A flush spread over the girl's face and she appeared to shrink and wilt; and in the swift glance she cast at Payne there seemed an appeal for help. Payne spoke swiftly. "We are truly sorry to intrude. We blundered in here on our way to the head of the river. If we can get directions we will be on our way at once." The girl looked from her aunt to Ramos and then to Payne, and her chin went up. "Come," she said, and led the way to the boathouse on the lake shore. "Oh, Willy Tiger!" As mild and stoical a Seminole Indian as ever belied his surname responded to her call. He smiled at the sight of her, an appalling feat for a Seminole; and the smile confessed he was her abject slave. "Willy, you will do a favor for me, won't you? I want you to take these two friends of mine up to the head of the river, wherever that is. My friends. For me, Willy." The Seminole silently disappeared and returned paddling a long dugout into which he tossed his rifle and a bundle containing his camping outfit. "My name's Roger Payne," said Roger, preparing to follow Higgins into the boat. "I am under obligations, Miss----" She did not respond to his suggestive pause. "I don't think I'll tell you my name--now," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps--after you've seen the land you purchased from Senator Fairclothe. Perhaps--not. Good-by." Roger looked at Ramos, watching them from a distance, and replied: "So long." X Higgins sat facing the silent Seminole, who swiftly paddled the long dugout out of the little lake before the house and into a sluggish creek running into it from the northeast. The Indian wore the mauve-tinted, gaudily embroidered dress shirt of his tribe, but as a concession to civilization he had donned a pair of overalls so much too large for him that the belt was high round his strapping chest. "What name did she call you by, Willy?" asked the engineer. "Me Willy Tiger." "Tiger doesn't fit you, Willy." Higgins dipped his hand overboard and sprinkled water on the Indian's head. "I hereby christen you Willy High Pockets. And may they never be empty." An awful contortion took place upon the Seminole's mahogany features. He was trying to grin. "You give good Seminole why-o-me," he said, ceasing his paddling to rub his stomach. "Willy Tiger----" "High Pockets!" "Willy High Pock' sick. Why-o-me make strong." "So that's how they miscall hooch down in this country," ruminated Higgins. "No, Willy; we don't pack any liquor. Shall I give him a piece of plug?" "Suit yourself--if you've got any." "Got any? Never go into an Indian country without it." Higgins produced from his bag a slab of plug tobacco which made Willy's mouth water. "Willy," said Payne suddenly, "who is Mr. Garman?" "Donno." "Put your tobacco away, Higgins." "Garman big boss," said the Indian swiftly. "_Esoka-bonus-che_-tobacco. You give." "Boss of what?"