UNDER THE LIVE OAKS
"See!" said Keela shyly. "It is the camp of my people."
It lay ahead, a fire-blot in the darkling swamp, a primitive mirage of
primitive folk, of palmetto wigwams and log-wheel fires among the live
oaks of a lonely island.
Keela's wagon presently forded a shallow creek and crossed an island
plain. Thence it came by a winding road to the village, where, with
the halting of the wagon, the travelers became the hub of a vast and
friendly wheel of excitement.
Hospitable hands were already leading Keela's horses away when Mr.
Poynter rode sedately into camp and, descending to terra firma in the
light of the nearest camp fire, guilefully proceeded to assure himself
of a welcome and immediate attention by spectacular means; he simply
unwound the hullabaloo.
Cymbals clashed, the drum cannonaded fearfully and to the sprightly
measures of "The Glowworm," the Indians who had collected about Keela's
wagon to stare at Diane, decamped in a body to the side of Mr. Poynter,
who smiled and proceeded in pantomime to make friends with all about
him.
This, by virtue of the entertaining music-machine, was not difficult.
Having exhausted the repertoire of the hullabaloo, he initiated the
turbaned warriors into the mystery of unwinding tunes, thereby
cementing the friendship forever.
The general din and excitement grew fearful. Presently the Thunder-Man
was warmly assigned a wigwam, made of palmetto and the skins of wild
animals above a split-log floor, to which he retired at the heels of
Sho-caw, a copper-colored young warrior who had learned a little
English from the traders.
Already rumor was rife among the staring tribe that Diane had strayed
from the legendary clan of beautiful Indians in the O-kee-fee-ne-kee
wilderness. The assignment of her wigwam, therefore, had been made
with marked respect.
Here, as the Indian camp settled into quiet and the fires died lower,
as the wild night sounds of the Glades awoke in the marsh outside,
Diane lay still and wakeful and a little frightened. Wilderness and
Seminole were still primeval. The world seemed very far away. The
thought of the music-machine brought with it somehow a feeling of
security.
With the broad white daylight, courage returned. From her wigwam Diane
watched the silent village, wrapped in fog, wake to the busy life of
the Glades. Somber-eyed little Indian lads carried water and gathered
wood, fires brightened, there was a pleasant smell of pine in the
morning air. Later, by Keela's fire, she furtively watched Philip ride
forth with a band of hunters.
So at last in the heart of the wildwood, among primitive folk whose
customs had not varied for a century, Diane drank deep of the wild,
free, open life her gypsy heart had craved. There were times when a
great peace dwarfed the memory of the moon above the marsh; there were
times when the thought of Ronador and Philip sent her riding wildly
across the plains with Keela; there were still other times when a
nameless disquiet welled up within her, some furtive distrust of the
gypsy wildness of her blood. But in the main the days were quiet and
peaceful.
"It is a wild world of varied color and activity," she wrote to Ann.
"The trailing air plants in the trees beside my wigwam weave a dense,
tropical jungle of shadow shot with sunlight. Keela's wigwam lies but
a stone's throw beyond. It is lined with beaded trinkets, curious
carven things of cypress, pots of dye made of berries and barks, and
pottery which she has patterned after the relics in the sand mounds.
There is an old chief with all the terrible pathos of a vanishing race
in his eyes. I find in his wistful dignity an element of tragedy. He
is very kind to Keela and talks much of her in his quaint broken
English.
"Moons back, he declares, when E-shock-e-tom-isee, the great Creator,
made the world of men by scattering seeds in a river valley, of those
who grew from the sand, some went to the river and washed too pale and
weak--the white man; some, enough--the strong red man; some washed not
at all--the shiftless black man. But Keela came from none of these.
"Ann, the squaws are _hideous_! Their clothes, an indescribable
_potpourri_ of savage superstition and stray inklings (such as a
disfiguring bang of hair across the forehead, a Psyche knot and a full
skirt) from the white man's world of fashion--years back. The pounds
and pounds of bead necklaces they wear give the savage touch. I don't
wonder Keela's delicate soul rebelled and drove her to the barbaric
costume of a chief. It is infinitely more picturesque and beautiful.
"There are thrilling camp fire tales of Osceola, the brilliant,
handsome young Seminole chief who blazoned his name over the pages of
Florida history, but here among Osceola's kinsmen, pages are
unnecessary. The sagas of the tribe are handed down from mouth to
mouth to stir the youth to deeds of daring. Keela, like Osceola, had a
white father and a Seminole mother. Ann, I sometimes wonder what
opportunity might have done for Osceola. As great as Napoleon, some
one said. What might opportunity do for this strange, exotic flower of
Osceola's people? She has brains and beauty and instinctive grace
enough to startle a continent. I am greatly tempted. Ann, I beg of
you, don't breathe any of this to Aunt Agatha. Some day I may carry
Keela away to the cities of the North for an experiment quite my own.
Her delicate beauty--her gravity--her shy, sweet dignity, hold me
powerfully. It would make life well worth the living--the regeneration
of a life like hers.
"No, I am not mad. If I am, it is a delicious madness indeed, this
craving to do something for some one else. I need the discipline of
thinking for another.
"I don't know when you will get this. Once in a while an Indian rides
forth to civilization, and this letter will perforce await such a
messenger. I wrote to Aunt Agatha from the little hamlet where Johnny
is waiting with the van. I know she is fussing.
"You wrote me something in one of your letters, that Dick and Carl were
planning to camp and hunt wild turkeys in the Glades. Let me know what
luck they had and all the news.
"Ever yours,
"Diane."
Now, if Diane proved readily adaptable to the wild life about her, no
less did Philip. At night he smoked comfortably by his camp fire,
unwound the hullabaloo upon request or lent it to Sho-caw. He rode
hard and fearlessly with the warriors, hunted bear and alligator,
acquired uncommon facility in the making of sof-ka, the tribal stew,
and helped in the tanning of pelts and the building of cypress canoes.
Presently the unmistakable whir of a sewing machine which Sho-caw had
bought from a trader, floated one morning from Philip's wigwam. Keela
reported literally that Mr. Poynter had said he was building himself a
much-needed tunic, though he had experienced considerable difficulty in
the excavation of the sleeves.