ted everything to Socato, even though he had never seen or
heard of the Seminole before. Something about the voice of the Indian
convinced the boy that he was honest, for all that his darkness was such
that Frank could not see his face and did not know how he looked.

The Indian sent the canoe through the water with a speed and silence
that was a revelation to Frank Merriwell. The paddle made no sound, and
it seemed that the prow of the canoe scarcely raised a ripple, for all
that they were gliding along so swiftly.

"Where are you going?" whispered Frank, observing that they were leaving
the camp-fire astern.

"White boy trust Socato?"

"If I didn't, I shouldn't be here. Of course, I do."

"Then keep cool. Socato take him round to place where we can come up
behind bad white men. We try to fool 'um."

"Good!"

The light of the camp-fire died out, and then, a few moments later,
another camp-fire seemed to glow across a strip of low land.

"See it?" whispered the Indian, with caution.

"Yes. What party is camped there--friends of yours, Socato?"

"Not much!"

"Who, then?"

"That same fire."

"Same fire as which?"

"One bad white men build."

Frank was astonished.

"Oh, say! how is that? We left that fire behind us, Socato."

"And we have come round by the water till it is before us again."

This was true, but the darkness had been so intense that Frank did not
see how their course was changing.

"I see how you mean to come up behind them," said the boy. "You are
going to land and cross to their camp."

"That right. They won't look for us that way."

"I reckon not."

Soon the rushes closed in on either side, and the Indian sent the canoe
twisting in and out amid their tall stalks like a creeping panther. He
seemed to know every inch of the way, and followed it as well as if it
were broad noonday.

Frank's admiration for the fellow grew with each moment, and he felt
that he could, indeed, trust Socato.

"If we save that girl and the old man, you shall be well paid for the
job," declared the boy, feeling that it was well to dangle a reward
before the Indian's mental vision.

"It is good," was the whispered retort. "Socato is poor."

In a few moments they crept through the rushes till the canoe lay close
to a bank, and the Indian directed Frank to get out.

The camp-fire could not be seen from that position, but the boy well
knew it was not far away.

Taking his bow, with the quiver of ar