Chapter Seventeen.
Over Confidence.
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.”