala watched over him and would warn
him of either death or great danger. Being thus convinced, the lad was
absolutely without fear of dangers visible or unseen; and, dreamer that
he was, often amazed his companions by deeds of what seemed to them the
most reckless daring.

At the moment of his introduction to the reader Coacoochee, bathed
in the full glory of the setting sun, wondered if the place to which
Allala had gone could be fairer or more beautiful than that in which he
lingered.

Although he was without human companionship he was not alone; for
beside him lay Ul-we (the tall one), a great shaggy staghound that
the young Indian had rescued three years before from the wreck of an
English ship that was cast away on the lonely coast more than one
hundred miles from the nearest settlement. Coacoochee with several
companions was searching for turtle-eggs on the beach, and when they
boarded the stranded vessel, a wretched puppy very nearly dead from
starvation was the only living creature they found. The Indian boy took
the little animal for his own, restored it to life through persistent
effort, nursed it through the ills of puppyhood, and was finally
rewarded by having the waif thus rescued develop into the superb hound
that now lay beside him, and whose equal for strength and intelligence
had never been known in Florida. The love of the great dog for his
young master was touching to behold, while the affection of Coacoochee
for him was only excelled by that felt for his dearest human friend.

This friend was a lad of his own age named Louis Pacheco, who was
neither an Indian nor wholly a paleface. He was the son of a Spanish
indigo planter and a beautiful octoroon who had been given her freedom
before the birth of her boy. The Señor Pacheco, whose plantation
lay near the village of King Philip, had always maintained the most
friendly relations with his Indian neighbors; and, Louis having one
sister, as had Coacoochee, these four were united in closest intimacy
from their childhood.

At the death of the indigo planter his family removed to a small estate
owned by the mother, on the Tomoka River, some fifty miles from their
old home; but this removal in nowise weakened their friendship with
the red-skinned dwellers by the lake. Frequent visits were exchanged
between the younger members of the two families, and when Allala
was taken to the spirit land, none mourned her loss longer or more
sincerely than Louis and Nita Pacheco.

Louis, being well educated by his father, taught Coacoochee to speak
fluently both English and Spanish in exchange for lessons in forest
lore and woodcraft. The young Creole was as proud of his lineage as was
the son of Philip Emathla, and bore himself as became one born to a
position of freedom and independence.

It was some months since he and Coacoochee had last met, and at the
moment of his introduction to us the latter was thinking of his friend
and meditating a visit to him. It would seem as though these thoughts
must have been induced by some subtle indication of a near-by presence;
for the youth was hardly conscious of them ere Ul-we sprang to his feet
with an ominous growl and dashed into the thicket behind them. At the
same moment the young Indian heard his own name pronounced in a faint
voice, and wheeling quickly, caught sight of a white, wild-eyed face
that he instantly recognized. Ul-we had but time to utter one joyful
bark before his young master stood beside him and was supporting the
fainting form of Nita Pacheco in his arms.

CHAPTER II

MR. TROUP JEFFERS PLOTS MISCHIEF

For a full understanding of this startling interruption of the young
Indian's meditations it is necessary to make a brief excursion among
the dark shadows of a history which, though now ancient and well-nigh
forgotten, was then fresh and of vital interest to those whose fortunes
we are about to follow.

Florida had only recently been purchased by the United States from
Spain for five millions of dollars, and its vast territory thrown open
to settlement. Being the most nearly tropical of our possessions,
it offered possibilities found in no other part of the country, and
settlers flocked to it from all directions. As the Spaniards had only
occupied a few places near the coast, the interior had been left to the
undisturbed possession of the Seminoles and their negro allies. The
ancestors of these negroes escaping from slavery had sought and found
a safe refuge in this beautiful wilderness. By Spanish law they became
free at the moment of crossing the frontier boundary line, and here
their descendants dwelt for generations in peace and happiness.

With the change of owners came a sad change of fortunes to the native
inhabitants of this sunny land. The swarming settlers cast envious
glances at the fertile fields of the Seminoles, and determined to
possess them. They longed also to enslave the negro friends and allies
of the Indians, whom they discovered to be enjoying a degree of freedom
and prosperity entirely contrary to their notions of what was right and
fitting. Slavery was a legally recognized institution of the country.
The incoming settlers had been taught and believed that men of black
skins were created to be slaves and laborers for the benefit of the
whites. Therefore to see these little communities of black men dwelling
in a state of freedom and working only for themselves, their wives,
and children was intolerable. Slaves were wanted to clear forests and
cultivate fields, and here were hundreds, possibly thousands, of them
to be had for the taking. The villages of these negroes and those of
their Indian allies were also affording places of refuge for other
blacks who were constantly escaping from the plantations of neighboring
states, and seeking that liberty guaranteed by the Constitution of
the United States to all men. This condition of affairs could not be
borne. Both the Indians and the free negroes of Florida must be taught
a lesson.

General Andrew Jackson was the man chosen to teach this lesson, and he
entered upon the congenial task with a hearty relish. Marching an army
into Florida, he killed all the Indians whom he encountered, killed or
captured all the negroes whom he could find, burned villages, destroyed
crops, and finally retired from the devastated country with a vast
quantity of plunder, consisting principally of slaves and cattle.

To impress this lesson more fully upon the Indians, General Jackson
compelled an American vessel lying in Appalachicola Bay to hoist
British colors in the hope of enticing some of them on board. Two
Seminole chiefs, deceived by this cowardly ruse, did venture to
visit the supposed British ship. When they were safely on board, his
Majesty's ensign was hauled down, that of the United States was run up,
and beneath its folds the too confiding visitors were hanged to the
yard-arms without trial or delay.

After this General Jackson summoned the Indians to come in and make
a treaty; but they were fearful of further treachery, and hesitated.
Finally some thirty warriors out of the entire tribe were bribed to lay
aside their fears and meet the Commissioners. These signed a treaty by
which the Seminoles were required to abandon their homes, villages,
fields, and hunting-grounds, in the northern part of the territory,
and retire to the distant southern wilderness, where they would be at
liberty to clear new lands and make new homes. The tribe was also bound
by the treaty to prevent the passage, through their country, of any
fugitive slave, and to deliver all such seeking refuge among them to
any persons claiming to be their owners.

The United States on its part promised to compensate the Indians for
such improvements as they were compelled to abandon, to allow them five
thousand dollars annually in goods and money for twenty years, to feed
them for one year, and to furnish them with schools.

With the signing of this alleged treaty the trials and sufferings of
the Seminoles began in earnest. They were literally driven from their
old homes, so eager were the whites to possess their fertile lands.
Most of their promised rations of food was withheld, that they might
be induced by starvation the more speedily to clear and cultivate new
fields in the south. The goods issued to them were of such wretched
quality that they were contemptuously rejected or thrown away; and
on one pretext or another nearly the whole of their cash annuity was
declared forfeited. The most common excuse for thus defrauding the
Indians was that they did not display sufficient activity in capturing
the negroes who had sought refuge in their country.

Any white man desirous of procuring a slave had but to describe some
negro whom he knew to be living among the Seminoles and file a claim
to him with the Indian agent. The latter then notified the Indians
that they were expected to capture and deliver up the person thus
described, or else forfeit his value from their annuity. Thus these
liberty-loving savages soon discovered that, under the white man's
interpretation of their treaty, they had bound themselves to deliver
into slavery every man, woman, and child found within their territory,
in whose veins flowed one drop of negro blood, including in some cases
their own wives and children, which crime they very naturally refused
to commit.

Although Philip Emathla had thus far avoided an open rupture with the
whites, an event of recent occurrence caused him grave anxiety. On
the occasion of his last expedition to St. Augustine to receive that
portion of the annuity due his band he had been persuaded by Coacoochee
and Louis Pacheco, who happened to be visiting his friend at that time,
to allow them to accompany him. The Indians camped at some distance
from the town, but were permitted to wander freely about its streets
during the daytime--a permission of which the two lads took fullest
advantage. Thus on the very day of their arrival they set forth on
their exploration of the ancient city, and Louis, who had been there
before with his father, kindly explained its many wonders to his less
travelled companion.

The massive gray walls of Fort San Marco, with their lofty watch
towers, and black cannon grinning from the deep embrasures, possessed a
peculiar fascination for Coacoochee, and it seemed as though he would
never tire of gazing on them. From the gloomy interior, however,
he shrank with horror, refusing even to glance into the cells and
dungeons, to which Louis desired to direct his attention.

"No," he cried. "In these I could not breathe. They hold the air of a
prison, and to a son of the forest that is the air of death. Let us
then hasten from this place of ill omen, lest they close the gates, and
we be forced to leap from the walls for our freedom."

So the Wildcat hastily dragged his friend from that grim place, nor
did he draw a full breath until they were once more in the sunny
fields outside. He was infinitely more pleased with the interior of
the equally ancient cathedral, and lingered long before the mystic
paintings of its decoration. Its music and the glowing candles of its
richly decked altar affected him so strangely, that even after they had
emerged from the building and stood in the open plaza, listening to its
chiming bells, he was for a long time silent.

Louis, too, was occupied with his own thoughts; and as the lads stood
thus, they failed to notice the curiosity with which they were regarded
by two men who passed and repassed them several times. One of these
men, Troup Jeffers by name, was a slave-trader, who was keenly alive to
the possibility of making a good thing out of the present embarrassment
of the Seminoles. The other man, who was known as Ross Ruffin, though
that was not supposed to be his real name, was one of those depraved
characters found on every frontier, who are always ready to perform a
dirty job for pay, and who so closely resembled the filthiest beasts of
prey that they are generally spoken of as "human jackals." With this
particular jackal Mr. Troup Jeffers had already dealt on more than one
occasion, and found him peculiarly well adapted to the requirements of
his despicable trade.

"Likely looking youngsters," remarked the slave-dealer, nodding towards
the two lads upon first noticing them. "Pity they're Injuns. More
pity that Injuns don't come under the head of property. Can't see any
difference myself between them and niggers. Now them two in the right
market ought to fetch--"

Here the trader paused to inspect the lads more closely that he might
make a careful estimate of their probable money value.

"By Gad!" he exclaimed under his breath, "I'm dashed if I believe one
of 'em is an Injun!"

"No," replied his companion; "one of 'em is a nigger. Leastways, his
mother is."

"You don't say so?" remarked Mr. Troup Jeffers, his eye lighting with
the gleam of a man-hunter on catching sight of his prey. "Who owns him?"

"No one just now. Leastways, he claims to be free. He lives with his
mother and sister in the Injun country. I've been calculating chances
on 'em myself for some time."

"Tell me all you know about 'em," commanded the trader, in a voice
husky with excitement, while the evil gleam in his eyes grew more
pronounced.

When Ross Ruffin had related the history and present circumstances of
the Pachecos to the best of his knowledge, the other exclaimed:

"I'll go yer! and we couldn't want a better thing. Agent's in town now.
I'll make out a description and file a claim this very evening. We'll
claim all three. Jump this young buck before he has a chance to get
away. It'll make the other job more simple too. Get all three up the
coast, easy as rolling off a log. 'Quick sales and big profits'--that's
my motto. I'll divvy with you. On the square. Is it a go? Shake."

Thus within five minutes, and while the unsuspecting lads still
listened in silence to the tinkling chimes of the old cathedral bells,
there was hatched against them a plot more villainous than either of
them had ever conceived possible. Not only that, but the first link was
forged of a chain of circumstances that was to alter the whole course
of their lives and entwine them in its cruel coils for many bitter
years to come.

THE SLAVE-CATCHERS AT WORK

The following day was also passed by Coacoochee and Louis in pleasant
wanderings about the quaint little city whose every sight and sound
was to them so full of novel interest. At length in the early dusk
of evening they set forth on their return to Philip Emathla's camp,
conversing eagerly as they walked concerning what they had seen. So
occupied were they that they paid little heed to their immediate
surroundings, and as they gained the outskirts of the town were
startled at being commanded to halt by a man who had approached them
unobserved. It was Troup Jeffers, the slave-catcher, who had been
watching the lads for some time and awaiting just such an opportunity
as the present for carrying out his evil designs.

"What's your name?" he demanded, placing himself squarely in front of
the young Creole.

"Louis Pacheco."

"Just so. Son of old Pacheco and a nigger woman. Nigger yourself. My
nigger, sold to me by your dad just afore he died. Hain't wanted you up
to this time. Now want you to come along with me."

"I'll do nothing of the kind!" cried the lad, hotly. "When you say that
I am your slave, or the slave of any one else, _you lie_. My mother was
a free woman, and I was born free. To that I can take my oath, and so
can my friend here. So stand aside, sir, and let me pass."

"Ho, ho! my black fighting cock," answered the trader, savagely;
"you'll pay sweetly for those words afore I'm through with ye. And
you'll set up a nigger's oath and an Injun's oath agin that of a white
man, will ye? Why, you crumbly piece of yellar gingerbread, don't you
know that when a white man swears to a thing, his word will be taken
agin that of all the niggers and Injuns in the country? Cattle of that
kind can't testify in United States courts, as you'll find out in a
hurry if you ever try it on. Now you're my property, and the sooner you
realize it, the better it will be for you. I've filed my sworn claim
with the agent, and it's been allowed. Here's his order for the Injuns
to deliver you up. So I'd advise you to go along peaceably with me if
you don't want to get yourself into a heap of trouble. Grab him, Ross!"

Mr. Troup Jeffers had only talked to detain the lads until the arrival
of his burly confederate, who was following at a short distance behind
him. As the moment for action arrived, he seized Louis by one arm,
while Ross Ruffin grasped the other.

Coacoochee, knowing little of the ways of the whites, had not realized
what was taking place until this moment; but with the seizure of his
friend the horrid truth was made clear to him. He was called a dreamer,
but no one witnessing the promptness of his action at this crisis would
have supposed him to be such. Ross Ruffin was nearest him, and at the
very moment of his laying hands on Louis there came a flash of steel.
The next instant Coacoochee's keen-bladed hunting-knife was sunk deep
into the man's arm just below the shoulder.

With a yell of pain and terror, the "jackal" let go his hold. Louis
tore himself free from the grasp of his other assailant, and in a
twinkling the two lads were running with the speed of startled deer in
the direction of their own camp, while an ineffective pistol shot rang
out spitefully behind them.

A few minutes later they had gained the camp, secured their rifles,
told King Philip of what had just taken place, crossed the San
Sebastian, and were lost to sight in the dark shadows of the forest on
its further side.

They had hardly disappeared before St. Augustine was in an uproar. An
Indian had dared draw his knife on a white man who was only exercising
his legal rights and claiming his lawful property. An Indian had
actually aided in the escape of a slave, when by solemn treaty he was
bound to use every effort to deliver such persons to their masters.
The act was an intolerable outrage and must be promptly punished.

Within an hour, therefore, an angry mob of armed citizens headed by
Troup Jeffers had surrounded Philip Emathla's encampment. They were
confronted by his handful of sturdy warriors, ready to fight with the
fury of tigers brought to bay, and but for the determined interference
of the Indian agent, who had hastened to the scene of disturbance, a
bloody battle would have ensued then and there. This officer begged the
whites to leave the affair with him, assuring them that the Indians
should be made to afford ample satisfaction for the outrage, and taught
a lesson that would prevent its repetition. At first the citizens would
not listen to him; but the cupidity of the slave-catcher being aroused
by the promise of a handsome pecuniary compensation for his loss,
he joined his voice to that of the agent, and finally succeeded in
persuading the mob to retire.

Two thousand dollars of government money due King Philip's band was
in that agent's hands and should have been paid over on the following
day. Now that official gave the aged chieftain his choice of delivering
Coacoochee up for punishment, and Louis Pacheco to the man who claimed
him as his property, or of relinquishing this money and signing for it
a receipt in full.

The alternative thus presented was a bitter one. The loss of their
money would involve Philip Emathla and his band in new difficulties
with the whites, to whom they were in debt for goods that were to be
paid for on the receipt of their annuity. The old man knew that his
creditors would have no mercy upon him, but would seize whatever of
his possessions they could attach. Nor could mercy be expected for his
son and Louis Pacheco should they be delivered into the hands of their
enemies.

Long did the perplexed chieftain sit silent and with bowed head,
considering the situation. His warriors, grouped at a short distance,
watched him with respectful curiosity. At length he submitted the case
to them and asked their advice.

With one accord, and without hesitation, they answered: "Let the
Iste-hatke (white man) keep his money. We can live without it; but if
one hair of Coacoochee's head should be harmed, our hearts would be
heavy with a sadness that could never be lifted."

So Philip Emathla affixed his mark to the paper that the agent had
prepared for him, and was allowed to depart in peace the next day. Of
the money thus obtained from the Indians two hundred dollars served to
salve the wound in Ross Ruffin's arm, and eight hundred satisfied for
the time being the claim of Mr. Troup Jeffers, the slave-trader. What
became of the balance is unknown, for the agent's books contain no
record of the transaction.

Coacoochee and Louis had halted within friendly shadows on the edge
of the forest, and there held themselves in readiness to fly to the
assistance of their friends, should sounds of strife proclaim an attack
upon the encampment. Here they remained during the night, and only
rejoined Philip Emathla on his homeward march the following day. When
they learned from him the particulars of the transaction by which their
liberty had been assured, both of them were bitterly indignant at the
injustice thus perpetrated.

The indignation of the young creole was supplemented by a profound
gratitude, and he swore that if the time ever came when it should lie
in his power to repay the debt thus incurred, he would do so with
interest many times compounded. Now, feeling secure in the freedom
for which so great a price had been paid, he returned to his home on
the Tomoka, where for several months he devoted himself assiduously
to labor on the little plantation that afforded the sole support of
his mother, his sister, and himself. During this time of diligent
toil, though he found no opportunity for communicating with his Indian
friends of the lake region, they were often in his thoughts, and his
heart warmed toward them with an ever-increasing gratitude as he
reflected upon the awful fate from which they had saved him.

While the busy home life of the family on the Tomoka flowed on thus
peacefully and happily, there came one evening a timid knock at
the closed door of their house, and a weak voice, speaking in negro
dialect, begged for admittance.

Louis, holding a candle, opened the door, and as he did so, was struck
a blow on the head that stretched him senseless across the threshold.
As Nita, who was the only other occupant of the house at that moment,
witnessed this dastardly act, she uttered a piercing scream and was
about to fling herself on her brother's body, but was roughly pushed
back by two white men, who entered the room, and dragging Louis back
from the door, closed it behind them.

One of the men, who were those precious villains Troup Jeffers and Ross
Ruffin, bound the wrists of the unconscious youth behind him, while the
other ordered Nita to bring them food, threatening to kill her brother
before her eyes in case she refused. The terrified girl hastened to
obey; but, as with trembling hands she prepared the table with all
that the house afforded in the way of provisions, her mind was filled
with wild schemes of escape and rescue. Her mother was absent, having
gone to sit with the dying child of their only near neighbors, a negro
family living a short distance down the river.

While the girl thus planned, and strove to conceal her agony of thought
beneath an appearance of bustling activity, the slave-catchers dashed
water in her brother's face and used other means to restore him to
consciousness. In this they were finally successful.

The moment that he was sufficiently recovered to realize his situation
and recognize the men who had treated him so shamefully, he demanded to
be set at liberty, claiming that he was free by birth, and that even if
he were not, the price of his freedom had been paid several times over
by the annuity that Philip Emathla had relinquished on his account.

"Oh no, you're not free, my lad, as you'll soon discover," replied Mr.
Troup Jeffers, with a grin. "You're property, you are. You was born
property, and you'll always be property. Just now you're my property,
and will be till I can get you to a market where your value will be
appreciated. As for the cash handed over by that old fool of an Injun,
it warn't more than enough to pay for the cut that young catamount give
my friend here, and for my injured feelings. It warn't never intended
to pay for you. So shut your mouth and come along quietly with us, or
we'll make it mighty oncomfortable for ye. D'ye hear?"

"But my father was a white man, my mother was a free woman, and I was
born--"

"Shut up! I tell ye!" shouted the trader, angrily.

Determined to be heard, the youth again opened his mouth to speak,
when, with a snarl of rage, the brute sprang forward and dealt him
several savage kicks with a heavy cowhide boot that proved effective
in procuring the required silence.

While the attention of both men was thus engaged, Nita managed to slip
unobserved from a back door of the house. With the swiftness of despair
she fled along the shadowy forest trail that led to the neighbor's
cabin, a quarter of a mile away. There she hoped to obtain help for her
brother's rescue. When she reached it, she found to her dismay that
it was dark and empty. Its door stood wide open, and the poor girl
received no answer to her terrified callings.

CHAPTER IV

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE OF NITA PACHECO

For a minute Nita, trembling with excitement and terror, stood
irresolute. Then, noticing that a few embers still smouldered on the
hearth, she found a sliver of fat pine and thrust it among them. As it
flared up with a bright blaze, its light disclosed a scene that filled
the girl with despair and told the whole sad story--the child with whom
her mother was to watch that night lay dead on the only bed in the
room. The rest of the scanty furniture was overturned and broken; while
the whole appearance of the place denoted that it had been the scene of
a fierce struggle.

In vain did Nita seek for any trace of her mother. It was only too
evident that the slave-catchers had been here, made captives of all
the living inmates, and removed them to a place of safe keeping before
visiting the Pacheco house. Sick at heart and undecided as to her
course of action, the poor girl left the cabin. As she emerged from its
shattered doorway, she was rudely clasped in a pair of strong arms, and
with a hoarse chuckle of satisfaction a voice, that she recognized as
belonging to one of the men she had left with Louis, exclaimed:

"So, gal, ye thought ye was gwine to give us the slip, eh? and maybe
bring help to your brother? We uns is up to them games though, and
ye've got to be oncommon spry to git ahead of us. I suspicioned whar
ye'd gone the minit I found ye'd lit out without so much as saying by
your leave, and I was on to yer trail in less'n no time. Now ye might
as well give in and go along quiet with us. We'll find ye a nice easy
place whar ye won't hev much to do, and whar ye kin live happier than
ye ever could in this here forsaken wilderness."

While thus talking, the man, with a firm grasp of the girl's arm, was
leading her back along the trail they had come. She had not spoken
since uttering a cry of terror when he first seized her, and she now
walked beside him so quietly and unresistingly that he imagined her
spirit to be broken beyond further thought of escape.

The darkness of the hammock was intense, and being unaccustomed to the
narrow path, Ruffin found difficulty in following it. All at once, as
he swerved slightly from the trail, his foot caught in a loose root,
and he pitched headlong to the ground, releasing the girl's arm as
he fell. In an instant she was gone. Her light footfall gave back no
sound to indicate the direction she had taken, and only the mocking
forest echoes answered the man's bitter curses which were coupled with
commands that she return to him.

Time was precious with the slave-catchers, and to pursue the girl would
be a hopeless task. Ross Ruffin realized this, and so, baffled and
raging, he made his way to that point on the river where, in a small
boat, with Louis still bound and helpless, Troup Jeffers impatiently
awaited his coming. The latter upbraided his confederate in unmeasured
terms for allowing the girl to escape, and so fierce was their quarrel
that it seemed about to result in bloodshed. Finally their interests,
rather than their inclinations, led them to control their anger and to
reflect that with the captives already secured, including Louis, his
mother, and the family of their negro neighbors, the venture promised
to be very profitable, after all. So they pulled down the dark river
and out to a small schooner that, in charge of two other white men, lay
off its mouth, awaiting them.

Louis had listened eagerly to Ruffin's report of his sister's flight,
and thus assured of her escape, he became more reconciled to the fate
in store for himself. As the boat in which he lay glided from the
river's mouth, there came to him the sound of a dear voice that in
all probability he would never hear again. It was a passionate cry
of farewell from the sister whom he loved better than all the world
beside. With a mighty effort the captive raised himself to a sitting
posture.

"Good-bye, Nita!" he shouted; "God bless--"

Then he was silenced and struck down by a blow in the face. At the same
instant a flash of fire leaped from the boat, and a rifle bullet sped
angrily through the forest in the direction from which Nita's voice had
come. It did not harm her, but she dared not call again. Nor did she
dare remain longer in that vicinity.

Returning to her deserted home, the poor girl hastily gathered a
slender store of provisions and then set forth, fearfully and with
a breaking heart, to thread the shadowy trails leading to the only
place of refuge that she knew,--the village of Philip Emathla the
Seminole. For two days she travelled, guided by instinct rather than
by a knowledge of the way, and at the end of the second she came to
the place where Coacoochee was standing. As her presence was betrayed
by Ul-we, and the young Indian sprang to her side, the girl sank into
his arms, faint and speechless from exhaustion. Her dress hung in
rags, her feet were bare and bleeding, and her tender skin was torn by
innumerable thorns.

Filled with wonder and a premonition of evil tidings by this appearance
of his friend's sister so far from her home and in so sad a plight,
Coacoochee bore her to the open space in which he had stood, and laid
her gently down at the base of a great oak. Then, realizing that all
his strength would not suffice to carry her over the mile or more
lying between that place and his father's village, he bade the great
staghound stand guard over the fainting girl, and started off at a
speed that he alone of all his tribe possessed, to seek assistance.

The peaceful village was startled by his appearance as he dashed
breathlessly into it a few minutes later, and some of the men
instinctively grasped their weapons. With a few words, Coacoochee
assured them that there was no immediate cause for alarm, and then
ordering three stalwart young warriors to follow him, he again entered
the forest and hastened back to where he had left the exhausted girl.

A little later Nita Pacheco was borne into the village and given over
to the skilful ministrations of the women belonging to King Philip's
household. Under their kindly care the strength of the fugitive was so
restored that within an hour after her arrival she was able to relate
her sad story to the aged chief, who bent over her and listened to her
words with breathless attention.

When she finished, and Philip Emathla was possessed of all the facts
she had to communicate, he drew himself to his full height and stood
for a moment silent, while his whole frame trembled with anger.

At length he said: "It is well, my daughter. I have heard thy words,
and they have caused my heart to bleed. From this hour thou shalt be
to Philip Emathla as the child of his old age, and thy sorrows shall
be his. Sleep now and regain thy strength while he takes counsel
concerning this matter with his wise men, and in the morning he will
speak further with thee."

When the old chief repeated Nita Pacheco's story to his warriors
assembled about the council fire that night, his words were received in
silence, but with fierce scowls; clinched hands, and twitching fingers.
At its conclusion the silence was only broken by angry mutterings, but
none knew what to advise. At length King Philip addressed Coacoochee,
who, youngest of all present, had been allowed a seat at this council
for the first time. Calling him by name, the old chief said:

"My son, on account of thy friendship with Louis Pacheco, thy interest
in this matter is greater than that of any other among my councillors.
What, then, is thy opinion concerning this tale of wrong and outrage?"

Standing bravely forth in the full glow of firelight, with his athletic
form and proud profile clearly outlined against it, the lad spoke
vehemently and from a full heart as he replied:

"The words of my father have made the hearts of his children heavy.
They tell us of the wickedness of the white man. That is nothing new.
We have heard of it many times before. So many that we are weary with
listening. But now this wickedness has fallen on those who have the
right to call upon us for vengeance. They are not of our blood, but
they lived among us and trusted us to protect them. Louis Pacheco is
my friend and brother. This maiden is as a daughter to my father. They
were not born slaves. The Great Spirit created them free as the birds
of the air or the deer of the forest. Of this freedom, the gift of the
Great Spirit, the white man seeks to rob them. Are we dogs that we
should suffer this thing? No; the Seminoles are men and warriors. Let
the chief send a message to the white man, demanding that these our
friends be set free and restored to us. Let him also send out those who
will discover whither they have been taken. If they be dead or carried
away so far that he cannot find them, then let him lead his warriors
to battle with the pale-faced dogs, that the fate of our friends may
be avenged. Coacoochee has spoken, and to Philip Emathla has he made
answer."

This brave speech, delivered with all the fire and enthusiasm of youth
as well as with the eloquent gestures that Coacoochee knew so well
how to use, was received with murmurs of satisfaction by the younger
warriors, whose eyes gleamed with a fierce joy at the thought of
battle. The breast of the young orator swelled with pride as, reseating
himself in his appointed place, he glanced about him and noted the
effect of his maiden effort at public speech-making. His whole soul was
enlisted in the cause of those oppressed ones for whom he had just
pleaded so earnestly, and he longed with the earnestness of honorable,
high-strung, and fearless youth to strike a telling blow in their
behalf.

While he with the younger members of the band were thus animated by
a spirit of resistance to injustice at any cost, the older warriors
shook their heads. They could not but reflect upon their own weakness
when they considered the power of the white man and the number of his
soldiers.

The old chief who had called forth this manifestation of feeling noted
shrewdly the varied expressions of those about him and then dismissed
the council, saying that after sleeping he would announce his decision.

CHAPTER V

A FOREST BETROTHAL

Philip Emathla was an old man and a wise one. He had visited the great
white Father at Washington, and had thus gained a very different idea
of the power and number of the palefaces from that generally held by
his tribe. He loved his land and his people. He was determined not to
submit to injustice if he could help it, but he shrank from plunging
the Seminoles into a war with the powerful and arrogant invaders of
their country. He knew that such a war could only result in the utter
defeat of the red man, no matter how long or how bravely he might
fight. Thus Coacoochee's fiery speech at the council was a source of
great anxiety to the old man and caused him to pass a sleepless night.
By morning, however, he had decided upon a course of action, and again
summoning his councillors, he unfolded it to them.

As the money value of Louis Pacheco and his mother had already been
doubly paid by the Indians through the relinquishment of their annuity,
Philip Emathla would himself go to the agent at Fort King, claim them
as his slaves, and demand their return to him as such. At the same
time he would send scouts to St. Augustine to discover if the captives
were in that city and what chance there was of rescuing them in case
the agent should refuse to recognize his claim. Until these things
were done there must be no thought or mention of war. It could only be
considered after all else had failed.

As Coacoochee listened to these words, his face assumed a look of
resolve, and he eagerly awaited an opportunity to speak. He was no
longer content to be considered a dreamer, but was anxious to prove
himself the worthy son of a great chief and entitled to the proud rank
of warrior. When, therefore, his father finished what he had to say and
signified that any who chose might speak, the lad, after waiting for
a few minutes out of deference to his elders, rose with a modest but
manly bearing and requested that two favors might be granted him. One
was that he might be allowed to go alone on the scout to St. Augustine
and there learn the fate of his friend. The other, asked with that
confusion of manner which all youths, savage as well as civilized,
manifest on such occasions, was that he might have his father's
permission to make Nita Pacheco a daughter of the tribe, in fact as
well as in name, by taking her to be his wife.

After regarding the lad fixedly and in silence for nearly a minute, the
old chief made reply as follows:

"My son, although thou hast attained the stature of a man, and it has
been permitted thee to speak in council, thou art still but a boy in
knowledge as well as in years. That thou may speedily prove thyself
worthy the name of warrior is my hope and desire. Therefore that thou
may not lack opportunity for gaining distinction, I hereby grant the
first of thy requests on condition that six of my well-tried braves
shall go with thee. They may be left in concealment outside the city,
and thou may enter it alone; but it is well to have friends at hand in
case of need. It is also well that a young warrior should be guided by
the counsel of those who are older and wiser.

"Thy second request will I also grant upon conditions. Gladly will I
accept the maiden whom thou hast named, as a daughter in truth as well
as in name; but it seems to have escaped thy mind that no son of the
Seminoles may take to himself a wife until he has won the title of
warrior and proved himself capable of her support. Again, there is but
one time for the taking of wives, which may only be done at the great
green corn dance of thy people. If it pleases the maiden to plight thee
her troth, to that I will give consent, provided the ceremony shall
take place ere the setting of this day's sun. Then when thou art gone
on thy mission to discover the fate of her mother and her brother, she
will be doubly entitled to the love and protection of thy people. Let,
then, a solemn betrothal satisfy thee for the present, and at some
future time will the question of thy marriage be considered. Thus
speaks Philip Emathla."

Coacoochee had loved the sister of his friend longer than he could
remember, and believed that Nita entertained a similar feeling toward
him, though no words of love had ever passed between them. Now they
were to exchange a promise of marriage! The mere thought gave him a
more manly and dignified bearing. And then he was to be immediately
separated from her. How hard it would be to leave her! Doubly hard,
now that she was in sorrow, and suffering the keenest anxiety. Still,
if he could only bring back tidings of the safety of her dear ones, or
perhaps even return them to her, how happy it would make her! How proud
she would be of him!

To Nita the proposition that she should participate in a ceremony of
betrothal to Coacoochee, which among the Seminoles is even more solemn
and important than that of marriage itself, was startling but not
unwelcome. She loved the handsome youth. In her own mind that had long
ago been settled. Now she was homeless and alone. Where could she find
a braver or more gallant protector than Coacoochee? Besides, was he not
going into danger for her sake, and the sake of those most dear to her?
Yes, she would give him her promise in the presence of all his people
freely and gladly.

Again the sun was near his setting, and all nature was flooded
with the golden glory that waited on his departure. The cluster of
palmetto-thatched huts nestled beneath tall trees on the shore of
blue Ahpopka Lake wore an expectant air, and their dusky inhabitants,
gathered in little groups, seemed to anticipate some event of
importance.

At length there came the sound of singing from a leafy bower on the
outskirts of the village, and then appeared a bevy of young girls
wreathed and garlanded with flowers. In their midst walked one whose
face, fairer than theirs, still bore traces of recent suffering. She
was clad in a robe of fawnskin, creamy white and soft as velvet.
Exquisitely embroidered, it was fit for the wear of a princess, and
had indeed been prepared for the gentle Allala, King Philip's only
daughter, shortly before her death. Now, worn for the first time, it
formed the betrothal dress of Nita Pacheco. In the tresses of her
rippling hair was twined a slender spray of snow-white star jasmine.
She wore no other ornament, but none was needed for a beauty so radiant
as hers.

So, at least, thought Coacoochee, as, escorted by a picked body of
young warriors, gaudy in paint and feathers, he entered the village at
this moment, but from its opposite side, and caught a glimpse of her.

Both groups advanced to the centre of the village and halted, facing
each other, before the chief's lodge. There for some moments they stood
amid an impressive silence that was only broken by the glad songs of
birds in the leafy coverts above them. At length the curtain screening
the entrance was drawn aside, and Philip Emathla, followed by two of
his most trusted councillors, stepped forth. The head of the aged
chieftain was unadorned save by a single roseate feather plucked from
the wing of a flamingo. This from time immemorial had been the badge of
highest authority among the Indians of Florida, and was adopted as such
by the latest native occupants of the flowery land. The chief's massive
form was set off to fine advantage by a simple tunic and leggings of
buckskin. Depending from his neck by a slender chain was a large gold
medallion of Washington, while across his breast he wore several other
decorations in gold and silver.

Standing in the presence of his people, and facing the setting sun, the
chieftain called upon the group of flower-decked maidens to deliver up
their sister, and as Nita stepped shyly forth, he took her by the hand.
Next he called upon the group of young warriors to deliver up their
brother, whereupon their ranks opened, and Coacoochee walked proudly to
where his father stood.

Taking him also by the hand, the old chief asked of his son, in a
voice that all could plainly hear, if he had carefully considered the
obligation he was about to assume. "Do you promise for the sake of this
maiden to strive with all your powers to attain the rank of a warrior?
Do you promise, when that time comes, to take her to your lodge to be
your squaw? to protect her with your life from harm? to hunt game for
her? to see that she suffers not from hunger? to love her and bear with
her until the Great Spirit shall call you to dwell with him in the
Happy Hunting-grounds?"

"Un-cah (yes)," answered Coacoochee so clearly as to be heard of all.
"I do promise."

Turning to Nita, the chieftain asked: "My daughter, are you also
willing to make promise to this youth that when the time comes for
him to call thee to his lodge, you will go to him? Are you willing to
promise that from then until the sun shall no longer shine for thee,
till thine eyes are closed in the long sleep, and till the music of
birds no longer fill thy ears, Coacoochee shall be thy man, and thou
shall know no other? Are you willing to promise that from that time his
lodge shall be thy lodge, his friends thy friends, and his enemies thy
enemies? Are you willing to promise that from the day you enter his
lodge you will love him and care for him, make his word thy law, and
follow him even to captivity and death? Consider well, my daughter,
before answering; for thy pledged word may not be lightly broken."

Lifting her head, and smiling as she looked the old man full in the
face, Nita answered, in low but distinct tones:

"Un-cah. I am willing to promise."

With this the chieftain placed the girl's hand in that of Coacoochee,
and turning to the spectators, who stood silent and attentive, said:

"In thy sight, and in hearing of all men, this my son and this my
daughter have given to each other the promise that may not be broken.
Therefore I, Philip Emathla, make it known that whenever Coacoochee,
after gaining a warrior's rank, shall call this maiden to his lodge,
she shall go to him. From that time forth he shall be her warrior, and
she shall be his squaw. It is spoken; let it be remembered."

With these words the ceremony of betrothal was concluded, and at
once the spectators broke forth in a tumult of rejoicing. Guns were
discharged, drums were beaten, great fires were lighted, there was
dancing and feasting, and in every way they could devise did these
simple-minded dwellers in the forest express their joy over the event
that promised so much of happiness to the well-loved son of their chief.

In these rejoicings Coacoochee did not take part, glad as he would
have been to do so. He had a duty to perform that might no longer be
delayed. The fate of his friend, who was now become almost his brother,
must be learned, and it rested with him to discover it.

So on conclusion of the betrothal ceremony he led Nita into his
father's lodge, bade her a tender farewell, and promising a speedy
return, slipped away almost unobserved. Followed only by Ul-we, the
great staghound, he entered the dark shadows of the forest behind the
village, and was immediately lost to view.

CHAPTER VI

CRUEL DEATH OF UL-WE THE STAGHOUND

When Coacoochee left the Indian village on the night of his betrothal
and set forth on his journey to St. Augustine, he fully realized that
the act marked a crisis in his life, and that from this hour his
irresponsible boyhood was a thing of the past. For a moment he was
staggered by the thought of what he was undertaking, together with an
overpowering sense of his own weakness and lack of worldly knowledge.
How could he, a mere lad, educated in nothing save forest craft, hope
to compete with the strength, wisdom, and subtlety of the all-powerful
white man? His heart sank at the prospect, there came a faltering in
his springy stride, he feared to advance, and dreaded to retreat.

As he wavered he became conscious of a presence beside him, and to his
ear came the voice of Allala. In tender but reproachful accents it said:

"My brother, to thee are the eyes of our people turning. Philip Emathla
is chief of a band; through long strife, bitter trial, and deepest
sorrow, Coacoochee shall become leader of a nation. Remember, my
brother, that to strive and succeed is glorious; to strive and yield is
still honorable; but to yield without striving is contemptible."

The voice ceased, and the young Indian felt that he was again alone,
but he was no longer undecided. His veins thrilled with a new life,
and his heart was filled with a courage ready to dare anything. In an
instant his determination was taken. He would strive for victories, he
would learn to bear defeat, but it should never be said of Coacoochee
that he was contemptible. Filled with such thoughts, the youth sprang
forward and again urged his way along the dim forest trail.

He had gone but a short distance when he came to a group of dark
figures evidently awaiting him. They were the six warriors chosen by
his father to accompany him on his dangerous mission. As he joined
them, a few words of greeting were exchanged, and one of them handed
him his rifle, powder-horn, and bullet-pouch. Here he took the lead,
with Ul-we close at his heels. The others followed in single file and
with long, gliding strides that maintained with slight apparent effort
yet bore them over the ground with surprising rapidity.

The night was lighted by a young moon, and such of its rays as were
sifted down through the leafy canopy served to guide their steps as
truly as though it had been day. When the moon set, the little band
halted on the edge of an open glade, and each man cut a few great
leaves of the cabbage palmetto, which he thrust stem first into the
ground to serve as protection against the drenching night dew. Then,
flinging themselves down in the long grass, they almost instantly fell
asleep, leaving only Ul-we to stand guard.

A brace of wild turkey, shot at daylight a short distance from where
they slept, furnished a breakfast, and at sunrise they were once more
on their way. That morning they crossed the St. John's River in a canoe
that had been skilfully concealed beneath a bank from all but them, and
soon after sunset they made their second camp within a few miles of St.
Augustine.

Up to this time they had seen no white man, but now they might expect
to see many; for they were near a travelled road recently opened for
the government westward into the far interior, by a man named Bellamy;
thus it was called the "Bellamy Road,"--a name that it bears to this
day.

Over it Coacoochee, accompanied only by Ul-we, walked boldly the next
morning until he came to the city. He did not carry his rifle with
him, as he knew that Indians off their reservation were apt to have
all firearms seized and taken from them. Moreover, he anticipated
no danger. These were times of peace, in which Indians as well as
whites were protected by treaty. So, cautioning his warriors to remain
concealed until his return, the young leader went in search of the
information he had been detailed to obtain.

During his journey he had carefully considered the steps to be taken
when he should reach its end. He might easily have slipped into
the town under cover of darkness, and, with little chance of being
observed, communicated with certain negroes of the place, who would
have told him what he desired to know. He might have remained concealed
in the outskirts until some of them passed that way. Several other
plans suggested themselves, but all were rejected in favor of the
one now adopted. Honest and straightforward himself, Coacoochee was
disinclined to use methods that might lie open to suspicion. He knew of
no reason why he, a free man, should not visit any portion of the land
that his people still claimed as their own, and consequently he entered
the town boldly and in broad daylight.

The sight of an Indian in the streets of St. Augustine was at that time
too common to attract unusual attention. Still, the bearing of the
young chief was so noble, and his appearance so striking, that more
than one person turned to gaze after him as he passed.

The great dog that followed close at his heels also excited universal
admiration, and several men offered to buy him from the youth as he
passed them. To these he deigned no reply, for it was part of the
Indian policy at that time, as it is now, to feign an ignorance of any
language but their own.

Within a few hours Coacoochee had learned all that was to be known
concerning the recent expedition of Jeffers and Ruffin. If they were
successful in their undertaking, they were to proceed directly to
Charleston, South Carolina, and there dispose of their captives. As
they had now been absent from St. Augustine for more than a week, this
is what they were supposed to have done.

Once during his hurried interviews with those who were able to give
him information, but were fearful of being discovered in his company,
the young Indian was vaguely warned that some new laws relating to his
people had just been passed, and that if he were not careful, he might
get into trouble through them.

Several times during the morning one or more of the street dogs of
the town ran snarling after Ul-we; but, in each case, one of his deep
growls and a display of his formidable teeth caused them to slink away
and leave him unmolested.

Having finished his business, Coacoochee set out on a return to the
camp where his warriors awaited him. His heart was heavy with the news
that he had just received, and as he walked, he thought bitterly of the
fate of the friend who had been dragged into slavery far beyond his
reach or power of rescue.

Thus thinking, and paying but slight attention to his surroundings, he
reached the edge of the town. He was passing its last building, a low
groggery, on the porch of which were collected a group of men, most of
them more or less under the influence of liquor.

One of the group was a swarthy-faced fellow named Salano, who had for
some unknown reason conceived a bitter hatred against all Indians, and
often boasted that he would no more hesitate to shoot one than he would
a wolf or a rattlesnake. Beside this man lay his dog, a mongrel cur
with a sneaking expression, that had gained some notoriety as a fighter.

As Coacoochee passed this group, though without paying any attention to
them, Salano called out to him in an insulting tone:

"Hello, Injun! whar did you steal that dog?"

If the young chief heard this question, he did not indicate by any sign
that he had done so; but continued calmly on his way.

Again Salano shouted after him. "I say whar did you steal that dog,
Injun?" then, with an oath, he added: "Bring him here; I want to look
at him."

Still there was no reply.

In the meantime the cur at Salano's feet was growling and showing his
teeth as he gazed after the retreating form of Ul-we.

At this juncture his master stopped, and pointing in the direction of
the staghound, said, "Go, bite him, sir!"

The cur darted forward, and made a vicious snap at Ul-we's hind legs,
inflicting a painful wound.

The temper of the big dog was tried beyond endurance. He turned, and
with a couple of leaps overtook the cur, already in yelping retreat.
Ul-we seized him by the back in his powerful jaws. There was a wild
yell, a momentary struggle, a crunching of bones, and the cur lay
lifeless in the dust. At the same moment the report of a rifle rang
out, and the superb staghound sank slowly across the body of his late
enemy, shot through the heart.

All this happened in so short a space of time that the double tragedy
was complete almost before Coacoochee realized what was taking place.

The moment he did so, he sprang to his faithful companion, and kneeling
in the dust beside him, raised the creature's head in his arms. The
great, loving eyes opened slowly and gazed pleadingly into the face of
the young Indian; with a last effort the dog feebly licked his hand,
and then all was over. Ul-we, the tall one, the noblest dog ever owned
and loved by a Seminole, was dead.

Over this pathetic scene the group about the groggery made merry with
shouts of laughter and taunting remarks. As Coacoochee, satisfied that
his dog was really dead, slowly rose to his feet, Salano jeeringly
called out, "What'll you take for your pup now, Injun?"

The next moment the man staggered back with an exclamation of terror
as the young Indian sprang to where he stood, and with a face distorted
by rage hissed between his teeth:

"From thy body shall thy heart be torn for this act! Coacoochee has
sworn it."

Even as he spoke, a pistol held in Salano's hand was levelled at his
head, and his face was burned by the explosion that instantly followed,
though the bullet intended for him whistled harmlessly over his head. A
young man who had but that moment appeared on the scene had struck up
the murderer's arm at the instant of pulling the trigger, exclaiming as
he did so:

"Are you mad, Salano!"

Then to Coacoochee he said: "Go now before further mischief is done.
The man is crazy with drink, and not responsible for his actions. I
will see that no further harm comes to you." Without a word, but with
one penetrating look at the face of the speaker, as though to fix it
indelibly on his memory, the young Indian turned and walked rapidly
away.

He had not gone more than a mile from town, and was walking slowly
with downcast head and filled with bitter thoughts, when he was roused
from his unhappy reverie by the sound of galloping hoofs behind him.
Turning, he saw two horsemen rapidly approaching the place where he
stood. At the same time he became aware that two others, who had made
a wide circuit under cover of the dense palmetto scrub on either side
of the road, and thus obtained a position in front of him, were closing
in so as to prevent his escape in that direction. He could have darted
into the scrub, and thus have eluded his pursuers for a few minutes;
and had he been possessed of his trusty rifle, he would certainly have
done so. But unarmed as he was, and as his enemies knew him to be, they
could easily hunt him out and shoot him down without taking any risk
themselves, if they were so inclined.

So Coacoochee walked steadily forward as though unconscious of being
the object toward which the four horsemen were directing their course.
He wished he were near enough to the hiding-place of his warriors to
call them to him, but they were still a couple of miles away, and even
his voice could not be heard at that distance. So, apparently unaware
of, or indifferent to, the danger closing in on him, the young Indian
resolutely pursued his way until he was almost run down by the horsemen
who were approaching him from behind. As they reined sharply up, one of
them ordered him to halt.

Coacoochee did as commanded, and turning, found himself again face to
face with Fontaine Salano, the man who but a short time before had
attempted to take his life.

CHAPTER VII

COACOOCHEE IN THE CLUTCHES OF WHITE RUFFIANS

As the young chief, obeying the stern command to halt, faced about, he
found himself covered by a rifle in the hands of his most vindictive
enemy. He knew in a moment that a crisis in their intercourse had
been reached, and almost expected to be shot down where he stood, so
malignant was the expression of the white man's face. Still, with the
wonderful self-control in times of danger that forms part of the Indian
character, he betrayed no emotion nor trace of fear. He only asked:

"Why should Coacoochee halt at the command of a white man?"

"Because, Coacoochee, if such is your outlandish name, the white man
chooses to make you do so, and because he wants to see your pass,"
replied Salano, sneeringly.

In the meantime the other riders had come up, and two of them,
dismounting, now stood on either side of the young Indian. In obedience
to an almost imperceptible nod from their leader, these two seized him,
and in a moment had pinioned his arms behind him. Coacoochee could
have flung them from him and made a dash for liberty even now. He did
make one convulsive movement in that direction; but like a flash the
thought came to him that this was precisely what his enemies desired
him to do, that they might thus have an excuse for killing him. So he
remained motionless, and quietly allowed himself to be bound.

At this a shade of disappointment swept over Salano's face, and he
muttered an oath. The truth was that, terrified by Coacoochee's recent
threat to have his life in exchange for that of Ul-we, which he had so
cruelly taken, the bully had determined to get rid of this dangerous
youth without delay, and had hit upon the present plan for so doing.
He had calculated that his victim would attempt to escape, or at least
offer some resistance. In either case he would have shot him down
without compunction, and afterwards if called to account for the act,
would justify himself on the ground that the Indian was transgressing
a law recently passed by the Legislature of Florida, which he, in his
character of Justice of the Peace, was attempting to enforce.

Still, his plan had not wholly failed, and he now proceeded to carry it
to an extremity.

"So you acknowledge that you hain't got no pass, do you, Injun? And are
roaming about the country, threatening white folks' lives, and doing
Lord knows what other deviltry on your own responsibility," he said.
"Now, then, listen to this." Drawing a paper from his pocket as he
spoke, the man read as follows:

"_An Act to prevent Indians from roaming at large throughout the
Territory_: Be it enacted by the Governor and Legislative Council of
the Territory, that from and after the passing of this act, if any
Indian, of the years of discretion, venture to roam or ramble beyond
the boundary lines of the reservations which have been assigned to
the tribe or nation to which said Indian belongs, it shall and may be
lawful for any person or persons to apprehend, seize, and take said
Indian, and carry him before some Justice of the Peace, who is hereby
authorized, empowered, and required to direct (if said Indian have
not a written permission from the agent to do some specific act) that
there shall be inflicted not exceeding thirty-nine (39) stripes, at
the discretion of the Justice, on the bare back of said Indian, and,
moreover, to cause the gun of said Indian, if he have any, to be taken
away from him and deposited with the colonel of the county or captain
of the district in which said Indian may be taken, subject to the order
of the Superintendent of Indian Affairs."

"Now, Mr. Injun, what have you got to say to that?" demanded Salano, as
he folded the paper and restored it to his pocket.

Although Coacoochee had not understood all that had just been read to
him, he comprehended that by a white man's law, an Indian might be
whipped like a slave or a dog, and his blood boiled hotly at the mere
thought of such an outrage. Still he replied to Salano's last question
with dignity and a forced composure.

"The Iste-chatte has not been told of this law. It is a new one to him,
and he has had no time to learn it. It was not put into the treaty.
Coacoochee is the son of a chief. If you lift a hand against him, you
lift it against the whole Seminole nation. If you strike him, the land
will run red with white men's blood. If you kill him, his spirit will
cry for vengeance, and no place can hide you from the fury of his
warriors. They will not eat nor drink nor sleep till they have found
you out, and torn the cowardly heart from your body."

"Oh come!" interrupted Salano, with an oath, "that will do. We don't
want to hear any more from you. This Injun is evidently a dangerous
character, gentlemen, and as a Justice of the Peace I shall deal with
him according to the law. We'll whip him first, and if that isn't
enough, we'll hang him afterwards."

The three men who accompanied Salano were his boon companions, and
were equally ready with himself to perform any deed of cruelty or
wickedness. They regarded an Indian as fair game, to be hunted and
even killed wherever found. Nothing would please them better than a
declaration of war against the Seminoles, and they were determined
to leave nothing undone to hasten so desirable an event. To whip an
Indian under cover of the law was rare sport, and the prospect of
hanging him afterwards filled them with a brutal joy. So they readily
obeyed the commands of their leader, and after fastening their horses
by the roadside, they threw a slip-noose over Coacoochee's head, and
drawing it close about his neck, led him a short distance within a
grove of trees, to one of which they made fast the loose end of the
rope. He was thus allowed to step a couple of paces in each direction.
Ripping his tunic from the neck downward with a knife, they stripped it
from his back, and all was in readiness for their devilish deed. Their
rifles had been left hanging to their saddles, but each man had brought
a raw-hide riding-whip with him, and these they now proposed to apply
to the bare back of their silent and unresisting victim.

"Ten cuts apiece, gentlemen!" cried Salano, with a ferocious laugh.
"That'll make the thirty-nine allowed by law, and one over for good
measure. I take great credit to myself for the idea of making the
prisoner fast by the neck only, and that with a slip-noose. He's
got plenty of room to dance, and if he looses his footing and hangs
himself, why, that'll be his lookout and not ours. At any rate, it will
be a good riddance of the varmint, and will relieve us from further
responsibility in the matter. I claim the first cut at him; so stand
back and give me room."

As the others moved back a few paces, the chief ruffian stepped up to
the young Indian, and laying the raw hide across the bared shoulders
as though to measure the width of the blow he was about to inflict, he
lifted it high above his head, saying as he did so:

"You'll cut my heart out, will you, Injun? We'll see now who is going
to do the cutting."

Then with a vicious hiss, the raw hide swept down with the full force
of the arm that wielded it.

There was no outcry and no movement on the part of the Indian, only his
flesh shrunk and quivered beneath the cruel blow, which left a livid
stripe across his shoulders.

That blow was to be paid for with hundreds of innocent lives, and
millions of dollars. It was to be felt throughout the length and
breadth of the land, and was to be atoned by rivers of blood. In a
single instant its fearful magic transformed the young Indian who
received it, from a quiet, peace-loving youth, with a generous,
affectionate nature, into a savage warrior, relentless and pitiless. It
gave to the Seminoles a leader whose very name should become a terror
to their enemies, and it precipitated one of the cruellest and most
stubbornly contested Indian wars ever waged on American soil.

Again was the whip uplifted, but before it could descend for a second
blow, the wretch who wielded it was dashed to the ground, and a white
man with blazing eyes stood over his prostrate figure. The newcomer
presented a cocked rifle at the startled spectators of the proceedings,
who had been too intent upon the perpetration of their crime to take
notice of his approach.

"Cowards!" he cried, in ringing tones. "Does it take four of you
to whip one Indian? Is this the way you continue a private quarrel
and gratify your devilish instincts? Bah! Such wretches as you are
a disgrace to manhood! You make me ashamed of my color, since it is
the same as your own. Did you not hear me give my word to this youth
that he should go in safety? How dared you then even contemplate this
outrage? Perhaps you thought that the word of an Englishman might be
defied with impunity. From this moment you will know better; for if
any one of you ever dares cross my path again, I will shoot him in his
tracks as I would any other noxious beast that curses the earth. Now
get you gone from this spot ere my forbearance is tempted beyond its
strength. Go back to the town, and there proclaim your iniquity, if you
dare. You will find few sympathizers in your attempt to precipitate an
Indian war, and deluge this fair land with blood. Go, and go on foot.
Your horses have already taken the road. Go, and if you even dare to
look back until out of my sight, a bullet from this rifle shall spur
your lagging pace. And you, Fontaine Salano, you brute of brutes, you
pariah dog, do you go with them. Away out of my sight, I say, lest I
cause this Indian to flay your bare back with the lashes you intended
for him."

[Illustration: THEN WITH A VICIOUS HISS THE RAWHIDE SWEPT DOWN WITH THE
FULL FORCE OF THE ARM THAT WIELDED IT.]

Whether the four men imagined that they were confronted by one bereft
of his senses, or whether they were indeed the cowards he called them,
it is impossible to say. Certain it is that they received the young
man's scathing words in silence, and, when ordered to leave, they took
their departure with a precipitate haste that would have been comical
under less tragic circumstances.

The stranger followed them to the edge of the wood, and watched them
until they disappeared in the direction of the town. Then he returned
to where Coacoochee, who had not yet seen the face of his deliverer,
still remained bound to the tree. As with a keen-edged knife he cut
the thongs confining the young Indian's arms, and the rope about his
neck, thus allowing the latter to face him, Coacoochee gave a start of
surprise. His new friend was the same who, but an hour or so before,
had saved him from Fontaine Salano's pistol in the streets of St.
Augustine.

CHAPTER VIII

RALPH BOYD THE ENGLISHMAN

The man who had thus so opportunely come to the rescue of Coacoochee
twice in one day was a remarkable character even in that land of
adventurers. Descended from a wealthy English family, well educated and
accomplished, he had sought a life of adventure, and after spending
some years in out-of-the-way corners of the world, had finally settled
down on a large plantation in Florida left to him by an uncle whom he
had never seen. Here he now lived with his only sister Anstice, who had
recently come out to join him.

Filled with a love for freedom and always ready to quarrel with
injustice in any form, he had, before even seeing his property, freed
his slaves and ordered his attorneys to discharge an oppressive
overseer who had mismanaged the plantation for some years. This man,
whom Ralph Boyd did not even know by sight, was no other than our
slave-catching acquaintance Mr. Troup Jeffers.

In that slave-holding community a man who chose to work his plantation
with free labor became immediately unpopular, and some of his neighbors
sought quarrels with him, in the hope of driving him from the country.
But they had reckoned without their host. Ralph Boyd was not to be
driven, as the result of several duels into which they forced him
plainly proved. He was a good shot, an expert swordsman, a capital
horseman, and was apparently without fear. Therefore it was quickly
discovered that to meddle with the young Englishman was to meddle
with danger, and that his friendship was infinitely preferable to his
enmity. He was of such a sunny disposition that it was difficult to
rouse him to anger on his own behalf, but he never permitted a wrong to
be perpetrated on the weak or helpless that lay within his powers of
redress. Thus a case of cowardly brutality like the present, and one of
which the possible consequences were so terrible to contemplate, filled
him with a righteous and well-nigh uncontrollable rage.

The Boyd plantation lay some forty miles from St. Augustine, and Boyd
had ridden into town that day on a matter of business. He had reached
it just in time to witness Salano's shooting of Ul-we. Filled with
indignation at the deed, and admiring the manner with which Coacoochee
confronted his tormentors, Boyd at once took the young Indian's part
and probably saved his life. Then he went about his own business. Some
time afterwards he learned by the merest accident of the departure
of Salano and his evil associates on the track of the young chief.
Fearing that they meditated mischief toward one to whom he had given
the promise of his protection, he procured a fresh horse and started in
hot pursuit.

Finding the four horses hitched by the roadside, and noting that each
man had left his rifle hanging to the saddle, Boyd took the precaution
of putting these safely out of the way, by the simple expedient of
cutting the horses loose and starting them on the back track before
entering the grove. Then, following the sound of voices, he made
his way noiselessly among the trees to the disgraceful scene of the
whipping. He had not anticipated anything so bad as this, and the sight
filled him with an instant fury.

Springing forward, rifle in hand, he stretched Salano on the ground
with a single blow, and then confronted the others. They all knew him,
and would rather have encountered any other two men. His very presence,
in moments of wrath, inspired terror, and when he gave them permission
to go, they slunk from him like whipped curs.

If Coacoochee was startled at sight of his deliverer, Boyd was no less
so at the frightful change in the face of the young Indian. It was no
longer that into which he had gazed an hour before. That was the mobile
face of a youth reflecting each passing emotion, and though it was even
then clouded by sorrow and anger, a little time would have restored its
sunshine. Now its features were rigid, and stamped with a look that
expressed at once intolerable shame and undying hate. The eyes were
those of a wild beast brought to bay and prepared for a death struggle.

The once fearless gaze now fell before that of the white man.
Coacoochee, proudest of Seminoles, hung his head. This man had
witnessed his shame and had at the same time placed him under an
obligation. The young Indian could not face him, and could not kill
him, so he stood motionless and silent, with his eyes fixed on the
ground.

Ralph Boyd appreciated the situation, and understood the other's
feelings as though they were his own, as in a way they were. They would
be the feelings of any free-born, high-spirited youth under similar
circumstances.

"My poor fellow," said Boyd, holding out his hand as he spoke, "I think
I know how you feel, and I sympathize with you from the bottom of my
heart. You will surely allow me to be your friend, though, seeing that
I have just made four enemies on your account. Won't you shake hands
with me in token of friendship?"

"I cannot," answered Coacoochee, in a choked voice. "You are a white
man. I have been whipped by a white man. Not until the mark of his blow
has been washed away with his blood can I take the hand of any white
man in friendship."

"Well, I don't know but what I should feel just as you do," replied
Boyd, musingly. "I have never before met any of your people, but have
been told that you were a treacherous race, without any notions of
honor or true bravery. Now it seems to me that your feelings in this
matter are very much what mine would be if I were in your place. Still,
I hope you are not going to lay up any bitterness against me on account
of what was done by another, even though we are, unfortunately, both
of the same color. I am curious to know something of you Indians, and
would much rather have you for a friend than an enemy."

"Coacoochee will always be your friend," answered the other, earnestly.
"Some day he will shake hands with you. Not now. With his life will he
serve you. A Seminole never forgives an injury, and he never forgets a
kindness. Now I must go."

"Hold on, Coacoochee; you must not go half naked and with that mark on
your back," exclaimed Boyd. "Here, I have on two shirts, and I insist
that you take one of them. With your permission I will take in exchange
this buckskin affair of yours that those villains cut so recklessly,
and will keep it as a souvenir of this occasion."

As he spoke, the young Englishman divested himself of his outer
garment, a tastefully made hunting-tunic of dark green cloth, and
handed it to Coacoochee. Without hesitation the Indian accepted this
gift, and put on the garment, which fitted him perfectly.

Then the two young men left the little grove in which events of such
grave import to both had just taken place, and walked to where Boyd had
left his horse.

Upon Coacoochee saying that he should go but a little further on the
road, the other declared an intention to accompany him, and so, leading
his horse, walked on beside the shame-faced Indian.

The more Boyd talked with Coacoochee, the more he was pleased with him.
He found him to be intelligent and modest, but high-spirited and imbued
to an exaggerated degree with savage notions of right and wrong, honor
and dishonor. To avenge a wrong and repay a kindness, to deal honorably
with the honorable and treacherously with the treacherous, to serve
a friend and injure an enemy, was his creed, and by it was his life
moulded.

At length they came to the place where the young Indian said he must
leave the road. As they paused to exchange farewells, the querulous
note of a hawk sounded from the palmetto scrub close beside them.
Coacoochee raised his hand, and as though by magic six stalwart
warriors leaped into the road and surrounded them.

Boyd made an instinctive movement toward his rifle, but it was checked
by the sight of a faint smile on his companion's face. At the same time
the latter said quietly:

"Fear nothing; they are my friends, and my friends are thy friends."

To the Indians he said in their own tongue, "Note well this man. He is
my friend and that of all Seminoles. From them no harm must ever come
to him."

Then he waved his hand, and the six warriors disappeared so instantly
and so utterly that the white man rubbed his eyes and looked about him
in amazement.

Turning, to express his surprise to Coacoochee, he discovered that the
young chief had also disappeared, and that he alone occupied the road.

CHAPTER IX

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE OF A SENTINEL

For a full minute Ralph Boyd stood bewildered in the middle of the
road. In vain did he look for some sign and listen for some sound that
would betray the whereabouts of those who, but a moment before, had
stood with him. The tall grasses waved and the flowers nodded before a
gentle breeze, but it was not strong enough to move the stiff leaves
of the palmetto scrub, nor was there any motion that might be traced
to the passing of human beings among their hidden stalks. From the
feathery tips of the cabbage palms came a steady fluttering that rose
or fell with the breathings of the wind, and in far-away thickets could
be heard the cooing of wood doves, and the occasional cheery note of a
quail, but no other sound broke the all-pervading silence.

All at once from a hammock growing at a considerable distance from
where the young man stood there came to his ears the thrilling sound of
a Seminole war-cry:

"Yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee yo-ho-ee-che!"

It was followed by another and another, until the listener counted
seven of the ominous cries in as many distinct voices, and knew that
they were uttered by the seven Indians who had stood with him in the
road.

Unaccustomed to the ways of red men, Boyd could not understand how they
had glided so noiselessly and swiftly away from him.

"It is like magic," he muttered, "and gives one a creepy feeling. What
a terrible thing a war with such as they would be in this country,
where everything is so favorable to them and so unfavorable to the
movements of troops. And yet war is the very thing toward which the
reckless course of politicians, slave-hunters, and land-grabbers
is hurrying the government. Well, I shan't take part in it, that's
certain, though my present duty as a white man is plainly to ride back
to St. Augustine and give the colonel information of this present band
of Indians. I wouldn't think of doing so, only for fear that, smarting
under the insult to that fine young fellow Coacoochee, they will seek
revenge and visit the sins of the guilty upon innocent heads. If
Coacoochee has only followed my advice and gone directly back to the
reservation, and to his own place, there won't be any trouble; but if
he is going to hang around here, trying to lift a few scalps, as I am
afraid he is, he may get himself into a fix from which I can't help
him."

It must not be supposed that Ralph Boyd had been standing in the middle
of the road all this time. He was in the saddle even before the sound
of the Indian war-cries informed him of the direction they had taken
and where they were. Directly afterwards he put spurs to his horse, and
during the latter part of his soliloquy was galloping rapidly back over
the road he had just come.

Although Boyd knew Salano to be a bitter and unscrupulous enemy, he had
no hesitation in returning to St. Augustine on his account, or for fear
of the others with whose cruel sport he had so summarily interfered. He
did not believe they would dare publish what they had done, or care to
acknowledge that they had been driven off and compelled to forego their
intentions by a single man.

To satisfy himself on this point, he made a few inquiries on reaching
the city, and finding that nothing was known of the recent adventure,
he went to the colonel commanding the small garrison stationed in the
city and informed him of the presence near it of an armed band of seven
Indian warriors. He also expressed his fear that they intended mischief
to some of the plantations along the St. John's.

The colonel listened attentively to all that he had to say and thanked
him for the information. Darkness had fallen by this time, and it was
too late to do anything that night, but the officer promised to send
out a scouting party of twenty troopers at daylight. In the meantime
he begged that Boyd would remain as his guest over night, and in the
morning consent to guide the troops to the place where he had seen
the Indians, which the latter readily agreed to do. He did this the
more willingly because he had learned that the scouting party was to
be commanded by Irwin Douglass, a young lieutenant with whom he had
formed a pleasant acquaintance, and who had already visited him at the
plantation.

When, after an early and hurried cup of coffee with the colonel and
Douglass the following morning, Boyd joined the soldiers, to whom for
a short distance he was to act as guide, he was amazed to find that
Fontaine Salano had applied for and received permission to accompany
them. He wondered at this as the troop clattered noisily with jingling
sabres and bit-chains out of the quiet old town. Was Salano's hatred of
the young Indian whom he had so cruelly wronged so bitter that he was
determined to seize every opportunity for killing him? Boyd could think
of no other reason why the man, naturally so indolent, should undertake
this forced march with all the discomforts that must necessarily attend
it.

The spring morning was just cool enough to be exhilarating. The fresh
air was laden with the perfume of orange groves, and from their green
coverts innumerable birds poured forth their choicest melody. The
cavalry horses, in high spirits from long idleness, pranced gaily along
the narrow streets and were with difficulty reined to a decorous trot.

Once free from the town and out in the broad plain of sand and
chaparral that lay beyond, the pace was quickened, and for several
miles the troop swung cheerily along at a hand gallop, with polished
weapons and accoutrements flashing brightly in the rays of the newly
risen sun.

A halt was called at the place where Boyd had encountered the Indians,
and scouts were sent in search of signs. These easily found the camp
from which Coacoochee had started on his visit to town the morning
before, and finally discovered a fresh trail leading to the west or
toward the St. John's.

It was not easy for the troops, inexperienced in Indian warfare, to
follow this on horseback, and they soon lost it completely. This did
not greatly disturb Lieutenant Douglass; for, being satisfied that the
plantations along the river were the objective points of those whom he
was pursuing, he determined to push on toward them without losing any
time in attempting to rediscover the trail.

That evening they reached the great river and encamped near it without
having discovered any further Indian sign, or finding that the few
widely scattered settlers had been given any cause to suspect the
presence of an enemy.

During that night, however, two startling incidents occurred. The first
of these was the complete and mysterious disappearance of one of the
sentinels who guarded the camp. He had been stationed not far from the
edge of the forest, but within easy hail of his sleeping comrades. The
sergeant had given him particular cautions regarding the dangers of
his post, and warned him to be keenly alert to every sound, even the
slightest. He had answered with a laugh, that his ears were too long
to permit anything human to get within a rod of him without giving him
warning, and he declared his intention of firing in the direction of
any suspicious sound.

So they left him, and an hour later the corporal of the guard, visiting
the post, found it vacant. In the darkness it was useless to hunt
for the missing sentry, and so, without giving a general alarm, the
corporal detailed another sentinel to the place of the missing man, and
remained with him on the post until morning. They neither saw nor heard
anything to arouse their suspicions, but as soon as daylight revealed
surrounding objects, they could readily note signs of a struggle at one
end of the beat paced by their unfortunate predecessor.

There were no traces of blood, nor in the trail of moccasined feet
leading away from the spot could any imprint of the heavy cavalry
boots worn by the missing soldier be found. The trail led to a small
creek that emptied into the river just above the camp, but there it
ended. Both banks of this creek were carefully examined for a mile up
and down, but they revealed no sign to denote that they had ever been
trodden by human feet.

There was nothing more to be done. The man was reported as missing,
and a riderless horse was led by one of the troopers on that day's
march,--but this mysterious disappearance and unknown fate of their
comrade served to open the eyes of the soldiers to the dreadful
possibilities of Indian warfare.

CHAPTER X

FONTAINE SALANO'S TREACHERY AND ITS REWARD

Another mysterious happening of that first night out was well
calculated to exercise a depressing effect on the men and to transform
the contempt they had hitherto felt for Indians into a profound respect
not unmixed with fear. Fontaine Salano slept rolled in his blanket not
far from the lieutenant in command of the party, and within the full
light of a camp-fire. Toward morning, however, this fire had burned so
low that it shed but little light, and the place where Salano lay was
buried in shadow.

When he awoke at the first peep of dawn, he was puzzled by the
appearance of a number of strange objects that rose from the ground
close by his head. He examined them curiously, but his curiosity was
in an instant changed to horror when he discovered them to be seven
blood-stained Indian arrows thrust into the ground, three on each side
of where his head had lain and one at the upper end of his couch. This
one bore impaled on its shaft the bloody heart of a recently killed
deer, the significance of which was so plain that no one could fail to
understand it.

The mere fact that the Indians had thus been able to penetrate
undetected to the very centre of a guarded camp invested them in the
eyes of the men with supernatural powers. The effect on Salano was
precisely what Coacoochee had intended it should be. To feel that he
had been completely within the power of one who had sworn to have his
life and had only been spared as a cat spares a mouse, that she may
prolong its torture for her own pleasure, filled the wretch with a
terror pitiful to behold.

He begged Lieutenant Douglass to return at once to St. Augustine or at
least to send him back under escort. The officer politely regretted his
inability to comply with either of these requests, saying that it would
be contrary to his duty to retire from that part of the country until
satisfied that the Indians had left it, and that he dared not weaken
his little force by detailing any men for escort duty.

The man displayed such abject cowardice that finally, more out of
disgust than pity, Ralph Boyd offered to accompany him back to the
city, and to his surprise, Salano accepted the offer eagerly. As they
were both volunteers, Douglass had no authority for detaining them,
though he protested against the undertaking, and tried to persuade them
of its dangers. Ralph Boyd only laughed, and even Salano intimated
a belief that the Indians would devote themselves to watching the
movements of the scouting party, so that to remain with them would be
to remain in the vicinity of greatest danger.

The lieutenant said that he should remove his command only a short
distance, to a better and more secure camping-ground that he knew of
not very far from Boyd's plantation, over which he promised to keep
especial watch. He intended to remain at that place until he learned
something definite regarding the movements of the Indians, and there
Boyd promised to rejoin him on the following day.

Camp was broken, and the clear bugle notes of "boots and saddles" were
ringing on the still morning air as Boyd and Salano rode away from the
camp on the return trail to St. Augustine. They rode in silence; for
one entertained too great a contempt for the other to care to talk with
him, and Salano was perfecting a plan for obtaining one portion of the
revenge upon which his mind was intent.

They had not proceeded thus more than two miles, when they came to a
narrow gully through which they were obliged to ride in single file,
and here Salano, with an exaggerated show of politeness, dropped
behind, allowing Boyd to take the lead.

The latter rode unsuspectingly ahead for a few rods, and then, not
hearing the sound of the other's horse behind him, turned to see if he
were not coming.

The sight that met his eyes was so unexpected and terrible that for
an instant it rendered him incapable of thought or action. Salano,
dismounted from his horse, was slowly raising a rifle and taking
deliberate aim at him. He could see the cruelly triumphant expression
on the swarthy face. In that instant of time he also saw a flashing
figure with uplifted arm leap from the underbrush behind Salano. Then
all became a blank.

When next Ralph Boyd was able to take an interest in the affairs of
this world, he was lying in the shade of a tree, two horses were
cropping the grass near him, and a strange, wild-looking figure was
dashing water in his face.

"What does this mean? What has happened?" Boyd inquired faintly.

"Wal, cap'n," answered the stranger, in unmistakable English, pausing
in his occupation and drawing a long breath. "I'm almighty glad you
ain't dead. The Injun said you warn't, but I wouldn't be sure of it
myself till this very minute. As to what's happened, I'm a leetle mixed
myself, but it's something like this: Some red villians was about to do
for me when you come along and stopped 'em. Then a white villian was
about to do for you, when one of the red villians stopped him, or at
any rate he stopped the worst of it; then the red villian did for the
white villian, and did it almighty thorough too."

At this juncture Boyd again closed his eyes and seemed about to lapse
once more into unconsciousness, whereupon the stranger began again to
dash water vigorously in his face.

There was a stinging sensation and a loud buzzing in the young man's
head. Salano's murderous aim had been slightly disconcerted, at the
moment of firing, by a fierce yell in his very ear. At the instant of
pulling the trigger Coacoochee's terrible knife had been buried to the
hilt in his body. The would-be murderer sank dead without a groan,
while his intended victim escaped with a scalp wound which, though not
dangerous, was sufficient to deprive him of his senses for some time.

When he had sufficiently recovered his strength to be able to sit up,
and after he had listened to these details of his own narrow escape, he
looked curiously at his companion and asked him who he was. It is no
wonder that he did not recognize the strange figure; for though the man
wore a pair of army trousers, he had Indian moccasins on his feet, was
bare-headed, and naked to the waist. Half his face as well as half of
his body was painted red and the other half black.

In this manner did the Seminoles prepare their bodies for death, and to
those who understood its meaning, this combination of the two colors
had a very grim significance. Fortunately for the man's peace of mind,
he had not understood why this form of decoration was applied to him,
though his fears that his life was in danger had been very fully
aroused.

In answer to Ralph Boyd's questions, he told his story as follows:
"I'm not surprised that you don't recognize me, cap'n; for I'm not
quite sure that I'd recognize myself. Still, whatever I may be to-day,
yesterday I was private Hugh Belcher of Company B, Second Regiment
United States Dragoons."

"What!" exclaimed Boyd, "are you the sentry who disappeared last night?"

"That's who I am, sir," replied the other, "much as my present
appearance would seem to point again its being true. How the Reds crept
upon me without me hearing a sound of their coming is more than I can
tell, for I've always bragged that my ears were as sharp as the next
man's. However, they did it, and the first I knew of their presence was
when a blanket was flung over my head and I was tripped up. I don't
know how many of 'em had me, but there was enough, anyway, to hold me
fast, and tie me and get a gag into my mouth, so that I couldn't make
a sound. Then they pulled off my boots, put moccasins on my feet, and
made me go along with them.

"After awhile we came to this place, and here, as soon as it got light,
they stripped me and painted me and tied me to a tree, and was just
getting ready to give me a thrashing with a lot of switches they'd cut,
though Lord knows I hadn't done nothing to rile 'em, when all of a
sudden you and Mr. Salano hove in sight.

"I was faced that way and see Mr. Salano when he dropped off his horse
and drawed a bead on you. I'd a hollered, but the gag was still in my
mouth, so I couldn't. When the head Injun see what was taking place
though, he gave one spring out of the brush, and landed on Mr. Salano's
back like a wildcat. At the same time he let loose a yell fit to raise
the dead. The gun went off just as he yelled, and you tumbled out of
the saddle like you was killed.

"When the head Injun saw that, he run up to you first and dragged you
to this place. Then he run back to Mr. Salano and stooped over him
like he was feeling of his heart to see if he was dead. When he riz
up again, he fetched another yell and called out something in his own
lingo about Ul-we. Then the rest crowded around him, and he talked to
them for about a minute.

"After that they come back and cut me loose, and the head Injun,
pointing to you, said in English, 'You are free. Care for him. He is
not dead. Tell him Coacoochee's heart is no longer heavy. He will go
to his own people. If the soldiers want him, let them seek him in
the swamps of the Okeefenokee.' Then, without another word, they all
disappeared, and I set to work to bring you to."

Thus was the death of Ul-we, the tall one, atoned for in heart's blood,
and thus was the stripe on Coacoochee's back washed out with the blood
of him who had so wantonly inflicted it. Thus, also, did Coacoochee
save the life of his friend and punish the would-be assassin who had
so planned his cowardly revenge upon Ralph Boyd that the act would be
credited to the Indians.

With the accomplishment of this deed of just retribution, Coacoochee
and his warriors disappeared from that part of the country, nor were
they again seen there for many months.

CHAPTER XI

THE SEMINOLE MUST GO

The Seminoles must be removed. The clamor of the land-speculator, the
slave-hunter, and a host of others interested in driving the Indian
from his home had at length been listened to at Washington, and the
fiat had gone forth. The Seminoles must be removed to the distant
west--peaceably if possible, but forcibly if they will not go otherwise.

A new treaty had been made by which the Indians agreed to remove to the
new home selected for them, provided a delegation of chiefs appointed
to visit the western land reported favorably concerning it. These went,
saw the place, and upon their return reported it to be a cold country
where Seminoles would be very unhappy.

Upon hearing this, the Indians said that they would prefer to remain
where they were. Thereupon the United States Government said through
its commissioners that it made no difference whether they wanted to go
or not; they must go.

In the meantime, outrages of every kind were perpetrated upon the
Indians. The whipping of those discovered off the reservation, that
was begun with Coacoochee, was continued. Several Indians were thus
whipped to death by the white brutes into whose cowardly hands they
fell. The system of withholding annuities and supplies was continued,
and the helpless Indians were recklessly plundered right and left.

General Andrew Jackson, who was now President, had no love for Indians.
He had in former years wronged them too cruelly for that, while
teaching them lessons of the white man's power. He therefore appointed
General Wiley Thompson of Georgia, as the Seminole agent, and ordered
him to compel their removal to the far west without further delay. He
also sent troops to Florida, and these began to gather at Fort Brooke
and Tampa Bay under command of General Clinch.

It was evident that the Seminoles must either submit to leave the sunny
land of their birth, their homes, and the graves of their fathers, or
they must fight in its defence, and for their rights as free men. If
they consented to go west to the land that those chiefs who had seen it
described as cold and unproductive, they would find already established
there their old and powerful enemies, the Creeks, who were eagerly
awaiting their coming, with a view to seizing their negro allies and
selling them into slavery. It was evident that a fight for his very
existence was to be forced upon the Seminole in either case, and it
only remained for him to choose whether he would fight in his own
land, of which he knew every swamp, hammock, and glade, and of which
his enemy was ignorant, or whether he should go to a distant country,
of which he knew nothing, and fight against an enemy already well
acquainted with it.

This was the alternative presented to the warriors of Philip Emathla's
village assembled about their council fire on a summer's evening a few
weeks after that with which this history opens.

On Coacoochee, now sitting in the place of honor at the right hand of
the chief his father and earnestly regarding the speaker who laid this
state of affairs before them, the weeks just passed had borne with the
weight of so many years. During their short space he had passed from
youth to manhood. Having directed the search for himself that followed
the death of Salano, toward the Okeefenokee, while his village lay in
exactly the opposite direction, he had escaped all intercourse with the
whites from that time to the present. But from that experience he had
returned so much wiser and graver that his advice was now sought by
warriors much older than he, while by those of his own age and younger
he was regarded as a leader. Thus, though still a youth in years, and
though he still reverenced and obeyed his father, he was to all intents
the chief of Philip Emathla's powerful band.

It was in this capacity that the speaker, to hear whom this council
was gathered, evidently regarded him, and it was to Coacoochee that his
remarks were especially directed.

This speaker was a member of a band of Seminoles known as the Baton
Rouge or Red Sticks, who occupied a territory at some distance from
that of King Philip. His father, whom he had never known, was a white
man, but his mother was the daughter of a native chieftain, and though
he spoke English fluently, he had passed all of his twenty-eight
years among the Seminoles, and they were his people. Although not a
chief, nor yet regarded as a prominent leader, he was possessed of
such force of character and such a commanding presence that he had
acquired a great influence over all the Indians with whom he was thrown
in contact. His name was Ah-ha-se-ho-la (black drink), generally
pronounced Osceola by the whites, who also called him by his father's
name of Powell.

This dauntless warrior was bitterly opposed to the emigration of his
tribe, and was anxious to declare war against the whites rather than
submit to it. He believed that the Seminoles, roaming over a vast
extent of territory abounding in natural hiding-places, might defend
themselves against any army of white soldiers that should undertake to
subdue them for at least three years. Could the conflict be sustained
for that length of time without the whites gaining any decided
advantages, he declared they would then give up the struggle and allow
the Indians to retain their present lands unmolested.

Osceola was now visiting the different bands of the tribe, preaching
this crusade of resistance to tyranny. As he stood before Philip
Emathla and his warriors, with his noble figure and fine face fully
displayed in the bright firelight, they were thrilled by his eloquence.
With bated breath they listened to his summing up of their grievances,
and when he declared that he would rather die fighting for this land
than live in any other, they greeted his words with a murmur of
approving assent.

Never had Coacoochee been so powerfully affected. The sting of the
white man's whip across his shoulders was still felt, and he was choked
with the sense of outrage and injustice inflicted upon his people. His
fingers clutched nervously at the hilt of his knife and he longed for
the time to come when he might fight madly for all that a man holds
most dear.

As his gaze wandered for a moment from the face of the speaker, it
fell on a group just visible within the circle of firelight. There sat
the beautiful girl to whom he had so recently plighted his troth, and
beside her Chen-o-wah, the daughter of a Creek chief and his quadroon
squaw. She was the wife of Osceola, and the one being in all the world
whom the fierce forest warrior loved.

For a moment Coacoochee's determination wavered as he reflected what
these and others equally helpless would suffer in a time of war. There
came a memory of the manner in which Nita's mother and brother had been
consigned to slavery by the white man. No word had come from them, but
he could imagine their fate. Might not the same fate overtake her most
dear to him and hundreds of others with her? Would it not be better for
them to incur the dangers and sufferings of war rather than those of
slavery? Yes, a thousand times yes.

And then, perhaps the whites were not so very powerful, after all.
Their soldiers, so far as he had seen them, were but few in number,
and moved slowly from place to place. He and his warriors could travel
twenty miles to their five. Besides, there were the vast watery
fastnesses of the Everglades and the Big Cypress in the far south, to
which the Indians could always retreat and into which no white man
would ever dare follow them. Yes, his voice should be raised for war,
no matter how long it might last, nor how bloody it might be, and the
sooner it could be begun, the better. But he must listen, for Philip
Emathla was about to speak.

CHAPTER XII

CHEN-O-WAH IS STOLEN BY THE SLAVE-CATCHERS

The aged chieftain rose slowly and for a moment gazed lovingly and in
silence at those gathered about him; then he said: "My children, we
have listened to the words of Ah-ha-se-ho-la, and we know them to be
true. But he has spoken with the voice of a young man. He sees with
young eyes. My eyes are old, but they can look back over many seasons
that a young man cannot see. They can also look forward further than
his, and see many things. I have seen the great council of the white
man, and his warriors. I have seen his villages. His lodges are more
numerous than the trees of the forest, and his numbers are those of the
leaves of countless trees. To fight with him would be like fighting the
waves of the great salt waters that reach to the sky. If we should kill
one, ten would spring up to take his place. For a hundred who may fall,
a thousand will stand. He is strong, and we are weak. Let us then live
at peace with him while we may. Let us meet him in council and tell him
how little it is that we ask. There is a land beyond Okeechobee, the
great sweet water, that the white man can never want, but where the
red man could dwell in peace and plenty. Let him leave this to us, and
we will ask no more.

"If he will not do this, then let us fight. Never will Philip Emathla
consent to go to the strange and distant land of the setting sun. If it
is a better land than this, as the white man tells us, why does he not
go there himself and leave us alone? It is a cold country. My people
would die there. It is better to die here and die fighting.

"The white chief at Fort King calls us together for one more talk with
him. Philip is old. He cannot travel so far, but Coacoochee shall go in
his place. He will speak wisely, and if peace can be had, he will find
it. If there is no peace, if the Seminole must fight, then who will
fight harder or more bravely than Coacoochee? At his name the white
man will tremble, and his squaws will hide their faces in fear. The
enemies of Coacoochee will fall before him as ripe fruit falls before
the breath of Hu-la-lah (the wind). He will kill till he is weary of
killing. His footsteps will be marked with blood. Rivers of blood shall
flow where he passes. I am old and feeble, but Coacoochee is young and
strong. From this day shall he be a war-chief of the Seminoles. Philip
Emathla has spoken."

At this announcement there came a great shout of rejoicing, and as the
council broke up, the warriors crowded about Coacoochee to tell him
how proud they would be to have him lead them in battle.

After the tumult had somewhat subsided, Osceola, who had not hitherto
spoken directly to Coacoochee, stepped up to him. The two young men
grasped each other's hands, and gazed earnestly in each other's face.
Finally Osceola, apparently satisfied with what he saw, broke the
silence, and said:

"We are brothers?"

"We are brothers," answered the young war-chief, and thus was made a
compact between the two that was only to be broken by death.

The following morning, Coacoochee, with a small escort of warriors, set
forth, in company with Osceola and Chen-o-wah, to travel to the village
of Micanopy, head chief of the Seminoles, there to hold another council
before going to Fort King for a talk with the agent.

In Micanopy's village they found assembled a large number of Seminole
warriors, and many of the sub-chiefs of the tribe. This council was
a grave and momentous affair. It was to decide the fate of a nation,
and its deliberations were prolonged over two days. Micanopy, the head
chief, was old, corpulent, and fond of his ease. He loved his land and
hated the thought of war. He was greatly disinclined to remove to the
west, but it was not until urged and almost compelled by the younger
men, especially Coacoochee and Osceola, that he finally declared
positively that he would not do so.

His utterance decided the majority of the council. They would fight
before submitting to removal, but on one pretext and another they would
gain all possible time in which to prepare for war.

It was also announced at this council that any Seminole who should
openly advocate removal, and should make preparations for emigrating,
should be put to death.

In all the council there was but one dissenting voice. It was that of a
sub-chief named Charlo, who had been raised to the head of a small band
by the agent, in place of an able warrior who was an uncompromising
enemy of the whites. This petty chief spoke in favor of removal,
and ridiculed the suggestion that the tribe could hold out for any
length of time against the overwhelming power of the white man. He was
listened to with impatience, and many dark glances were cast at him as
he resumed his seat.

Three days later some fourteen chiefs, accompanied by a large number
of their people, were encamped near Fort King, and active preparations
were going forward for the great talk that was to be held that
afternoon.

On the morning of that day, a thick-set, evil-looking man, whom the
reader would at once recognize as his old acquaintance Mr. Troup
Jeffers the slave-trader, sat in the agent's office engaged in earnest
conversation with General Wiley Thompson.

"Thar ain't no doubt about it, gineral," he was saying. "She's easy
enough identified, and I'll take my affidavy right here that she's the
gal Jess who run away from old Miss Cooke's place two year ago. You've
got a list of all them niggers and their description, as well as the
order from Washington for their capture and deliverin' up. You know
you have, and when I tell you what this gal looks like, you see if she
don't answer the description exactly."

"Yes, sir, I've no doubt," answered the agent, wearily, for of the
many trials of his difficult position, the importunities of the
slave-hunters who besieged him at all hours were the greatest. "I don't
doubt what you say, and I'll give you an order for the girl which you
can present to the chiefs. If they give her up, well and good; but if
they won't, why they won't, that's all, and matters are too critical
just now for us to attempt to force them."

"All right, gineral," replied Mr. Jeffers, with a triumphant glitter in
his cruel little eyes. "The order is all I want, and I'll get the gal
without putting you or anybody else to a mite of trouble."

Thus saying, the trader took the slip of paper handed him by the agent,
and left the office.

Like a vulture scenting the carnage from afar, the slave-trader hearing
that the Seminoles and their negro allies were about to be removed,
had hastened to the scene of action, determined in some way to secure a
share of the peculiar property in which he dealt, before it should be
placed beyond his reach.

In the Indian camp he had seen several good-looking young women in
whose veins he was convinced flowed negro blood, and he decided that
his purpose would be served by securing one or more of these. Going to
the agent with the trumped-up story of having thus discovered a runaway
slave girl, he obtained the coveted order for her restoration to her
lawful owner. Armed with this, he proceeded to carry out his wicked
design.

His plan was very simple, and to put it into operation, he repaired to
the store of the post trader. It was located in a grove of live oaks,
some distance beyond the stockade, and was hidden from view of those in
or near the fort. To it, groups of Indians, men, women, and children,
found their way at all times for the purchase of such supplies as they
needed and could afford.

Rogers, the storekeeper, whose conscience from a long dealing with
and cheating of Indians was as calloused and hardened as that of Mr.
Jeffers himself, was not above turning what he called an honest penny
by any means that came in his way. Therefore when the slave-trader
explained his business, showed the agent's order, and offered Rogers
ten dollars to assist him in recapturing his alleged property, the
latter readily consented to do so.

Troup Jeffers was almost certain that one or more of the young women
whom he had noticed in the Indian camp would visit the store at some
time during the day, and so he waited patiently the advent of a victim.

At length, late in the afternoon, when most of the Indians were
attracted to the scene of the council, then in session, a squaw was
seen to approach the store. She was one of those whom Mr. Jeffers had
selected as suitable for the slave market, and the instant he observed
her he exclaimed to the storekeeper:

"Here comes the very gal I'm after--old Miss Cooke's Jess. I'll just
step into the back room, and if you can persuade her to come in there
to look at something or other, we'll have her as slick as a whistle."

"All right," responded Rogers, who a minute later was waiting on his
customer with infinitely more politeness than he usually vouchsafed to
an Indian.

She desired to purchase some coffee and sugar with which to surprise
and please her husband when he returned to his lodge after the council
should be ended, and the storekeeper easily persuaded her to enter the
other room, where he said his best goods were kept.

As the unsuspecting woman bent over a sugar barrel, she was seized from
behind, and her head was enveloped in a shawl, by which her cries were
completely stifled.

A few minutes later, bound and helpless, she was lifted into a light
wagon and driven rapidly away.

Half an hour afterwards, a boy who worked for the storekeeper remarked
to his employer:

"I should think you would be afraid of Powell."

"What for?" asked Rogers.

"Why, for letting that man carry off his wife," was the reply.

Thus did the storekeeper receive his first intimation that the alleged
runaway slave girl was Chen-o-wah, the adored wife of Osceola.

CHAPTER XIII

"WILEY THOMPSON, WHERE IS MY WIFE?"

While the wife of Osceola was thus being kidnapped and consigned to
slavery, he, ignorant of the blow in store for him, was participating
in a far different scene. Just outside the gateway of the fort, in
an open space of level sward, the great council upon which so much
depended was assembled. At one side of a long table sat General Clinch,
commanding the army in Florida, with the officers of his staff standing
behind him. Beside him sat General Wiley Thompson, the agent, red-faced
and pompous, Lieutenant Harris, the United States disbursing agent,
who was to conduct the Indians to their western homes, and several
commissioners. All the officers were in full uniform, and presented a
brave appearance. Behind them were two companies of infantry, resting
at ease on their loaded muskets, but ready to spring into action at a
moment's notice. Just inside the gateway of the fort the guns of its
light battery were charged to the muzzle with grape and canister, ready
for instant service. This was one side of the picture.

On the opposite side of the table from the whites sat or stood a group
of Indian chiefs, sullen, determined, and watchful. Too many times
already had the white man cheated them. They would take care that he
should not do so again. They had learned by bitter experience how
lightly he regarded such treaties as conflicted with his interests.
They knew the value of his false promises and fair words.

A little in front of the others sat Micanopy, head chief of the tribe,
and close behind him, so that they could whisper in his ear, stood
Coacoochee and Osceola. Grouped about them were Otee the Jumper, Tiger
Tail, Allapatta Tustenugge, the Fighting Alligator, Arpeika, or Sam
Jones, Black Dirt, Ya ha Hadjo, the Mad Wolf, Coa Hadjo, Halatoochee,
Abram, the negro chief, Passac Micco, and many others. Behind them
stood one hundred warriors, tall, clean-built fellows, lithe and
sinewy, their bare legs as hard and smooth as those of bronze statues.
Concealed in a hammock, but a short distance away, was another body of
warriors held in reserve by Coacoochee, who had thought it best not to
display the full strength of his force at once.

The old men, women, and children had been left in camp not far from the
trader's store. Here everything was prepared for instant flight in case
the council should terminate in an outbreak.

The proceedings were opened by General Thompson, who stated that he had
thus called the Indians together that they might decide upon a day
when they would fulfil their promise contained in the treaty of Payne's
Landing, and set forth for their new home in the west. He had prepared
a paper setting forth the conditions of removal, which he now wished
all the chiefs to sign.