The bow was bent, the line was taut, the arrow was drawn to the head, and then——
Twang! The arrow sped through the air, but it was too dark for them to follow its flight with their eyes. With their hearts in their mouths, they awaited the result.
Of a sudden, the ruffian uttered a cry of pain, released his hold on the girl, and fell heavily to the ground.
The firelight showed the arrow sticking in his shoulder.
"Ugh!" grunted a voice close beside the canoe. "Very good shot for a white boy. Not many could do that."
The trio turned in amazement and alarm, and, within three feet of them, they saw a shadowy canoe that contained a shadowy figure. There was but one person in the strange canoe, and he immediately added:
"There is no need to fear Socato, the Seminole, for he will not harm you. He is the friend of all good white men."
It was an Indian, a Seminole, belonging to the remnant of the once great nation that peopled the Florida peninsula. Frank realized this in a moment, and, knowing the Seminoles were harmless when well treated, felt no further alarm.
The Indian had paddled with the utmost silence to their side, while they were watching what was taking place on shore.
The arrow had produced consternation in the camp. The fellow who was wounded tried to draw it from his shoulder, groaning: