Gesturing to them to sit, he said “A-pok-es-chay,” or “All sit down!” They read the gesture but not the words. However, because of their condition they preferred to stand. After he tossed their clothes to the ground the Indian signed for them to spread the garments to dry again and then, turning, he walked swiftly out of sight.
“This is a nice fix,” said Tom. “What will Mr. Neale do when he sees the sloop gone and doesn’t find us?”
“He will think Sam has made off with us—or that Tom has been so scared that he helped Sam,” Nicky declared.
As a point of truth, Mr. Neale at almost that moment gave up his waiting vigil, and with dejected shoulders bent to the oars for a long, grilling pull across the Sound. His purpose was to try to reach some revenue guards or others who could help him to overtake the Treasure Belle.
They were not to meet their chief again for some time!
They dressed when their clothes were dried. The first effort they made to retrace the way down the trail was met by the appearance of the Seminole; he was on guard if not always visible.
Seated, dejectedly idle, the chums waited. A brief exploration by Cliff toward the side of the trail they had not traversed yielded no way of escape. It ended at another water path, this one going off from what might be a transfer and landing dock, off toward the North.
“That’s where the Indians come with their own canoes,” Cliff told his companions.
“But where do they take the liquor?” Nicky wondered. “Up at the north of the Everglades there isn’t anything much.”
“Just the place to load trucks, I suppose,” Cliff surmised.