The White Squaw Part 20

It was late ere they separated, the negro hobbling back in the direction of the ruin, while Wacora returned to his uncle's dwelling.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A LOVE MEETING.

The old fort, as already said, was in a ruinous condition.

It had at one time been a stronghold of the Spaniards, but on their quitting that part of the country, it had been suffered to fall into decay.

Early in the morning succeeding Wacora's interview with Crookleg, two persons stood conversing near the inner wall of the ruin.

They were Sansuta and Warren Rody.

The Indian girl had stolen from her father's house unnoticed by the few early risers, and with cautious steps had gained the fort.

Warren's presence at such a distance from Tampa Bay, as well as Crookleg's attendance upon him, were thus explained:--

"I am very grateful to you, Sansuta, for coming here to meet me."

"I am afraid I have done wrong."

"Wrong! What can you mean?"

"That I am deceiving my father, my kind father; but it is for the last time."

"The last time?"

"Yes, I have determined that this shall be our last meeting. I could not endure my father's reproaches, if he knew that I betrayed his confidence."

"Do you doubt my love for you, Sansuta? Will it not make up for Oluski's anger?"

"Warren!"

The reproachful tone in which Sansuta uttered his name, recalled young Rody to himself.

He immediately changed his tactics.

"But why talk of Oluski's anger? Rather speak of my love. Surely you do not doubt it?"

The Indian maiden heaved a sigh.

"Sansuta does not doubt you, but she is unhappy."

"Unhappy! Why?"

"Because an Indian girl would make but a poor wife to a white gentleman."

A strange smile crossed the young man's face. He did not, however, interrupt her.

"If Sansuta cared for you less, she would not have been here this morning; she would not have seen you again."

"Come, come, dearest, you alarm yourself without reason. Need I tell you how much I love you--how I have always loved you? Have we not grown up together? What more natural than love like mine?"

"But your father--"

"He will not object. Why should he? Is he not Oluski's best friend?"

"Yes, they are friends, but still--"

Warren saw that the girl was nervous and alarmed. He lost no time in rea.s.suring her.

"And, after all, dearest, we need not tell them of our love until we are sure of their consent. In the meantime, let us think only of ourselves.

You have not yet told me what I longed to hear."

"What is that?"

"The whispering a.s.surance that your heart is mine?"

A painful struggle was evidently taking place in the maiden's breast.

Filial duty and self-reproach contended with that feeling, nurtured by the soft blandishments of the scoundrel by her side.

In such a contest love is always the victim.

This case was not exceptional. Softly murmuring the young man's name, Sansuta hid her head upon his shoulder.

His arm enclasped her waist.

The confession had been made. The die was cast!

They were both startled by a sound heard near. It was like some one sighing.

Warren, with the eye of a lynx, searched among the weeds and wild vines, and pierced through the foliage on all sides, but saw nothing.

Rea.s.suring her with honeyed words, he then led the girl away from the spot.

As soon as they had disappeared a man's form was seen standing upon the place they had last occupied; while another was visible at no great distance from it.

He who first made appearance seemed utterly bowed down with grief, whilst a cloud black as night was visible on his brow. It was the chief, Wacora!

With an angry and contemptuous action he flung some pieces of money to the other who had followed him, and was the negro Crookleg.

"Begone! Wacora may use you for his revenge--you shall not witness his grief. Begone!"

The black picked up the coins, grinned hideously and hobbled away.

Wacora stood for some time rapt in his own sad thoughts. Then, turning his back upon the old fort, he retraced his steps to Oluski's dwelling.