About three o'clock
Blue was the sky and water ; her eyes were bluer ; white as the sands her bare arms glimmered . Was it a sunbeam caught entangled in her burnished hair , or a stray strand , that burned far on the water . Darrow dropped his eyes ; and when again he looked , the canoe had vanished behind the rushes of Flyover Point , and there was nothing moving on the water far as the eye could see . * * * * * About three o'clock that afternoon , the pigeon-toed Seminole Indian who followed Haltren , as a silent , dangerous dog follows its master , laid down the heavy pink cedar log which he had brought to the fire , and stood perfectly silent , nose up , slitted eyes almost closed . Haltren 's glance was a question . `` Paddl ` um boat , '' said the Indian , sullenly . After a pause Haltren said , `` I do n't hear it , Tiger . ''