Far away from the scenes of sorrow, suffering, savage cruelty, and savage rejoicing of which the shadowy depths of the great swamp were witness, in the pleasant land of the Alachuas, the close of the second day after the one on which Rene de Veaux had been held a prisoner into the Seminole village presented a picture of peace and happy contentment.  A light breeze sweeping across the broad savannas brought with it the odors of countless flowers; from the moss-hung trees many birds poured forth their evening songs in floods of melody, and all nature was full of beauty and rejoicing.

In the camp of deerskin lodges and palmetto huts clustered beneath the grand trees, and occupied by those Indians who acknowledged the good old Micco as their chief, all were in the open air enjoying the cool of the evening.  The hunters had returned from the chase laden with game, and now lay in comfortable attitudes on the soft grass, indulging in a well-earned rest.  The women were busy about the fires, preparing the evening meal, and the children frolicked among the lodges or around the edge of the great spring, as free from care and as happy as the birds above their heads.  From the bank of the river but a short distance away came the shouts of a party of lads who were bathing in the clear waters.  To these the Indian mothers listened with a certain anxiety, fearful lest they should hear the shrill cry of warning that would announce the presence of Allapatta, the great alligator.

In the middle of the camp stood a lodge larger and taller than the others, and surmounted by the plume of eagles’ feathers that showed it to be that of the chief.  In front of this lodge, seated on outspread robes, and gravely smoking their long-stemmed pipes, were the old chief Micco, several of the principal men of his tribe, and Yah-chi-la-ne, the young Alachua chief.  Behind the old chief, and ready to do his slightest bidding, stood a tall, slender, but remarkably handsome youth, in whose hair was braided a scarlet feather that shone against the dark tresses like a vivid flame.  His face was lighted with a quick intelligence, and he evidently took a keen interest in the subject which the others were discussing, though, as became his years, he took no part in their conversation.

At length the old chief turned to the lad with a kindly smile and said, “What is thy opinion, my brave Bow-bearer?  Can there be enmity between these white friends of thine and others of their own color who also come from across the great waters?”

Very proud of having his opinion thus asked, Has-se—­for it was none other than the beloved Indian friend of Rene de Veaux—­answered, modestly,

“It seems to me not unlikely that there should be.  Do not different tribes of our own race and color often war against one another?”

“Well answered, my son,” replied the chief; “thou art right, and I am inclined to believe that what we have just learned is only too true.  If it be, then am I deeply grieved for the sad fate of those who were our friends.”