came to the end of their task, and had thus rendered
useless the last of the fleet, a wild yell of disappointed rage close
at hand warned them that their enemies were upon them, and that only
the most instant and speedy flight could save them from their hands.

The Seminoles had uttered their yell of disappointed rage at seeing, by
the moonlight, the flashing paddles of those canoes that had already
departed; for they did not at first discover the three who had lingered
to destroy or render useless the canoes of their own fleet. As these
sprang into the only one they had left uninjured, and shot out from the
shore, the Seminoles uttered loud cries of exultation, and rushed to
the hiding-place of their fleet, in order that they might follow and
capture these three who were now so widely separated from their fellows.

When they discovered what had been done to their canoes, and that they
were indeed useless, their fury knew no bounds, and they sent flight
after flight of arrows whizzing after those who had thus outwitted
them. Many of these struck the canoe; but all, save one, fell as
harmless to its occupants as so many drops of rain.

The one barbed shaft that sped so truly on its fatal mission was
delivered with all the strength of venomous hate, just as the canoe was
passing out of the lagoon, and beyond bow-shot. It struck the gentle
Has-se between the shoulders, and, piercing his body, protruded its
keen point from his breast. With a sharp cry the poor lad dropped his
paddle, and sank into the bottom of the boat.

At this moment the others dared not stop; but, with hearts torn with
anguish at seeing their best and bravest thus stricken, they paddled
on, until they had rejoined their party and passed beyond the reach of
Seminole pursuit.

A few hours later, on a grassy point that projected into the river,
which was flecked by glints of the sunlight the lad had loved so well,
and which sifted down upon him through the moss-draped branches of a
venerable oak, Has-se (the Sunbeam) lay dying. Beside him, and holding
one of his hands, sat Rene de Veaux, so numbed by this great and sudden
sorrow that even the comfort of tears was denied him, and his eyes were
dry and strained.

"Oh Has-se, Has-se!" he cried. "To think that it is for me that thy
life is given, and that for my sake only thou art lying here thus
stricken to thy death!"

"Grieve not so sorely, Ta-lah-lo-ko, my brother. A brave warrior fears
no