CHAPTEE XXIX. 



TRACKING THE ENEMY. 



" For it is with feelings as with waters— 

 The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb." 



" Nine Injins and no squaws," quoth Mike, seating himself on one 

 of the rolling sand-hills that border Indian Eiver, a little south 

 of Cape Canaveral, after a long examination of the surrounding 

 shores. 



On the same evening that we pitched our camp on the well- 

 marked trail leading from the St. John's Kiver across to St. 

 Augustine, Mike had disappeared. He had given no notice of his 

 intention, unless the purchase of powder and ball from a trader 

 camping at the same place might have been a notice. The place 

 where he slept at the fire was vacant, and the dun hound and 

 heavy rifle had disappeared with their owner. 



We were safe from all doubt as to our course, and from all 

 danger, for St. Augustine was but sixteen miles away, but we 

 speculated much on the cause of the sudden flight. Had the 

 trader or his men given him any bad news ? No, they were only 

 talking of the wars, of Tiger Tail's forays, and how the troops were 

 drawing down in concert to destroy the Indians or drive them 

 southward. We thought at first he had gone over to the town, 

 but a missing canoe showed he had taken to the water. We 

 mentally bade him farewell, and started over to St. Augustine, 

 and were soon pacing its narrow streets, besides the quaint old 

 Spanish church with its chime of five bells, and the moss-grown 

 walls of the old fort, builded, as saith its inscription, by Field- 

 Marshal Don Alonzo Fernando Hereda, of noble fame. 



