a's wagon presently forded a shallow creek and crossed an island
plain. Thence it came by a winding road to the village, where, with
the halting of the wagon, the travelers became the hub of a vast and
friendly wheel of excitement.

Hospitable hands were already leading Keela's horses away when Mr.
Poynter rode sedately into camp and, descending to terra firma in the
light of the nearest camp fire, guilefully proceeded to assure himself
of a welcome and immediate attention by spectacular means; he simply
unwound the hullabaloo.

Cymbals clashed, the drum cannonaded fearfully and to the sprightly
measures of "The Glowworm," the Indians who had collected about Keela's
wagon to stare at Diane, decamped in a body to the side of Mr. Poynter,
who smiled and proceeded in pantomime to make friends with all about
him.

This, by virtue of the entertaining music-machine, was not difficult.
Having exhausted the repertoire of the hullabaloo, he initiated the
turbaned warriors into the mystery of unwinding tunes, thereby
cementing the friendship forever.

The general din and excitement grew fearful. Presently the Thunder-Man
was warmly assigned a wigwam, made of palmetto and the skins of wild
animals above a split-log floor, to which he retired at the heels of
Sho-caw, a copper-colored young warrior who had learned a little
English from the traders.

Already rumor was rife among the staring tribe that Diane had strayed
from the legendary clan of beautiful Indians in the O-kee-fee-ne-kee
wilderness. The assignment of her wigwam, therefore, had been made
with marked respect.

Here, as the Indian camp settled into quiet and the fires died lower,
as the wild night sounds of the Glades awoke in the marsh outside,
Diane lay still and wakeful and a little frightened. Wilderness and
Seminole were still primeval. The world seemed very far away. The
thought of the music-machine brought with it somehow a feeling of
security.

With the broad white daylight, courage returned. From her wigwam Diane
watched the silent village, wrapped in fog, wake to the busy life of
the Glades. Somber-eyed little Indian lads carried water and gathered
wood, fires brightened, there was a pleasant smell of pine in the
morning air. Later, by Keela's fire, she furtively watched Philip ride
forth with a band of hunters.

So at last in the heart of the wildwood, among primitive folk whose
customs had not varied for a century, Diane drank deep of the