The White Squaw Part 8

It was, however, in his features that the difference was chiefly apparent.

In the att.i.tude he had a.s.sumed, a ray of sunshine piercing a break between the trees, illumined his countenance.

Instead of the coppery colour of the Indian, his skin was of a rich olive, an unmistakeable sign that white blood flowed in his veins.

He was remarkably handsome. His features were regular, well defined, and admirably chiselled. His eyes were large and l.u.s.trous, overarched by a forehead that denoted the possession of intellect.

Like the old man, he wore a plume of eagle's feathers on his head, as also a wampum belt; but in lieu of a blanket, a robe made of skin of the spotted lynx was thrown over his shoulders.

Oluski was the first to speak.

"Must Wacora depart to-day?" he asked.

"At sunset I must leave you, uncle," replied the youth, who was his nephew, already spoken of as Wacora.

"And when do you return?"

"Not till you come back from Tampa Bay. I have still much to do. My father's death has still placed me in a position of trust, and I must not neglect its duties."

"I and my tribe depart from this place in seven days."

"And Nelatu, where is he?" asked Wacora.

"I expected him ere this. He and Red Wolf went away together."

Oluski was ignorant of what had happened.

"They went upon a hunting excursion, and if not able to return in time, were to go on to the bay, and there await our coming."

"You still make your summer encampment upon the hill. I have not seen it since I was a boy. It is a shame, too, since out people are buried there."

"Yes; and, therefore, it is dear to you as to me."

"And yet the whites have a settlement near it. It was your gift to them, uncle, I remember that."

Wacora said this with an accent that sounded almost sneering.

The old chief answered warmly.

"Well, I owed their chief a debt of grat.i.tude, I paid it. He is my friend."

"_Friend_!" said Wacora, with a bitter smile; "since when has the pale-face been a friend to the red man?"

"Still unjust, Wacora. I thought you had changed. The foolish sentiments of youth should give place to the wisdom of age."

Oluski's eye brightened as he spoke. His heart swelled with n.o.ble feelings.

"I do not, will not, trust in the white man!" answered the young chief.

"What has he done to our race that we should believe in him? Look at his acts and then trust him if you can. Where are the Mohawks, the Shawnees, the Delawares, and the Narragansets? How has the white man kept faith with them?"

"All white men are not alike," responded Oluski. "A pale-face befriended me when I required aid. The deed always weighs against the word. I could not be ungrateful."

"Well, Oluski's grat.i.tude has been proved," returned Wacora. "But let him beware of those on whom it has been bestowed."

The old chief did not answer, but stood in an att.i.tude of thought.

Ideas, slumbering till now, were awakened by Wacora's words. An unknown feeling appeared to gain possession of him.

So contagious is mistrust.

The nephew, too, seemed lost in thought. Still lying upon the ground he idly plucked the petals of a flower growing by his side.

The conversation was at length resumed by his uncle.

"I have nothing to charge the white chief with or his people. Our tribe yearly visits the place. We are welcomed on arrival, respected during our stay, and unmolested at leaving. No, Wacora, these white men are not like others."

"Uncle, all white men are the same. They make their homes in our land.

When s.p.a.ce is needed, the Indian must yield to them. What faith or friendship can exist where there is no equality? Do not the Seminoles suffer at this very moment from the white man's ambition? Are not their hunting grounds profaned by his presence--their towns pillaged for his fancied wrongs? Your _friend_ is a white man, and, therefore the enemy of your race."

Wacora spoke pa.s.sionately.

The Indian is not always a savage. The reverse is often the case. In every tribe there are men of education, of quick intelligence, and with a high sense of right.

Both Oluski and Wacora were superior men, in the sense that education and natural intelligence gave the stamp of superiority over ignorance and superst.i.tion.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

SANSUTA.

As we have said, Wacora had white blood in his veins.

His mother was a Spaniard, the daughter of a planter, who had lived near the town of Saint Augustine.

Almost a child at the time of her capture, she eventually forgot her own kindred, and became devoted to the chief who had been her captor.

It ended in her becoming his wife, and the mother of Wacora.

Albeit that in Wacora's veins white blood flowed, his soul was Indian, and he loved his father's people as if he had been of their purest blood.

He was a patriot of the most enthusiastic stamp.

His judgment, clear in most things, was clouded in estimating the qualities of the white race, simply because he had seen the worst phases of their character, its cupidity and selfishness.

Oluski would have answered his companion's address, but the same train of disagreeable thought that had entered his mind at the first part of Wacora's speech held him silent.

Wacora proceeded.