It must, perforce, be built upon the hill. To every offer made to Oluski for a cession of this spot, the chief had firmly and steadfastly given a refusal. He, too, had his ambition; which, although not so selfish as the white man's, was not a whit less cherished. For nine months in the year Oluski and his tribe dwelt in a distant Indian town, and only visited the waters of Tampa Bay for the remaining three, and then only for the purposes of pleasure. The wigwams of himself and people were but temporarily erected upon the hill. For all this they had an attachment for the spot; in short, they loved it. This was what Elias Rody stigmatised as a mere fancy. There was another reason held in similar estimation by Elias. In the rear of their annual encampment was an Indian cemetery. The bones of Oluski's ancestors reposed therein. Was it strange the spot should be dear to him? So dear was it, in fact, that to every proposal made by Rody for the purchase of the hill, Oluski only shook his head, and answered "No." CHAPTER FOUR. CRIS CARROL. Nelatu recovered from his wounds. Warren had conducted him to a hut, the temporary residence of a man of the name of Cris Carrol. This individual was a thorough specimen of a backwood's hunter. He was rough in manner, but in disposition gentle as a child. He detested the formalities and restrictions of civilisation. Even a new settlement had an oppressive air to him, which he could not endure. It was only the necessity of disposing of his peltries and laying in a stock of ammunition that brought him into any spot where his fellow creatures were to be found. To Cris Carrol the sombre forest, the lonely savannah, or the trackless swamp, were the congenial homes, and bitterly he adjured the compulsory sojourn of a few days every year amongst those to whom society is a pleasure. It was always a joyful day to him when he could shoulder his rifle, sling his game bag over his shoulder, and start anew upon his lonely explorations. When Warren brought the wounded Indian to Carrol's rude hut, the old backwoodsman accepted the responsibility, and set himself to the task of healing his wounds with alacrity. Nelatu was known to him, and he was always disposed to be a friend to the red man. "No, of course not," said he to Warren, in answer to his explanation; "I don't see as how you could take the red-skin up to the governor's house. Old dad wouldn't say no, but he'd look mighty like wishin' to. No, Warren, lad, you've done the right thing this time, and no mistake, and that there's sayin' more nor I would always say. Leave the boy to me. Bless you, he'll be all right in a day or two, thanks to a good constitution, along of living like a nat'ral being, and not like one of them city fellows as must try and make 'emselves unhealthy by sleepin' in beds, and keeping warm by sittin' aside of stoves, as if dried leaves and dried sticks warn't enough for 'em."