406 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



From the other side of the narrow straits the 

 Indians frowned on the island, consulted together, or 

 passed from clump to clump to examine it the more 

 closely, carefully screening their bodies from the hunter, 

 though careless as to all observation from the light-house. 

 Among them, preeminent in gracefulness of figure, was 

 one who wore on his breast a silver medal, like those 

 given to Indians of distinction by the government of the 

 United States, as a reward, or inducement to fidelity. 

 He had crawled down almost to the beach, and from 

 behind some broken timber kept a steadfast watch of the 

 island. Although they had seen neither the marksman, 

 his trail, nor any of his signs, there was no doubt in the 

 Indians' mind as to whom the island concealed. Mike's 

 character was too well known to doubt whose daring act 

 had cost the band two of their best warriors. Even had 

 they not known his intimacy at Far Away, or been 

 warned by the diamond cut, his well known monogram, 

 that he had marked on their canoe. Tiger Tail would 

 have given his rifle and squaw for the scalp Mike wore, 

 and yet there slept the scout, almost in sight of him and 

 his band, and they dared not go and take him. 



Had a stranger looked on the scene he would have 

 considered the beach a desolate ruin, never more to be 

 inhabited. The lonely tower was blackened and marred, 

 the place was deserted, and the two dead bodies lay on 

 the sand, watched by the vultures that, with braced 

 wings, crept in slow circles like motes in the upper air. 

 The storm of the previous night had passed away. 



