The little battalion of Alphonse D'Erlach marched along the edge of a wood which skirted a pleasantly rising ground--one of those gentle undulations which serve to relieve the monotonous levels of the lower regions of Florida. Deep was the umbrage--dense in its depth of green, and dark in its voluminous foliage, the thicket which overlooked their march. Their eyes might not penetrate the enclosure, from which eyes of hate were yet looking forth upon them. The wood concealed the outlaws who had lately made their escape from La Caroline, after the exposure of their conspiracy. They had not ceased to be conspirators. Bold, bad men--sleepless discontents, yearning for plunder and power--the defeat of their schemes, and the necessity of their sudden flight from the scene of their operations, had not lessened the bitterness of their feelings, nor their propensity to evil. Fierce were the glances which they shot forth upon the small troop which D'Erlach conducted before their eyes on his purposes of doubtful policy. Little did he dream what eyes were looking upon him. Could they have blasted with a glance or curse, he had been transformed with all his followers where he passed. But the three conspirators had no power for more than curses. These, though "not loud, were deep." With clenched fists extended towards him on his progress, they devoted him to the wrath of a power which they did not themselves possess; and, watching his course through the parted foliage, until he was fairly out of sight, they delivered themselves, in muttered execrations, of the hate with which his very sight had inspired them. Stephen Le Genevois was the first to speak. He was a stalwart savage, of broad chest, black beard, and most dauntless expression. "Death of my soul!" was his exclamation; "but that we have lost so much by the game, it were almost merry to laugh at the way in which that brat of a boy has outwitted us. We have been children in his hands." "He is now in ours," said La Roquette, gloomily. "Aye, if the Indian keeps his faith," was the desponding comment of Fourneaux. "And why should he not keep faith," said Le Genevois. "He has good reason for it. When did the hope of plunder fail to secure the savage?" "You must give him blood with it," responded Fourneaux. "Aye, it must be seasoned. He must have blood," echoed La Roquette. "Well, and why not? Do we not give him blood? will he not have this imp of Satan in his power? may he not feed on him if he will? Aye, and upon all his twenty!" exclaimed Le Genevois, fiercely. "True--but----" "But, but, but--ever with your buts! You lack confidence, courage, heart, Fourneaux--you despair too easily! I wonder how you ever became a conspirator!" "I sometimes wonder myself. Ask La Roquette, there. He can tell you. I owe it all to his magic." "What says your magic now, Roquette--have you any signs for us?"