The water grew shallow on both sides of the channel and the grass more dense. The Indian rose to his toes and peered above the grass tops as they neared the hammock.
"Echu!" he said presently, reaching for his rifle. "Deer ojus on hammock."
Silently the dugout crept toward the high ground, the Indian parting the saw grass to peer ahead. They were fifty yards from it when Willy began to fire and at the third shot a tiny buck leaped up and crashed down in the palmetto scrub, where it had fancied itself concealed.
It was near the end of the day now and the phenomena of the tropical sunset served to add to the desolation of the scene. Tiny clouds rode in the sky, multicolored from the sun, for all the world as if painted upon the blue above. The west was livid with scarlet and orange flame, and on the hammock the tops of the trees were rosy in the sunset.
Higgins and Payne set to work to dress the deer while Willy proceeded to build a Seminole camp. On the highest ground of the hammock he dug a fire hole, and radiating from it like spokes from the hub of a wheel he dug three small ditches. With his ax he swiftly constructed three sleeping benches of branches, building them close to the central fire hole. Then he built his main fire of short logs in the fire hole. In each of the little ditches he threw long logs, their ends in the fire.
Payne and Higgins watched him, expertly appreciative of his novel woodcraft.
"It was a shame to take this country away from his kind," said Higgins.
"They know how to live in it—and like it."
Payne nodded. He was looking back over the watery waste through which they had come.
"You got your tract located?" asked Higgins.
Payne pointed out over the saw grass waving above the drowned land on the southern side of the hammock.