Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The White Squaw By Captain Mayne Reid Illustrations by Anon Published by George Routledge and Sons. This edition dated 1875. The White Squaw, by Captain Mayne Reid. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE WHITE SQUAW, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. CHAPTER ONE. A DEADLY INTRODUCTION. The last golden gleams of the setting sun sparkled across the translucent waters of Tampa Bay. This fading light fell upon shores fringed with groves of oak and magnolia, whose evergreen leaves became gradually darkened by the purple twilight. A profound silence, broken by the occasional notes of a tree-frog, or the flapping of the night-hawk's wings, was but the prelude to that wonderful concert of animated nature heard only in the tropical forest. A few moments, and the golden lines of trembling light had disappeared, while darkness almost palpable overshadowed the scene. Then broke forth in full chorus the nocturnal voices of the forest. The mocking-bird, the whip-poor-will, the bittern, the bell-frog, grasshoppers, wolves, and alligators, all joined in the harmony incident to the hour of night, causing a din startling to the ear of a stranger. Now and then would occur an interval of silence, which rendered the renewal of the voices all the more observable. During one of these pauses a cry might have been heard differing from all the other sounds. It was the voice of a human being, and there was one who heard it. Making his way through the woods was a young man, dressed in half-hunter costume, and carrying a rifle in his hand. The cry had caused him to stop suddenly in his tracks. After glancing cautiously around, as if endeavouring to pierce the thick darkness, he again advanced, again came to a stop, and remained listening. Once more came that cry, in which accents of anger were strangely commingled with tones appealing for help. This time the sound indicated the direction, and the listener's resolution was at once taken. Thrusting aside the undergrowth, and trampling under foot the tall grass, he struck into a narrow path running parallel to the shore, and which led in the direction whence the cry appeared to have come. Though it was now quite dark, he seemed easily to avoid impediments, which even in broad daylight would have been difficult to pass. The darkness appeared no barrier to his speed, and neither the overhanging branches, nor the wood-bine roots stayed his progress. About a hundred paces further on, the path widened into a rift that led to an opening, sloping gradually down to the beach. On reaching its edge, he paused once more to listen for a renewal of the sound. Nothing save the familiar noises of the night greeted his ear. After a short pause, he kept on for the water's edge, with head well forward, and eyes strained to penetrate the gloom.