272 
FOREST A X D STREAM 
June, 1919 
in good order. As for Captain Youman, 
he was less offensive than the sixty other 
inhabitants of the island and its bay 
shacks. A small, slender, white-haired 
fellow', fisherman by trade, he behaved 
himself well and answered the purpose in 
a highly efficient manner. 
It was Youman who quite accidentally 
fell into one of Hendry’s sly traps. In 
some way the conversation between them 
turned to egrets, and once again that 
quiet rumor was circulated concerning 
Alligator Bay, out from Chevelier — one 
party had cleaned up three thousand dol- 
lars in a single rookery! 
“He say to me that how come motor 
boats so fine,” observed Hendry to Mr. 
King, when they had a moment alone 
“five, six boats we see last evening at 
Holy Roller Church dock, they worth lots 
of money. Maybe egret pay for them 
with plumes. Cap’n Youman — he wink 
and grin — like this,” and Hendry made 
a crude attempt to imitate what he had 
seen. 
Thus it may be seen that the travelers 
were in a constant atmosphere of plume 
piracy. While at no time were there 
outward, tangible indications of the prac- 
tice, nevertheless they knew that it ex- 
isted — that it was going on in season — 
that these far places of Chokoloskee and 
Chevelier were safe haven for men who 
double-dared the law. No Avery Island 
game warden edict could touch them. 
They were safe from interference. No 
one would dare molest them. 
The small boat was put in readiness, 
with food and tarpaulin, guns and lines, 
and the glade skiff tied behind. For 
Mr. King’s purpose. Turner’s River was 
the choice, since it was the largest and 
the most direct. At its mouth, north 
of Chokoloskee, it was about one-half 
mile across, and some six feet deep, and 
lined with the busy, writhing man- 
groves around the roots of which oy- 
A handsome bag of snipe shot on the 
lower keys 
sters grew in great abundance. There 
were innumerable bars and shoals and 
oyster reefs, through which Youman 
guided them with a sure head and hand. 
A little over a half mile from the 
entrance of Turner’s, where the river 
makes a sharp elbow turn, there were 
two peculiar, glistening, grey shell moun- 
tains, bobbing their bald heads above the 
surrounding green. Mangrove swamps 
darkened the stream for two and a half 
miles and then they glided out into a 
totally different country-prairie ground, 
somewhat higher than previously seen, 
although boggy; and vast acreages of 
palm hammocks. It was bleak, monot- 
onous and strangely still there. John and 
Hendry both trolled. They caught noth- 
ing, however. Later on, when a tem- 
porary halt was made, John brought in 
seven lusty mangrove snappers that he 
Ah, the luxury of a shave in camp when, after many days of cruising, time is 
had for this gentle sport 
hooked with dark line and craw-fish bait. 
Hendry had supplied the special cat-gut 
leaders, which, when immersed, become 
well nigh transparent. It was only be- 
cause the sun had gone behind a mass 
of clouds and the day was dark, that the 
boy managed to deceive these shrewd fel- 
lows that lurked near the mangrove 
roots along shore. They ran from six 
to ten pounds and were beautiful speci- 
mens. 
Some distance further, after anchor- 
ing the larger boat, the glade skiff was 
brought into play, although the load 
was rather heavy for it. Youman at- 
tended to the poling. They entered a 
wide, deep slough and after three turns, 
came almost suddenly upon pine land 
and the sharply defined characteristics 
of a pine island. 
Smoke was lazily rising from a fire 
upon the shore and they saw the sil- 
houette of an Indian camp. 
“Wonder where they came from and 
what they’re doing?” Youman ex- 
claimed, seemingly surprised, “of course, 
I ain’t been up Turner’s for a month, but 
I didn’t know! Charley Tigertail was 
headed for Chokoloskee.” 
Landing was made, for it was at this 
point that Mr. King wished to cross 
through to the muck country. There was 
nothing to it, but to walk directly up to 
that picturesque group on the shore of 
the pine island. The reception they re- 
ceived was, at first, sullen and discon- 
certing. 
Charlie Tigertail, a very noted Florida 
Indian, was camped with his family and 
a meal was being prepared al this un- 
seasonable hour. His young and rather 
pretty squaw, in wonderful Seminole 
raiment, stood near one of the limbs that 
held the square of soiled cloth. But, 
however, incongruous and uncouth the 
surroundings and the camp equipment, 
the mistress of the family was as tidy 
as a row of pins. The white of her 
quaint frock W'as snowy and the elabor- 
ately conceived and colored native cos- 
tume burned brightly in the shadows — 
vermilion, blue, grey, yellow. 
Four good-sized logs were drawn to- 
gether at their chopped ends, Seminole- 
style and over this steady blaze a big pot 
simmered. Such remnants of bird, beast 
and fish as had been killed from time 
to time were swimming in this pot in a 
sort of hideous jaundiced gravy that ex- 
uded strange odors and impressive greasy 
bubbles. 
The Buck sat, cross-legged, looking 
neither to the right nor to the left, and 
near enough to the broth to reach over 
and dip out liberal portions with his 
wooden spoon. On either side squatted 
his children — ugly, wild-eyed little cre- 
atures, half animal, who glanced up ap- 
prehensively at the party of intruders. 
The Squaw, unmindful of the presence 
of others, went about her solemn task 
of waiting on her lord and master and 
his brood. For this is Indian table eti- 
quette. The Squaw eats last. 
And close to hand, squawking or 
squealing, as the case might be, w'as 
Tigertail’s next meal, should necessity 
force him to devour his traveling pantry. 
Seminoles, on long hikes or changes of 
camp, take certain live stock with them 
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