A light breeze sweeping across the broad savannas brought
with it the odors of countless flowers; from the moss-hung trees many
birds poured forth their evening songs in floods of melody, and all
nature was full of beauty and rejoicing.
In the camp of deerskin lodges and palmetto huts clustered beneath the
grand trees, and occupied by those Indians who acknowledged the good
old Micco as their chief, all were in the open air enjoying the cool of
the evening. The hunters had returned from the chase laden with game,
and now lay in comfortable attitudes on the soft grass, indulging in a
well-earned rest. The women were busy about the fires, preparing the
evening meal, and the children frolicked among the lodges or around the
edge of the great spring, as free from care and as happy as the birds
above their heads. From the bank of the river but a short distance
away came the shouts of a party of lads who were bathing in the clear
waters. To these the Indian mothers listened with a certain anxiety,
fearful lest they should hear the shrill cry of warning that would
announce the presence of Allapatta, the great alligator.
In the middle of the camp stood a lodge larger and taller than the
others, and surmounted by the plume of eagles' feathers that showed it
to be that of the chief. In front of this lodge, seated on outspread
robes, and gravely smoking their long-stemmed pipes, were the old chief
Micco, several of the principal men of his tribe, and Yah-chi-la-ne,
the young Alachua chief.
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