She leaned from her saddle and laid her slim bare hands in both of his, lifting her gaze bravely to his--a little dim of eye and still tremulous of lip.

And he looked back, love's tragedy dawning in his gaze, yet forcing the smile that the very young employ as a defiance to destiny and an artistic insult in the face of Fate; that Fate which looks back so placid and unmoved.
"Can you forgive me, Shiela ?" "Look at me ?" she whispered.
* * * * * A few moments later she hastily disengaged her hand.
"There seems to be a fire, yonder," he said; "and somebody seated before it; your Seminole, I think.

By Jove, Shiela, he's certainly picturesque!" A sullen-eyed Indian rose as they rode up, his turban brilliant in the declining sunshine, his fringed leggings softly luminous as woven cloth of gold.
"He--a--mah, Coacochee!" said the girl in friendly greeting.

"It is good to see you, Little Tiger.

The people of the East salute the Uchee Seminoles." The Indian answered briefly and with dignity, then stood impassive, not noticing Hamil.
"Mr.Hamil," she said, "this is my old friend Coacochee or Little Tiger; an Okichobi Seminole of the Clan of the Wind; a brave hunter and an upright man." "Sommus-Kala-ne-sha-ma-lin," said the Indian quietly; and the girl interpreted: "He says, 'Good wishes to the white man.'" Hamil dismounted, turned and lifted Shiela from her saddle, then walked straight to the Seminole and offered his hand.