Diane of the Green Van

by Leona Dalrymple

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  UNDER THE LIVE OAKS

  "See!" said Keela shyly. "It is the camp of my people."

  It lay ahead, a fire-blot in the darkling swamp, a primitive mirage ofprimitive folk, of palmetto wigwams and log-wheel fires among the liveoaks of a lonely island.

  Keela's wagon presently forded a shallow creek and crossed an islandplain. Thence it came by a winding road to the village, where, withthe halting of the wagon, the travelers became the hub of a vast andfriendly wheel of excitement.

  Hospitable hands were already leading Keela's horses away when Mr.Poynter rode sedately into camp and, descending to terra firma in thelight of the nearest camp fire, guilefully proceeded to assure himselfof a welcome and immediate attention by spectacular means; he simplyunwound the hullabaloo.

  Cymbals clashed, the drum cannonaded fearfully and to the sprightlymeasures of "The Glowworm," the Indians who had collected about Keela'swagon to stare at Diane, decamped in a body to the side of Mr. Poynter,who smiled and proceeded in pantomime to make friends with all abouthim.

  This, by virtue of the entertaining music-machine, was not difficult.Having exhausted the repertoire of the hullabaloo, he initiated theturbaned warriors into the mystery of unwinding tunes, therebycementing the friendship forever.

  The general din and excitement grew fearful. Presently the Thunder-Manwas warmly assigned a wigwam, made of palmetto and the skins of wildanimals above a split-log floor, to which he retired at the heels ofSho-caw, a copper-colored young warrior who had learned a littleEnglish from the traders.

  Already rumor was rife among the staring tribe that Diane had strayedfrom the legendary clan of beautiful Indians in the O-kee-fee-ne-keewilderness. The assignment of her wigwam, therefore, had been madewith marked respect.

  Here, as the Indian camp settled into quiet and the fires died lower,as the wild night sounds of the Glades awoke in the marsh outside,Diane lay still and wakeful and a little frightened. Wilderness andSeminole were still primeval. The world seemed very far away. Thethought of the music-machine brought with it somehow a feeling ofsecurity.

  With the broad white daylight, courage returned. From her wigwam Dianewatched the silent village, wrapped in fog, wake to the busy life ofthe Glades. Somber-eyed little Indian lads carried water and gatheredwood, fires brightened, there was a pleasant smell of pine in themorning air. Later, by Keela's fire, she furtively watched Philip rideforth with a band of hunters.

  So at last in the heart of the wildwood, among primitive folk whosecustoms had not varied for a century, Diane drank deep of the wild,free, open life her gypsy heart had craved. There were times when agreat peace dwarfed the memory of the moon above the marsh; there weretimes when the thought of Ronador and Philip sent her riding wildlyacross the plains with Keela; there were still other times when anameless disquiet welled up within her, some furtive distrust of thegypsy wildness of her blood. But in the main the days were quiet andpeaceful.

  "It is a wild world of varied color and activity," she wrote to Ann."The trailing air plants in the trees beside my wigwam weave a dense,tropical jungle of shadow shot with sunlight. Keela's wigwam lies buta stone's throw beyond. It is lined with beaded trinkets, curiouscarven things of cypress, pots of dye made of berries and barks, andpottery which she has patterned after the relics in the sand mounds.There is an old chief with all the terrible pathos of a vanishing racein his eyes. I find in his wistful dignity an element of tragedy. Heis very kind to Keela and talks much of her in his quaint brokenEnglish.

  "Moons back, he declares, when E-shock-e-tom-isee, the great Creator,made the world of men by scattering seeds in a river valley, of thosewho grew from the sand, some went to the river and washed too pale andweak--the white man; some, enough--the strong red man; some washed notat all--the shiftless black man. But Keela came from none of these.

  "Ann, the squaws are _hideous_! Their clothes, an indescribable_potpourri_ of savage superstition and stray inklings (such as adisfiguring bang of hair across the forehead, a Psyche knot and a fullskirt) from the white man's world of fashion--years back. The poundsand pounds of bead necklaces they wear give the savage touch. I don'twonder Keela's delicate soul rebelled and drove her to the barbariccostume of a chief. It is infinitely more picturesque and beautiful.

  "There are thrilling camp fire tales of Osceola, the brilliant,handsome young Seminole chief who blazoned his name over the pages ofFlorida history, but here among Osceola's kinsmen, pages areunnecessary. The sagas of the tribe are handed down from mouth tomouth to stir the youth to deeds of daring. Keela, like Osceola, had awhite father and a Seminole mother. Ann, I sometimes wonder whatopportunity might have done for Osceola. As great as Napoleon, someone said. What might opportunity do for this strange, exotic flower ofOsceola's people? She has brains and beauty and instinctive graceenough to startle a continent. I am greatly tempted. Ann, I beg ofyou, don't breathe any of this to Aunt Agatha. Some day I may carryKeela away to the cities of the North for an experiment quite my own.Her delicate beauty--her gravity--her shy, sweet dignity, hold mepowerfully. It would make life well worth the living--the regenerationof a life like hers.

  "No, I am not mad. If I am, it is a delicious madness indeed, thiscraving to do something for some one else. I need the discipline ofthinking for another.

  "I don't know when you will get this. Once in a while an Indian ridesforth to civilization, and this letter will perforce await such amessenger. I wrote to Aunt Agatha from the little hamlet where Johnnyis waiting with the van. I know she is fussing.

  "You wrote me something in one of your letters, that Dick and Carl wereplanning to camp and hunt wild turkeys in the Glades. Let me know whatluck they had and all the news.

  "Ever yours,

  "Diane."

  Now, if Diane proved readily adaptable to the wild life about her, noless did Philip. At night he smoked comfortably by his camp fire,unwound the hullabaloo upon request or lent it to Sho-caw. He rodehard and fearlessly with the warriors, hunted bear and alligator,acquired uncommon facility in the making of sof-ka, the tribal stew,and helped in the tanning of pelts and the building of cypress canoes.

  Presently the unmistakable whir of a sewing machine which Sho-caw hadbought from a trader, floated one morning from Philip's wigwam. Keelareported literally that Mr. Poynter had said he was building himself amuch-needed tunic, though he had experienced considerable difficulty inthe excavation of the sleeves.