The moonbeams reveal a band of broad-shouldered, copper-colored
aborigines, who once ruled over the whole of this fair peninsular.
They are returning, with packs of supplies strapped upon their backs,
from a trading journey to the city of Kissimmee, where they have
exchanged the fruits of their hunting for many-colored calicos,
ammunition, and alas for the once-noble red men! fire-water. They had
left their canoes when they could no longer be floated, and are now
returning in this, the only possible manner, to their fertile oasis,
protected from the white men by many miles of bogs into which all foot
travelers would sink to unknown slimy depths and death.

On they come in single file, hand over hand from tree to tree, their
long legs dangling in the air, led by Tiger-tail, the chief of the
survivors of the most intelligent and powerful of all the Indian
tribes. Suddenly the leader stops, gives the low cry of the Ring-dove,
which halts his followers, and suspended in air, gazes at the sleeping
form of a young white man, reclining, with his rifle beside him, on
a hammock which rises dry and grass-covered above the surrounding
morasses.

Motioning his band to follow, the chief drops noiselessly beside the
sleeper, stealthily seizes the gun, revolver, and bowie-knife of the
helpless victim, hands them to others, and shouts "Humph, wake up!"
The pale-face reaches for his weapons, and finding them gone, jumps to
his feet, gazing without flinching at his stalwart captors.

"Who you be?" grunted the chief. "What for you here?"

"I am Henry Lee of Lawtey," was the calm reply, "and I am hunting."

"Humph, you white man hunt Seminole from earth. You no right here. You
my prisoner; follow me, my slave."

As resistance was useless, the youth silently obeys, climbing hour
after hour until his arms seemed about to be wrenched from their
sockets. At last, just as the rising sun shot his lances of light
through the forest's gloom, the chief drops to solid earth, followed
by all.

A romantically beautiful scene lies before them. No longer the
styx-like waters; the funereal realms of Pluto have vanished, and an
elevated plateau appears, partially cleared. Here and there graceful
palms, tall, slender cocoanut and orange trees laden with fruit;
sparkling springs; abundant harvests of varied crops; picturesque
wigwams and huts, fair as the garden of the Lord. A pack of dogs
started to yelp, but at once slunk away at a word from t