"
"Yes," said the rain with a noise like a shower of tears, "yes, he is
very false."
The wind sighed. The steady drip of the rain, filtering through the
vines twisted heavily about the oak trunks, was indescribably mournful.
Suddenly the nameless terror that had crept into the girl's veins that
first night in the Seminole camp came again.
"When the Mulberry Moon is at its full," she said shuddering, "I will
go back to the van with Keela. I do not know what it is here that
frightens me so. And I will marry Ronador. Every wild thing in the
forest loves and mates. And I--I am very lonely."
But by the time the Mulberry Moon of the Seminoles blanketed the great
marsh in misty silver Diane was restlessly on her way back to the world
of white men.
Philip followed. Leaner, browner, a little too stern, perhaps, about
the mouth and eyes, a gypsy of greater energy and resource than when he
had struck recklessly into the Glades with the music-machine he had
since exchanged for an Indian wagon, Philip camped and smoked and
hunted with the skill and gravity of an Indian.
So the wagons filed back again into the little hamlet where Johnny
waited, daily astonishing the natives by a series of lies profoundly
adventurous and thrilling.
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