bad man may sometimes do a good thing without intending it.
Rody received even more credit and renown than he had expected; and, being a shrewd man, he achieved a part of his ambition.
He was looked up to as the most important personage in the community.
Although some of the settlers did not approve of all his measures, still, their opposition was rather negative than positive, and had, as yet, found vent only in remonstrances or grumbling.
None had dared to question his prerogative, although he often rode a high horse, and uttered his diction in a tone offensively arrogant.
What more, then, did Elias Rody want?
A covetous man always wants more. Oluski’s gift was a noble one. It covered a large area of fertile land, with water privileges, and a harbour for trade. It was the choicest portion of his possessions. The chief, in bestowing it, gave as a generous man gives to a friend. He gave the best he had.
Unfortunately the best he had did not embrace the hill; and, therefore, Rody was unsatisfied.
More than once during the progress of the settlement, he had cast a wishful eye upon the spot, as the choicest site in the whole district for a dwelling.
As his means expanded so had his tastes, and a grand dwelling became the great desire of his life.
It must, perforce, be built upon the hill.
To every offer made to Oluski for a cession of this spot, the chief had firmly and steadfastly given a refusal. He, too, had his ambition; which, although not so selfish as the white man’s, was not a whit less cherished.
For nine months in the year Oluski and his tribe dwelt in a distant Indian town, and only visited the waters of Tampa Bay for the remaining three, and then only for the purposes of pleasure. The wigwams of himself and people were but temporarily erected upon the hill. For all this they had an attachment for the spot; in short, they loved it.
This was what Elias Rody stigmatised as a mere fancy.
There was another reason held in similar estimation by Elias. In the rear of their annual encampment was an Indian cemetery. The bones of Oluski’s ancestors reposed therein. Was it strange the spot should be dear to him?
So dear was it, in fact, that to every proposal made by Rody for the purchase of the hill, Oluski only shook his head, and answered “No.”
Chapter Four.
Cris Carrol.
Nelatu recovered from his wounds.
Warren had conducted him to a hut, the temporary residence of a man of the name of Cris Carrol.
This individual was a thorough specimen of a backwood’s hunter.
He was rough in manner, but in disposition gentle as a child.
He detested the formalities and restrictions of civilisation.
Even a new settlement had an oppressive air to him, which he could not endure.
It was only the necessity of disposing of his peltries and laying in a stock of ammunition that brought him into any spot where his fellow creatures were to be found.
To Cris Carrol the sombre forest, the lonely savannah, or the trackless swamp, were the congenial homes, and bitterly he adjured the compulsory sojourn of a few days every year amongst those to whom society is a pleasure.
It was always a joyful day to him when he could shoulder his rifle, sling his game bag over his shoulder, and start anew upon his lonely explorations.
When Warren brought the wounded Indian to Carrol’s rude hut, the old backwoodsman accepted the responsibility, and set himself to the task of healing his wounds with alacrity.
Nelatu was known to him, and he was always disposed to be a friend to the red man.
“No, of course not,” said he to Warren, in answer to his explanation; “I don’t see as how you could take the red-skin up to the governor’s house. Old dad wouldn’t say no, but he’d look mighty like wishin’ to. No, Warren, lad, you’ve done the right thing this time, and no mistake, and that there’s sayin’ more nor I would always say. Leave the boy to me. Bless you, he’ll be all right in a day or two, thanks to a good constitution, along of living like a nat’ral being, and not like one of them city fellows as must try and make ’emselves unhealthy by sleepin’ in beds, and keeping warm by sittin’ aside of stoves, as if dried leaves and dried sticks warn’t enough for ’em.”
Carrol’s skill as a physician was little short of marvellous.
He compounded and prepared medicines according to unwritten prescriptions, and used the oddest materials; not alone herbs and roots, but earths and clays were laid under contribution.
A few days of this forest doctoring worked wonders in Nelatu, and before a week was over he was able to sit at the back door of the hunter’s dwelling, basking himself in the sun.
Carrol, who had been in a fever of anxiety greater even than his patient, was in high glee at this.
After giving the Indian youth a preparation to allay his thirst, he was on the point of packing up his traps to start upon one of his expeditions, when he saw an individual approaching his cabin from the front.
Thinking it was Warren Rody, he called out to him that Nelatu was all right.
He was somewhat surprised to perceive that instead of Warren, it was his father.
“Good morning, neighbour,” said Elias.
“Mornin’, governor.”
“How is your Indian patient?” asked he whom Carrol called governor. “I hope he has entirely recovered.”
“Oh, he’s ready now, for the matter of that, to stan’ another tussle, and take another thrust. It wasn’t much of a wound arter all.”
“Oh, indeed,” said Elias; “I heard from my son Warren that it was a bad one.”
“Perhaps your son ain’t used to sich sights; there’s a good deal in that. Would you like to see the Injun? He’s outside, at the back.”
“No, thank you, Carrol; I didn’t come to see him, but you. Are you busy?”
“Well, not so busy but I kin talk a spell to you, governor, if you wishes it. I war only packin’ up a few things ready for a start to-morrow.”
Saying this, Carrol handed the governor a stool—the furniture of his hut not boasting of a chair.
“And so you’re off to-morrow, are you?”
“Yes, I can’t stand this here idle life any
