_Hunter._ I will now tell you all that I know of him; but I thought you would like to hear of his uncle, he being so famous a warrior. Nikkanochee is called Oseola Nikkanochee, prince of Econchatti, in order that he may bear in mind Oseola, his warlike uncle, and also Econchatti-mico, king of the Red Hills, his father. It is thought that Nikkanochee was born on the banks of the river Chattahoochee. He can just remember the death of his mother, when he was left alone with her in a wigwam; but what I have to tell you about Nikkanochee took place during the lifetime of his father, and his uncle Oseola. The white men being at war with the Seminoles, the war-men of the latter were obliged to band themselves together to fight, leaving their squaws and children to travel as well as they could to a place of safety. Nikkanochee, child as he was, travelled with the women through the pine forests night and day; but a party of horse-soldiers overtook them, and drove them as captives towards the settlements of the whites. _Brian._ Ay! now Nikkanochee is a prisoner! What is to become of him now? _Hunter._ The mothers were almost frantic. The wigwams they saw on the road had been destroyed by fire, and the whole country had been devastated. At nightfall they came to a village; and here, when it grew dark, Nikkanochee, a little girl and two Indian women made their escape. For some days they fled, living on water-melons and Indian corn, till they fell in with a party of their own war-men, and among them was Nikkanochee's father. _Austin._ I hope they were safe then. _Hunter._ Not being numerous, they were obliged to retreat. Pursued by their enemies, they fled, sometimes on horseback, and sometimes on foot; a part of the way through the swamps, thickets and pine forests. At night, while the party were sitting round a fire, in the act of preparing for refreshment some dried meat, and a wild root of the woods reduced into flour, an alarm was given. In a moment they were obliged once more to fly, for their enemies were upon their track. _Brian._ Dreadful! dreadful! _Hunter._ The fire was put out by the Indians, their blankets hastily rolled up, and the squaws and children sent to hide themselves in the tangled reeds and brushwood of a swamp, while the war-men turned against the enemy. The Indians beat them off, but Econchatti-mico was wounded in the wrist, a musket ball having passed through it. _Brian._ Did Econchatti die of his wound? _Hunter._ No; but he and the war-men, expecting that their enemies would return in greater numbers, were again forced to fly. The dreary pine forest, the weedy marsh, and the muddy swamp were once more passed through. Brooks and rapid rivers were crossed by Econchatti, wounded as he was, with his son on his back. He swam with one hand, for the other was of little use to him. _Austin._ Econchatti seems to be as brave a man as Oseola. Did they escape from their enemies?