The White Squaw

CHAPTER ONE.

A DEADLY INTRODUCTION.

The last golden gleams of the setting sun sparkled across the
translucent waters of Tampa Bay. This fading light fell upon shores
fringed with groves of oak and magnolia, whose evergreen leaves became
gradually darkened by the purple twilight.

A profound silence, broken by the occasional notes of a tree-frog, or
the flapping of the night-hawk's wings, was but the prelude to that
wonderful concert of animated nature heard only in the tropical forest.

A few moments, and the golden lines of trembling light had disappeared,
while darkness almost palpable overshadowed the scene.

Then broke forth in full chorus the nocturnal voices of the forest.

The mocking-bird, the whip-poor-will, the bittern, the bell-frog,
grasshoppers, wolves, and alligators, all joined in the harmony incident
to the hour of night, causing a din startling to the ear of a stranger.

Now and then would occur an interval of silence, which rendered the
renewal of the voices all the more observable.

During one of these pauses a cry might have been heard differing from
all the other sounds.

It was the voice of a human being, and there was one who heard it.

Making his way through the woods was a young man, dressed in half-hunter
costume, and carrying a rifle in his hand. The cry had caused him to
stop suddenly in his tracks.

After glancing cautiously around, as if endeavouring to pierce the thick
darkness, he again advanced, again came to a stop, and remained
listening. Once more came that cry, in which accents of anger were
strangely commingled with tones appealing for help.