The more we injure a
person, the more bitter do we feel against him; and the more we help
and do good to him, the more kindly do we feel towards him.
The deep scowl of hate had not left Chitta's face when he ran his canoe
ashore at the foot of the high bluff upon which Admiral Ribault had
erected the stone pillar engraved with the French coat of arms.
Securing his canoe, and carefully concealing it from those who might
pass on the river, Chitta made his way, by means of a narrow path
through the tangled underbrush, to the summit. From here, by daylight,
he would command a view of the river for miles in either direction, and
would be able to detect the approach of any who should come in search
of him while yet they were a long way off.
As it was still night, and nothing was now to be seen except what was
disclosed by the moon, the young Indian gathered together a small heap
of moss and leaves, and drawing his robe over his head, flung himself
down for a few hours' sleep.
Tired as he was, Chitta fell asleep almost instantly; but it was fully
an hour after he had done so that a tall Indian rose, without a sound,
from the clump of bushes, concealed by which he had all this time been
watching the motionless figure, and cautiously approached it. In his
hands the tall Indian held a slender cord of twisted deer-hide, in one
end of which was a noose.
Without a movement that could arouse the lightest sleeper, he knelt by
Chitta's side, and with great dexterity managed to pass the noose over
both his moccasined feet without disturbing his slumber.
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