Charley saw that now, if ever, was the time to clear his little party from the natural suspicion of the Seminole. He sat down on the couch opposite and his honest blue eyes met the other's keen, black ones unwaveringly. "The Seminoles, once a mighty people, have grown as few in number as the deer in the forest," he began, falling naturally into the speech of the Indians. "Yet, few though they became, there walked among them, at least, one of their race whose heart and mind was like the night when the moon shines not and clouds have hid the stars. One day this evil one rose up and slew a harmless white settler. The wise men of the tribe took counsel together, saying, 'times are changing, we will turn him over to the law of the white men.' The ears of the Little Tiger may have heard whispered the name of the white settler's slayer."
The Indian's eyes were gleaming with scorn and hatred. "Injun Charley," he hissed.
"The white men judged the slayer of the settler according to their laws. They sent him to ha shackled with chain and iron ball and do heavy, squaw-work in misery the balance of his years. They did not say because this Indian was bad that all Seminoles were slayers of white men."
The young Indian started up and began to speak, but Charley silenced him with a gesture and gravely continued.
"No, these judges were not fools to believe that a whole people should be judged by the crimes of one, or a few of its race. Among the paleface race were brother, squaw, and father murderers, in great numbers, not because the white race is worse than the red, but because they exceed the red men in number as the leaves exceed the trunks of the tree."
"With the bad Indian, serving out a lifetime of work and exile, were eleven white men just as bad. When those that watched them had their eyes turned away, the twelve plotted. One night they rose up and murdered the guards, took their guns and ponies, and, under the lead of the bad Indian, came as the crow flies for here, where were camped myself and three companions, seeking only the bird that bears plumes upon its back. The balance you know," he concluded, gravely. "As brother to brother, should the Seminoles be judged by the slayer of whites, or the white hunters by lawless murderers whose color is the same as theirs?"
During Charley's short argument, the suspicion had fled from the young chieftain's face. At the conclusion, he drew himself up proudly erect and extending his hand spoke the one English word he knew that stood with him for friendship and confidence,—"How."
"How," said Charley cheerfully, giving the offered hand a hearty shake. "Now let's get outside and take a look. As soon as they have finished with your followers, I expect the bad men to come down upon us."
Short as had been the time they had spent in the lean-to, a great change had taken place at the scene of the battle. The firing had ceased from all the canoes but one, and even as they looked, a rifle cracked, the canoe's occupant half rose, then crashed down over its side, and the last Seminole rifle was silenced.
The pall of smoke had drifted away from the point, revealing a terrible sight, twenty-nine canoes or dugouts drifted on the quiet water at the mercy of wind or current, some floated bottom upward, others' sides were punctured and splintered with innumerable bullets. Here and there was one splotched and spotted with the crimson life-blood of its heroic defender. Not a sign of life was visible amongst the little squadron. As Charley looked, one of the convicts ventured out from his place of concealment and with a long branch, drew the nearest canoe in to shore. With a coil of rope in one hand, he jumped in and shoved out amongst the drifting craft. His errand was easy to be guessed, to make fast to the drifting canoes and tow them all in to shore.