“See!” cried Wacora, “they are prepared for our reception. The robbers have determined to maintain themselves in their stolen possession.”
“Yes, yes! I see. But let us not act rashly. We will first make an appeal in the name of justice. If they refuse that, then we must prove ourselves worthy the blood in our veins! worthy of our ancestors! Oh, I would rather be lying among them in yonder graveyard than that this should have arisen! The fault has been mine, and upon me let fall the punishment. Come on!”
They reached the central block-house, and were summoned to a halt by one of the settlers, who, gun in hand, stood by the entrance.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Oluski answered—
“White man, go tell your governor that Oluski, the Seminole chief, would speak with him.”
The sentinel answered sharply—
“The governor is not here. He is at his house, and cannot be disturbed.”
Wacora’s hand clutched his tomahawk. Oluski perceiving the act, laid hold of his nephew’s arm.
“Patience, Wacora, patience! The time for bloodshed will come soon enough. For my sake be patient.”