The Saint in Miami

On and on.

It was like winding through a labyrinth with walls which only Charlie Halwuk could see. There was the sun now to give Simon a sense of direction, but that would have been no help to him if he had been alone. The trail that Charlie Hal­wuk knew would have looked on a map like the track of an intoxicated eel. And always the wilderness opened before them with sullen hostility and timeless patience, as though it were a sentient hungry thing that knew they must weaken in the end and be devoured . . .

The marsh buggy chugged through endless alternations of jungle and swamp and grass and groves where the ghostly remnants of cypress trees spired upwards to make circular pincushions of mysterious pools. As the heat grew more stifling, jutting ends of logs became the sun-roofs of assorted turtles basking in friendly fashion beside deadly cotton-mouths. As the buggy approached, snakes and turtles quietly slipped away, leaving nothing but widening circles in stream or pool; and roseate spoonbills, blacknecked stilts, burrowing owls and stately herons rose before their intrusion and took refuge in the air. But only once the Seminole caught Simon's arm as a small bird much like a falcon rose before them.

'Look,' he whispered.

The Saint's eyes followed the speeding flash of blue and grey.

'Everglade kite,' said Charlie Halwuk. 'Maybe last time white man ever see. One time plenty. No more. Twenty, thirty maybe now. Soon come be gone like Indian. White man never see!'

Time crawled on as slowly as they moved.

The marsh buggy took to shallow milky water. Simon wrenched it along the serpentine course for a few hundred yards, and then the denseness of a bayhead barred them with a wiry thorny wall. The soil about them was a deep quaking humus that clung like salve to the broad soft tyres. Following Charlie Halwuk's pointing, the Saint turned south and skirted the impenetrable barrier until he found a knoll of comparatively higher and drier ground. He stopped there for another brief rest and a cigarette.

Mr Uniatz moved his Neanderthal bulk, yawned with the daintiness of a breathing switch engine, and said: 'Dis jalopy is makin' me seasick, boss. When do we eat again?'

Simon saw from his watch that it was after one o'clock.

'Very soon, I think,' he said, and started the buggy again.

Almost at once, as if in answer to the movement, a dog hidden somewhere in the undergrowth yapped loudly. Others joined in, shattering the barren deadness with their snarling bedlam. The noise was so sharp and savage and unexpected that the Saint's hackles rose and Gallipolis fumbled for his gun; but the Indian showed a trace of pleasure.

'Chikee there,' he said. 'My people camp. We get plenty sofkee. Drive on.'

In a hundred yards the bayhead fell away. Simon pulled up in astonishment.

They had run into a great moss-draped amphitheatre floored with dry loamy ground. A fire burned in the centre, blazing brightly in the hub of ten enormous logs arranged like the spokes of a wheel. High above the fire was a roof of thatched palmetto leaves supported by four uprights driven into the ground. Pots and pans interspersed with dried meat and herbs hung from the rafters. At one corner of the tribal fireplace was a mortar hollowed from the head of a cypress log, where their arrival failed to interrupt an ancient squaw who sat pounding corn with a wooden pestle.

Chikees formed a square around the central kitchen. They were similar to the roofed fireplace, except that they had floors of plaited saplings raised several feet above the ground. Blanketed forms roused from the floors at the stopping of the marsh buggy, while others rose from where they had been sitting on the fire logs; and when Simon stepped down and stretched his aching limbs he found himself surrounded by a curious group of them.

Charlie Halwuk spoke quickly, and the circle of faces light­ened. A clatter of welcome, which Simon decided was friendly, broke out in the liquid Seminole tongue.

'They give us sofkee,' interpreted Charlie Halwuk, and got down.

Mr Uniatz followed stiffly, and Gallipolis without his gun. One of the Seminoles reached out suddenly and felt the material of Hoppy's blazer. He made a comment which brought back several excited echoes. More Indians crowded up, chatterring guttural enthusiasm for the screaming colours of the blazer, and formed a guard of honour to escort Hoppy to a log which served as a chair. Charlie Halwuk watched the demonstration with a certain possessive pride.

'Him damn good man,' he said, reverting to a previous impression.

'Boss,' Hoppy said pathetically, 'what goes on?'

'They like you,' said the Saint. 'You seem to have carried away half of the Seminole nation with your irresistible charm. For God's sake try to look as if you appreciated it.'

A wizened Indian, whom Charlie Halwuk treated with the deference due to a chief, ceremoniously passed out sofkee in coconut bowls. It proved to be ground cornmeal mush, undoubtedly wholesome enough, but a dish which any gourmet could have spared from his menu. Fortunately the other items were more appetising. There came turkey stew, sweet potatoes, and cowpeas. There were also oranges. Simon bit into one, and found his mouth suddenly curdled into an acidulous ball.

'Plenty wild, plenty sour,' said Charlie contentedly. 'You eatum long time, then like'um.'

Simon decided that that was another exotic taste which he could afford not to acquire.

When the meal was finished, the Greek's eyelids were drooping and Mr Uniatz was snoring majestically in the shade watched by an immobile circle of worshippers. The Saint felt his own eyes growing heavy. Against all his deeper impulses, he forced himself to let the insidious lethargy take its course. To give time to sleep, in the circumstances, seemed like a kind of treason; and yet he knew that it was as vital as eating. If he were to arrive at the destination where he was going with any of his faculties below their peak, he might almost as well not make the trip at all.

He awoke refreshed after an hour of concentrated oblivion, to find Charlie Halwuk squatting beside him.

'Lostman's River three miles,' announced the Indian, as if there had been no interruption. He found a stick, and rapidly drew an intricate outline in the soil. 'We here now. He made a cross, and indicated the space between the cross and the indentations of the coastline. 'In here, quicksand. Plenty bad. No can do. We go this way.' A wide spiralling hook. 'Too bad. Twelve miles-maybe more.'

'It's been about that distance ever since I can remember,'' said the Saint.

Charlie Halwuk stared reflectively up towards the red ball of the sun.

'Plenty rain. We go on?'

'You spoke about rain last night,' Simon retorted. 'If you could produce some, it might freshen us up. Do we pay your people for the meal?'

'You give chief big boy's coat. He make you son.'

The Saint chuckled.

'I've already got one daddy in Miami. See if you can talk Hoppy into it.'

While the Indian went to his task, Simon found some water and rinsed his face. Gallipolis followed his example. Shaking tepid drops out of his curly hair, the Greek studied Simon with a sort of unwilling perplexity.

'I had you all wrong, mister,' he said. 'When I saw you in that monkey suit tonight, I didn't really think you could take three hours of this. Now I won't even back Charlie Halwuk to stand up longer than you.'

'Don't put up your money too quickly,' said the Saint 'We haven't arrived yet'

But he smiled when he said it, in spite of himself. He was taking a new lease of confidence. He had lived soft, by these standards, for a long time; but he knew now that he was the same man that he had always been. With the short rest, strength had flowed back into him. A half-forgotten indomita­ble resilience picked him up again and loosened his thews with freshness. If he failed, he knew now, it would not be be­cause he had failed himself.

He checked the level of the gas tank again, and found that their fuel was more than half gone. He poured in their reserve supply with a silent prayer that it would be enough.

Then, as he climbed into the driving seat again, he saw a historic sight.

Across the clearing, followed by Charlie Halwuk, and at a more respectful distance by the rest of the Seminole village- braves, squaws, and papooses-came Mr Hoppy Uniatz. Arm in arm with him walked the chief, proudly wearing Mr Uniatz's appalling blazer. In exchange, Mr Uniatz had acquired a ruffle-pleated Seminole shirt with a pattern of vivid rainbow stripes.

The procession reached the marsh buggy, and stopped. The chief put both his hands on Hoppy's shoulders and made what sounded like a short oration. The rest of the tribe grunted approvingly. The chief stepped back like a