Oluski's dwelling, in his place of permanent abode, was a more
pretentious affair than the wigwam temporarily inhabited by him at Tampa
Bay.
This eastern residence was an old Indian town that had been built long
before the Spaniards had landed in Florida, and in it his people, for
many generations, had dwelt.
The chief having returned from an extended hunting excursion, was
pleased to find himself once more beneath his paternal roof.
Doubly pleased; for he had brought back with him his nephew, Wacora,
who, thinking of his pretty cousin, had accepted his uncle's invitation
with alacrity.
Behold them, then, with pipes lighted, seated inside the house, Sansuta
in attendance.
Wacora watched the lithe-limbed maiden; as she flitted to and fro,
engaged in household duties, he thought her as attractive as ever. A
certain consciousness on her part of the fact, in no way detracted from
her beauty.
"I am pleased, nephew," said Oluski, "pleased to see you here again. I
feel that I am no longer young, the support of your arm in a wearying
day's march has been very welcome."
"It is always at your service, uncle."
"I am sure of it. If Oluski thought otherwise he would be unhappy.
Your cousin, Sansuta," addressing his daughter, "came to see you as much
as to bear me company. You should thank him for it."
"I do."
"Wacora is thanked already in the smile of welcome that met him in
Sansuta's eyes."
The young girl blushed at the delicate compliment, and, going out, left
the two chiefs together.
"You tell me, Wacora, that the affairs of your tribe are prosperous, and
that there is peace and harmony in your council chamber?"
"Yes, uncle, the same as in my father's lifetime."
"That is well, for without that there is no real strength. So it is
with us."
"You have told me nothing of the pale-faces at Tampa Bay."
"They are our firm friends still. In spite of your fears, Wacora, to
the contrary, Rody and the colonists are true to their promises."
"I am pleased to hear Oluski say so," was the nephew's reply.
"I did not tell you that he had made an offer to buy the hill."
"To buy the hill! What hill?"
"That on which we make our annual encampment. We call it Tampa after
the bay."
"Indeed! He wants that, too?" rejoined the young chief, in a tone
savouring of indignation.
"Yes; I called our council together, and told them of the offer."
"And their answer?"
"The same as my own; they refused."
Wacora gave a sigh of relief.
"When I carried that answer to the white he was not angry, but met me
like a friend."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; he pressed upon my acceptance rich presents, and told me that
Oluski's friendship was worth more than land."
"But you refused the presents," said the young Indian, eagerly.
"I could not; my old friend would take no denial. Fearing to offend
him, I yielded."
The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of an Indian, one of
the warriors of the tribe.
"What does Maracota want?" asked Oluski.
"To speak to Wacora, the chief."
Wacora desired him to express his wishes in the presence of his uncle.
"Marcota must speak to Wacora alone, if Oluski will allow it."
Oluski made a sign to his nephew, who rising, followed the man outside
the door.
"Wacora must follow me further," signified the Indian.
"Go on, I will do so."
Maracota led the way, and only paused in his walk when he had got some
distance from the dwelling.
"Has Wacora faith in Maracota?"
The young chief started at the question which his guide had put to him
in a tone of strange earnestness.
"Yes. I have faith in you."
"And he would serve Oluski, our chief?"
"With my life!"
"Sansuta is dear to Oluski."
Again Wacora started. Maracota's words were enigmatical.