After a dinner of stewed venison, yams, and melon, Charley began to ask the questions that had brought him out on his lonely ride. The Indians answered them readily. "Yes, they had seen white men--strangers. There had been several out as far as Indiantown. Sometimes they came two or three together. Sometimes one would come alone. They would camp for one sleep, then return to town and be seen no more. One there was who came often--a little man, with a beard like a spade. No, they did not know what the strangers' business was so far out from town. They carried guns, but seemed to kill no game." Mr. Bower, the man who kept the trading-post two miles farther out, might be able to tell him more about the strangers. So Charley mounted the mule again, and rode out to the trading-post. The road led direct to the little store hut, which was surrounded by a magnificent grove of oranges and grape fruit. Mr. Bowers, a fat, jovial-looking man, greeted him cordially, but could tell him nothing more about the strangers than he had already learned from the Indians. One fact he did learn, however, none of the visitors ever went beyond the trading-post. The lad then knew the clew for which he was looking must lie somewhere between the trading-post and the machine. "We are meeting with some opposition in our road-building," Charley explained frankly, "and I did not know but what it might come through you cattle owners objecting to having your grazing lands thrown open to new settlers." "Lord, no!" exclaimed Mr. Bowers, in frank surprise. "We have been trying to get that road out here for years. There's only half a dozen of us scattered between here and the big lake, and it has been hard work forcing the county commissioners to have the road built. Of course, we want the road. Our oranges rot on the trees now every season, because we are not able to haul them through the mud to the railroad. Our groves, with that road opened, would be worth more than our cattle. What if it does bring in new settlers? They will help to make our groves and lands still more valuable. If any one tries to hold up that road-building we will fix him if we can get our hands on him." It was well along in the afternoon when Charley bade the genial Mr. Bowers good-by and headed his mule back for camp. He alighted at the Indian camp for a moment, to examine the land, which seemed so wonderfully fertile. On the surface it appeared sandy and like other pine land, but a couple of feet below the surface he came upon a kind of soft, grayish rock. He dug out several pieces with his knife, dropped them in his game bag, and, remounting and waving a last farewell to the Seminoles, he proceeded on his homeward way.