“But thy life was so full of promise, and they whom thou lovest will miss thee so terribly.”

“If my life had promise, then is that promise fulfilled in my death.  For those left to mourn I am truly grieved.  It is for them that, while I am still able to speak, I would ask a favor of thee, Ta-lah-lo-ko.”

“Name it, my brother, and if it be a thing within my power to compass, it shall be granted, even according to thy wish,” answered Rene.

A grateful smile lighted the face of the dying lad, and Rene felt a faint pressure of the hand clasped in his, as Has-se said, almost in a whisper, so weak was he becoming,

“Thou hast lost thy people:  my people are losing a son.  Take thou my place.  Be to the old chief, my father, a son, faithful and true, and to Nethla a brother.”

Then after a pause, during which he gasped painfully for breath, he added, and a questioning look passed over his face—­“And thou wilt wear the Flamingo Feather?”

“Gladly will I be thy poor substitute for son and brother to those who are dearest to thee, if they will accept of me as such,” answered Rene.  “As to the Flamingo Feather, didst thou not say that its wearing was reserved for the chiefs and sons of chiefs of thy people?”

Very faint came the reply, “One adopted of a chief is adopted to all the honors of an own son.  His wearing of the chief’s token is a sign that he will never leave nor desert his father until death shall part them.  Ha—­”

The effort of making this explanation was too great for the weakened frame of the dying lad, and it was followed by such a terrible flow of blood from the wound that those who witnessed it made sure that the end had come.

But once again the tender eyes were opened, and once more came the words to Rene de Veaux, faint but clear,

“And thou wilt wear the Flamingo Feather?”

“I will, Has-se!  I will!” exclaimed the boy, choked by the great sobs that at length came to his relief—­“and with my life will I be true to its meaning.”

A smile passed over the face of the dying lad, and there came into it such a look of great joy and perfect peace that it was glorified in the eyes of those who saw him.  Then Rene felt once more the gentle pressure of his hand and heard one soft sigh.

With its utterance the brave soul of Has-se (the Sunbeam) took its flight, and, at the same moment, the sun sank from view, amid the unspeakable glories of the western sky.

[Illustration:  Death of Has-se.]

Very tenderly they lifted the lifeless form, and carefully laying it in the bottom of a canoe, resumed that journey towards the land of the Alachuas which had been thus sorrowfully interrupted.

The withdrawal of the arrow that had pierced Has-se’s body had caused him the most intolerable agony; but he had borne it without a murmur, and only his drawn features and clinched hands had indicated his sufferings.  A stream of his life’s blood that could not be wholly checked had followed the arrow upon its removal, and the same day that witnessed his receipt of the wound also witnessed his death.