I knew that she had taken me for a Seminole--at least, the probability seemed to be strong in that direction. The darkness again was too intense for her to see my features, and, since I had been fairly successful in speaking the choppy English of the Indian, I determined to continue the deception until morning. For she had become somewhat accustomed to the "trusted friend" by now, whereas re-introductions at this hour would be exceedingly awkward, if not quite disastrous to her peace of mind. So, without a halt, I walked on through the trees until we came to her tent. At the door of this I put down her bag, then stepped back and for a second at arm's length flashed my electric torch on it, again being careful to keep my face in shadow. "You safe here," I said. "Tachachobee make this camp for you. Me and him camp little way off. To-night me watch to see when him and Echochee come. No one find you; you sleep well. Tachachobee good man; me and him friends. You no be 'fraid." "Thank you," she said wearily. Ah, how tired her voice did seem! "There water; good to drink. You hungry?" I asked. "No, thank you,--what is your name?" This was a poser, for I had not thought up a name. But, of course, Jack came first into my mind, so I answered: "Jackachobee." "No, thank you, Jackachobee," she said, "I'm not hungry." "You want gun?" I asked again. "I have one," she answered. "Good. Then you sleep; no one find you here. In morning take time; when ready for breakfast walk back this way a hundred steps and whistle like plover. Then me come and show you way. Sleep good." Thus, feeling very well satisfied with my Indian impersonation--which, nevertheless, had its faults--I left her; turning and going to the fort, there choosing a place where I could keep guard all night against possible danger. Long and earnestly did I listen for some sound of the chase, but the night had grown absolutely still except for a soft breeze rustling the palm fronds above my head and the prairie grass in front of me. Yet I felt secure in the belief that Smilax had not been taken. Without question, he and Echochee were still in flight, heading toward some safe refuge; coaxing, by shot or cry, the furious pack that tore hopefully after them. I knew that my vigil here was unnecessary--that with all senses focused on the chase no straggler would by any chance be coming this far out into the prairie--but I had told Sylvia it would be kept. As I sat there, joyous over the conquest we had made, but more supremely happy because she was safe and near me, thinking tumultuous things which were a credit to mankind, hoping hopes that man has never realized, I raised my face to the sky and thanked God.