THE ALLIED FORCES Through the glades the sun poured like a red searchlight, and they advanced in the wake of their own enormous shadows lengthening grotesquely with every stride.

Tree trunks and underbrush seemed afire in the kindling glory; the stream ran molten.
Then of a sudden the red radiance died out; the forest turned ashy; the sun had set; and on the wings of silence already the swift southern dusk was settling over lake and forest.

A far and pallid star came out in the west; a cat-owl howled.
At the edge of an evil-looking cypress "branch" they dismounted, drew gun from saddle-boot, and loaded in silence while the Indian tethered the horses.
Then through the thickening twilight they followed the Seminole in file, Hamil bringing up the rear.
Little Tiger had left turban, plume, and leggings in camp; the scalp-lock bobbed on his head, bronzed feet and legs were bare; and, noiseless as a cypress shadow in the moonlight, he seemed part of it all, harmonious as a wild thing in its protective tints.
A narrow tongue of dry land scarcely three inches above the swamp level was the trail they followed.

All around tall cypress trees, strangely buttressed at the base, rose pillar-like into obscurity as though supporting the canopy of dusk.

The goblin howling of the big cat-owl pulsated through the silence; strange gleams and flashes stirred the surface of the bog.