At that moment the moon shot out from behind a heavy bank of clouds, and, with a brilliant beam, disclosed to his eager gaze a tableau of terrible interest. Down by the water's edge lay the body of an Indian youth, motionless, and to all appearance dead; while stooping over it was another youth, also an Indian. He appeared to be examining the body. For some seconds there was no change in his attitude. Then, all at once he raised himself erect, and with a tomahawk that flashed in the moonlight above his head, appeared in the act of dealing a blow. The hatchet descended; but not upon the body that lay prostrate. A sharp report ringing on the air for an instant silenced all other sounds. The would-be assassin sprang up almost simultaneously, and two corpses instead of one lay along the earth. So thought he who fired the shot, and who was the young man already described. He stayed not to speculate, but rushed forward to the spot where the two Indians lay. He had recognised them both. The one upon the ground was Nelatu, the son of Oluski, a distinguished Seminole chief. The other was Red Wolf, a well-grown youth belonging to the same tribe. Only glancing at the would-be assassin to see that he was dead, he bent over the body of Nelatu, placed his hand upon the region of his heart, at the same time anxiously scanning his features. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of surprise. Beneath his fingers a weak pulsation gave signs of life. Nelatu might yet be saved. Pulling off his hat, he ran down to the beach, filled it with water, and, returning, sprinkled the forehead of the young Indian. Then taking a flask containing brandy from his pouch, he poured a portion of its contents down the throat of the unconscious youth. These kindly offices he repeated several times, and was finally rewarded for his pains. The blood slowly mantled Nelatu's cheek; a shivering ran through his frame; and with a deep sigh he gazed dreamily upon his preserver, and at the same time faintly murmured "Warren." "Yes, Warren! Speak, Nelatu. What is the meaning of this?" The Indian had only the strength to mutter the words "Red Wolf," at the same time raising his hand to his side with apparent difficulty. The gesture made his meaning clear. Warren's gaze rested upon a deep wound from which the blood was still welling. By the tremulous movement of his lips, Warren saw that he was endeavouring to speak again. But no sound came from them. His eyes gradually became closed. He had once more fainted. Warren instantly flung off his coat, tore one of the sleeves from his shirt, and commenced staunching the blood. After a time it ceased to flow, and then tearing off the second sleeve, with his braces knotted together, he bound up the wound. The wounded youth slowly recovered consciousness, and, looking gratefully up into his face, pressed the hand of his deliverer. "Nelatu owes Warren life. He will some day show his gratitude."