"Still unjust, Wacora. I thought you had changed. The foolish sentiments of youth should give place to the wisdom of age." Oluski's eye brightened as he spoke. His heart swelled with noble feelings. "I do not, will not, trust in the white man!" answered the young chief. "What has he done to our race that we should believe in him? Look at his acts and then trust him if you can. Where are the Mohawks, the Shawnees, the Delawares, and the Narragansets? How has the white man kept faith with them?" "All white men are not alike," responded Oluski. "A pale-face befriended me when I required aid. The deed always weighs against the word. I could not be ungrateful." "Well, Oluski's gratitude has been proved," returned Wacora. "But let him beware of those on whom it has been bestowed." The old chief did not answer, but stood in an attitude of thought. Ideas, slumbering till now, were awakened by Wacora's words. An unknown feeling appeared to gain possession of him. So contagious is mistrust. The nephew, too, seemed lost in thought. Still lying upon the ground he idly plucked the petals of a flower growing by his side. The conversation was at length resumed by his uncle. "I have nothing to charge the white chief with or his people. Our tribe yearly visits the place. We are welcomed on arrival, respected during our stay, and unmolested at leaving. No, Wacora, these white men are not like others." "Uncle, all white men are the same. They make their homes in our land. When space is needed, the Indian must yield to them. What faith or friendship can exist where there is no equality? Do not the Seminoles suffer at this very moment from the white man's ambition? Are not their hunting grounds profaned by his presence--their towns pillaged for his fancied wrongs? Your _friend_ is a white man, and, therefore the enemy of your race." Wacora spoke passionately. The Indian is not always a savage. The reverse is often the case. In every tribe there are men of education, of quick intelligence, and with a high sense of right. Both Oluski and Wacora were superior men, in the sense that education and natural intelligence gave the stamp of superiority over ignorance and superstition. CHAPTER EIGHT. SANSUTA. As we have said, Wacora had white blood in his veins. His mother was a Spaniard, the daughter of a planter, who had lived near the town of Saint Augustine. Almost a child at the time of her capture, she eventually forgot her own kindred, and became devoted to the chief who had been her captor. It ended in her becoming his wife, and the mother of Wacora. Albeit that in Wacora's veins white blood flowed, his soul was Indian, and he loved his father's people as if he had been of their purest blood. He was a patriot of the most enthusiastic stamp.