answered, modestly.

I should have recognized in his way of talking, which was neither
Jamaica nor American negro, the Seminole influence. Now this further
light upon his past accounted for the many ways he had shown himself a
woodsman; things that had astonished and pleased me, since I had not
looked for them in a seafaring man who later became a fisher of
sponges. It brought me a feeling of greater assurance for the task ahead
of us, because Smilax, with an Indian training added to his stupendous
strength, would be scout, warrior, pack-horse, all in one; really, an
invaluable asset.

The chart that should have come in the second boat--with Tommy, alas,
and Bilkins--was missing, but I remembered pretty well the lay of the
land and knew that the island area began only a short distance south of
our Cove. This I discussed with Smilax, who added light by his general
knowledge--hearsay, for the most part. Yet when I suggested leaving our
things cached where they were while we made a reconnoissance, he
strenuously objected.

"Lady maybe fifteen, twenty, mile 'way," he said. "We take camp 'long."

"That's very well if you take it," I laughed, "but I've no idea of
lugging that stuff half over Florida. Why not carry the things we need?"

"Maybe need all," he answered, then smiled: "Camp light."

At this he arose with a subtle power that reminded me of a huge black
leopard and began making our things into a pack. Never had I seen,
anywhere from Newfoundland to the Rockies, a bundle of duffle more
skillfully arranged, and I said with no small degree of admiration:

"I'd take off my hat to you, Smilax, if the storm hadn't blown it away!"

He grinned, feeling the praise if not understanding its medium; then
asked:

"We go now?"

"Let's wait half an hour to see if the _Whim_ comes in sight," I told
him. "There's a lot to talk over, anyway, before we start. For one
thing, if we get separated how shall we find each other?"

"If you lose me, you hunt good place to wait, and wait. Me find you."

For some time we discussed other details. Finally I asked:

"How far down in those islands do you think they are?"

He was sitting with his knees drawn up, his arms crossed upon them, and
now let his forehead, too, rest there in meditation.

"One place," he slowly answered, "no white hunter ever get. Injuns know
it, but 'fraid to go 'cause evil spirit live there--near mouth of river
Seminole call Il-lit; in white man tongue, mea