“What do you mean?”
“Simply that if I tried to ‘convert’ them, they’d have little use for me—dead or alive.”
“You mean they’d do away with you?”
“Literally, yes.” Osceola laughed at the expression on Bill’s face. “But don’t worry—I understand them, and so long as I let them alone, they’ll love me. Anyway, you and Sam and I can do with a couple of days’ rest, you know, before we start out for the Big Cypress.”
“I agree with you on that. Gee, this sun is getting hotter than hot. How about going up to your abode? I haven’t sprung my idea yet.”
“Why, that’s so, old man. Certainly, come along—I want to hear what you’ve got to say.”
Once in the dim shelter of the chief’s house, the two sat cross-legged on the central table and Bill opened the conversation.
“Where’s Sam?”
Osceola shook his head amusedly. “Gone off to see how the squaws make that stew. We don’t need him. Spill the good old beans, Bill.”
“Well—your plan is to take your fighting men across the Glades and clean out the diggings, isn’t it?”