POLCHER’S LITTLE RUSE
All night the search for Jackson worried the forest. Sevier slept but
little as McGillivray occupied an adjoining room and walked the floor
much of the time, pausing only when some messenger came to report or
when he deemed it necessary to leave the house to give fresh orders. At
sunrise Sevier from his window saw the wearied pack limp into the
village, the two keepers staggering behind them, kept moving by the
animals’ haul on the leashes. As the dogs were passing the borderer’s
position McGillivray ran out of the house and demanded of the keepers—
“Why are you back without the white man?”
“He took to water and washed out his trail,” grunted one of the
Indians. “He rode fast, although the night was very black. We lost time
at the creek in picking up his trail again. Then we followed only to
find he had taken to water again. With the dogs on the leash we made
slow headway.”
“On the leash? I told you to let the dogs have him!” thundered
McGillivray. “You should have loosed them.”
“We did slip two free, Petro and Little One, the fiercest and swiftest
of the pack. We sent them after him the moment we left the village,”
was the humble reply. “Petro did not come back. We found him where the
white man first took to the water. Here, Little One!” And the Indian
pulled forward a huge brute whose sides had been wickedly slashed. And
he explained, “The Little One crawled back to meet us before we found
Petro’s body. Came back like this. I was afraid to set them all free,
fearing they would come up with him one or two at a time. And surely he
is a black spirit.”
The emperor’s eyes turned toward the open window and made Sevier think
of a flash of a knife as it leaps from the sheath in the sunlight.
“I have my guest to thank for this,” slowly remarked the emperor. “My
best dog gone and another all but done for. And the prisoner still
free. Take the dogs away and see they are well fed and rested.”
He would have turned back to the house, but Polcher now came galloping
from the forest, his horse in a lather. McGillivray called out to him
and the tavern-keeper raced up and sprang to the ground.
“The dogs have failed. What about you?” asked the emperor.
“I think I shall get him,” replied Polcher. The words sent a chill to
Sevier’s heart. “Your warriors are spreading out to the east and west
to cut in ahead of him. And I have sent runners north to warn the
Cherokees to bar his path. I do not see how he can escape.”
“Luck seems to be against me,” complained McGillivray. “The prisoner
told me he had spent much time in the Shawnee country. He must be very
cunning.”
“Let him be as cunning as the whole Shawnee Nation and yet he must pass
through the neck of the bottle before he can escape,” boasted Polcher.
“I don’t care how much he wanders about in the Creek country. He is our
prisoner until he strikes into the Cherokee country and gets beyond the
Hiwassee River. Even should he by some miracle dodge the Cherokees of
Great Hiwassee and the lower villages and cross the river he will stand
but a small chance of reaching the Tellico. But should he do that still
the Cherokees will stick at his heels till he reaches the French Broad.
We’ll see if his Shawnee cunning can carry him that far!”
Polcher’s confidence and enthusiasm invigorated McGillivray’s spirits
and his sombre countenance lightened.
“You have done well, Polcher. I think we shall bag the young man yet.”
He walked toward the house with more confidence in his step, but on
second thought halted and called after Polcher, who was leading his
horse away—
“One word more, Polcher: how far will my Creeks go?”
“Until they get him,” was the laconic answer.
“I’m afraid that won’t do. The Cherokees might not understand. They may
think I’m riding rough-shod over their land,” McGillivray worried.
“Not at all, your Majesty,” hastily reassured Polcher. “The messengers
I sent are intelligent fellows. They will explain the situation fully
to John Watts. He will welcome any aid that will stop the man from
getting back to the Watauga settlements. It’s as much his game as it is
ours.”
“We’ll hope so. But after I’ve eaten I think I will send a talk to
Watts and Old Tassel to make sure they understand.”
“If your Majesty please, I’m sure Watts will be in hot pursuit of the
man before your talk can reach Great Hiwassee. As for Old Tassel, I
didn’t think it wise to have the messengers see him. He’s weak. The
less he knows about things the better it will be. Time enough to
explain to him after we’ve caught our man.”
McGillivray frowned a bit, inclined to disfavour any risk of arousing
the Cherokees’ resentment, but accepted the advice by nodding his head
and waving his hand in dismissal.
In a few minutes there came a soft tap on Sevier’s door and a
house-servant entered and informed—
“My master asks Mr. Sevier to join him at the table.”
Sevier made ready to follow and noted that the servant was curiously
studying the knives on the wall.
“Only the four are missing,” laughed the borderer, suspecting the man
was under orders to make sure the “guest” had not secreted a blade on
his person. “I am unarmed. Lead the way.”
With a deep bow the servant did so, and Sevier soon stood in a pleasant
side room. McGillivray was at the window. A table was set for two. The
emperor haughtily returned the borderer’s greeting and motioned for him
to be seated.
After the servant had served them and had withdrawn Sevier blandly
asked—
“How goes the chase?”
“You should know. You were at the window when I talked with the Indians
and with Polcher,” was the cold reply.
“Jackson is a brave fellow. He deserves to escape,” Sevier stoutly
maintained.
“My four knives helped him,” McGillivray grimly reminded, his gaze
becoming baleful.
“Then thank God for the knives!” Sevier devoutly cried.
“I would much prefer he had died than to have lost Petro,” the Emperor
dissented.
“Then, shame on you, Alexander McGillivray!”
“Ha! You’ve saved up more bold words over night,” gritted the emperor,
leaning back in his chair. “Be careful, Sevier. You are not in my white
town of Coosa. You are in the red town of Little Talassee on the Coosa
River. A vast difference.”
“I’m where a dog is valued more highly than a clean young American.”
“American? It’s seldom I hear the word,” McGillivray grimly taunted. “I
fear it will never become the fashion. But do heed my warning about
picking your words. I am irritable this morning, inclined to act on
impulse.”
“I feel quite safe, sir. You have too much white blood in you, and you
have mixed too much with white men, to descend to barbarism.”
“I don’t know that,” slowly replied the emperor. “When I first learned
of my dog’s death—by my own knives—my Indian blood ran very hot. And I
tell you seriously, Sevier, and I mean every word of it, that while I
prefer to win my ends without resorting to brutality I will allow no
white man’s comfort or life to stand between me and success. I have
saved many captives from the torture; but if the giving of you to my
Creeks to play with would bring me success you should pass under the
skinning-knives most surely.”
Sevier bowed gravely and retorted:
“I believe you, McGillivray of the Creeks. And if my passing under the
knives of your warriors will block your schemes, then my hide is very
much at your service.”
McGillivray could not suppress a flash of admiration. With a short
laugh he said:
“After all, we may be able to remain friends. You make people like you,
even those who try to hate you. I thought I hated you during the night.
This morning I was positive of it. But I can’t. —— me! You are a man.
Still, I shall send you to your death in cold blood if I decide your
death is necessary for my plans.”
“I understand you perfectly,” was the cheery reply. “There are times
when a liking for a man goes only so far. Don Estephan Miro has a
genuine liking for Jim Robertson, yet he’d cut his throat if he had the
chance and his royal master should command it.”
And the borderer attacked the deer venison with much gusto.
McGillivray had no appetite and was content to play with his food while
his gaze wandered to the window, watching for a messenger to bring good
news. Suddenly he pushed back his chair and leaped to the window.
Several Indians were emerging from the mouth of the trail and a white
man rode in their midst.
“—— me! But they’ve got him!” he triumphantly cried.
“Where are your Creek eyes?” Sevier contemptuously demanded. “The white
man is much too large for Jackson. He wears a beard. Great Injuns! It’s
Red Hajason!”
McGillivray’s exultation changed to bitter disappointment. The newcomer
certainly was not Kirk Jackson; nor did he bear himself as a prisoner,
although surrounded by warriors. He still carried weapons in his belt
and held his head high. As the emperor stared Polcher ran across the
open ground and intercepted the cavalcade. He exchanged a few words
with Hajason, then turned and ran toward the big house.
“The rascal has courage, but he shall hang if any harm has come to the
Tonpits,” muttered McGillivray.
“Your man Polcher seems to be acquainted with him,” murmured Sevier
between mouthfuls.
The horsemen passed from sight. McGillivray conquered his desire to run
out and interrogate the outlaw and resumed his chair at the table,
forcing himself to an appearance of indifference. He had barely
swallowed a mouthful of the meat when the servant came in and mumbled
something.
“Bring my pistols,” the emperor curtly commanded.
The servant turned to a small desk and produced a brace of Spanish
weapons, long of barrel and profusely inlaid with gold and silver.
Thrusting one of these into the bosom of his coat and dropping the
other in his lap, McGillivray next directed—
“Now show both of them in.”
Polcher came first, bowing low. Behind him with head erect stalked the
huge form of Red Hajason. Just inside the threshold the outlaw halted
and stared insolently at the emperor.
“Red Hajason, of the Hiwasee and the Tugalo rivers,” announced Polcher,
standing to one side. “He was picked up by your Majesty’s Indians while
on his way here with an important talk for you.”
“I’ve heard of you, Hajason,” lazily informed the emperor. “And I never
heard anything good. I was just telling John Sevier that if you have
done what you’re charged with doing I probably shall have to hang you.”
Hajason opened his bearded lips in an ugly grin and replied—
“My neck’ll stand a heap of hangin’, I reckon. An’ it ain’t never been
cracked yet. But I ain’t here to talk ’bout hangin’. I come to talk
trade.”
“Well, what have you to trade?”
“A white man an’ a white woman.”
“Major Tonpit and his daughter?”
“Them’s the two,” grinned the outlaw.
“—— your insolence!” softly hissed McGillivray, the hand in his lap
closing over the pistol.
“It’s been done many times,” grunted Hajason, beginning to grow angry.
“You and Polcher worked together in this?” demanded McGillivray.
“Work with him? With that double-faced varment? Red Hajason works
alone,” growled the outlaw.
“But the man called Hester helped you in this little coup,” said
McGillivray, now folding his arms and leaning back to stare the outlaw
squarely in the face.
Again the outlaw’s brutal good humour asserted itself, and he chuckled
and informed:
“I don’t count Hester as a partner. Jest a dog-gone fool. Howsomever,
I’ll admit it was him what put the game up to me an’ showed me there
was money in it. That’s all I asked of him.”
Darting a wrathful glance at Polcher, McGillivray bitterly reminded:
“Hester was your trusted tool. You pick your men well!”
“I shall kill him when I meet him,” promised Polcher.
To the outlaw McGillivray said:
“Suppose you say just what sort of a bargain you wish to make with me.
After all, we may be able to trade.”
“An’ why not?” eagerly cried Hajason, the lust for profit showing in
his gleaming eyes. “I’ve got somethin’ ye hanker for. Ye’ve got
somethin’ I want.”
“Yes; I want the Tonpits. What will you take?” promptly asked
McGillivray.
“Two thousand pounds,” was the cool response.
“If it was possible for you to leave this village without being torn to
bits by my dogs I would advise you to peddle your wares elsewhere,”
said McGillivray. Then he let himself go, and in a voice that trembled
with passion he denounced, “You base-born cur! You dare step between
McGillivray of the Creeks and his ambitions? You dare dictate what he
shall pay for stolen goods?”
With the snarl of a wild animal Red Hajason dropped his hand to his
belt, but Polcher pushed the muzzle of his pistol against the shaggy
head, while the emperor’s folded arms opened and a second pistol was
brought to bear. Polcher deftly slipped his hand along the giant’s belt
and removed his weapons, stood back from him and looked inquiringly at
the emperor, his eyes asking whether he should shoot or not.
Hajason realized his peril. Fighting down his anger, he moistened his
lips and apologetically said:
“Hard words always rile me. I come here alone to drive a bargain. Why
shouldn’t I have some ambitions as well as ye? Ye don’t own the
Tonpits. They come to me without my askin’, an’ I’ve held ’em in camp.
Tonpit has money an’ offered me a thousand pounds, gold, for to be free
along with the girl. Afore bargainin’ with him I come to see if ye’d
outbid him. That’s all.”
For a full minute McGillivray pondered over his frank statement; then
he smiled whimsically, replaced his pistol and brusquely admitted:
“Yes; you have a right to take your profit. If you had accepted the
major’s thousand pounds he would have come to me. I’ll give the two
thousand for the safe delivery of him and the girl here at Little
Talassee. Two thousand pounds for the two. McGillivray, Emperor of the
Creeks, does not have to haggle over terms. When can you have them
here? Time presses.”
Red Hajason combed his beard and turned to stare at Sevier. Pointing to
the borderer he said:
“If that man can be kept here, so’s he can’t interfere, I’ll not lose a
minute in gittin’ back to my camp. I’ll return here, fetchin’ the
Tonpits, as fast as hossflesh can bring us.”
“Mr. Sevier plans to spend the Summer with me,” quietly assured
McGillivray. “Should he go away, it will be on a very long journey and
in a direction opposite to the one you will take in returning to your
camp.”
Polcher smiled. Hajason was slower to catch the point, but when he did
he broke into a loud guffaw.
“—— my liver, McGillivray,” he cried, “but ye’re a neat one! ‘Opposite
direction!’ To the Twilight Western land, eh? Ha! Ha! An’ takin’ along
mighty little skin on that fox body of his, eh? Good! I’ll eat an’ git
a fresh hoss from ye an’ start back on the hump.”
“The sooner the better,” insisted McGillivray.
Polcher handed back the outlaw’s weapons and the two departed, Polcher
bowing himself out in his best landlord’s manner, Red Hajason giving
his back abruptly and shaking the table with his heavy tread.
“He doesn’t seem to have much respect for you,” remarked Sevier,
smiling as he beheld the flare of anger flushing McGillivray’s face.
“The dog! The miserable dog! And he’s all white. Mark you that, Sevier!
There is no Indian blood in him. He’s a completed product of your race.”
“Once I get back to the Nolichucky I hope to improve the race. We’ve
weeded out quite a few of his kind,” Sevier lightly responded.
McGillivray tossed his pistols aside and left the table. Standing
beside Sevier’s chair, he abruptly began:
“We’ve been making believe a bit. We’ve talked at cross-purposes. I’ve
no more time to be polite. It’s business from now on. Will you give me
your word not to try to escape if I allow you the freedom of Little
Talassee?”
“No, sir!”
“Will you promise not to escape until after the Tonpits arrive?”
“No, sir! I propose to escape at the first opportunity.”
“But you came here to see them.”
“I shall leave here to stop their coming here.”
“If that’s your frame of mind I must make you a prisoner,” regretfully
decided McGillivray. “I’m honestly sorry to have to do it. I enjoy your
company. I get small opportunity to talk with intelligent men. But
you’re meddling with big affairs. You threaten to annoy me, to
embarrass me. I would be a fool to permit it.”
“There’s something much larger, much grander, than the schemes you’re
planning, Alexander McGillivray. Your little ambitions to pose as ruler
of a Creek-Cherokee federation, under the protection of Spain, will
never be realized. Shut me up in your stoutest prison or kill me, but
don’t be foolish enough to believe that my dropping out will give you a
clear trail. Only after you’ve killed the soul of some twenty-five or
thirty thousand people west of the mountains can you place your feet on
the path leading to a realization of your mad dreams.”
McGillivray picked up the pistols and thrust them under his coat and
firmly replied—
“Yet I will enter that path and walk to the end even if it requires the
death of every settler this side of the Alleghanies!”
Sevier sprang up and sternly demanded—
“Send for my gaoler.”
McGillivray summoned the servant and directed him to bring Polcher and
six warriors. While they waited, the two men stood with the table
between them, eying each other in silence. Through the window Sevier
glimpsed Red Hajason riding into the forest. Then the door opened to
admit the tavern-keeper and the Creeks.
“This man is my prisoner,” McGillivray tersely explained. “He is to be
watched closely, but no harm is to come to him unless he is caught
outside his cabin. If he manages to get out of his cabin, if only a
foot from the door, he is to be killed. You, Polcher, will be
responsible for him. You can command what guards you may find
necessary. I give him into your charge, and see to it you can produce
him when I send for him.”
“Rest easy, your Majesty, that he shall be produced when wanted,”
Polcher joyously promised.
“Take him away.”
Sevier fell in between the warriors and was led out-doors. Polcher
walked behind him with drawn pistol.
Without glancing back the borderer said—
“You’d like mighty well to have me make a bolt for it.”
“I’d love to have you,” hissed Polcher. “And some one we both know is a
big fool to bother with you for a second. You thought you held the
whip-hand after I killed Old Thatch. You reckoned you was through with
me when I quit Jonesboro on the jump. But all scores come to a
reckoning sometime, and here you are in Little Talassee; and before
Winter comes I’ll be back on the Nolichucky burning a few of our old
friends. But I promise you Bonnie Kate shall not burn.”
With a low groan Sevier gripped his fingers till the nails cut the
flesh. Maddened with rage, he still had mind enough to know Polcher was
endeavouring to force him into open violence. Then the pistol at his
head would crack and the tavern-keeper would be exonerated for killing
a refractory prisoner.
“Remember this, Polcher. You’re to die by the noose, and I’m going to
be the hangman,” whispered Sevier.
“Bah!” laughed Polcher scornfully.
It was the cabin Jackson had been imprisoned in that they took him to.
As he was passing through the doorway a servant, sent by McGillivray,
came running up with a roll of blankets. Polcher considered this
forethought to be a sign of weakness in the emperor and hurled the roll
viciously at the borderer’s head and swung the door and dropped the
heavy bar.
Pausing outside at the window he softly gibed:
“McGillivray is a mad fool. After he clears the way Spain will rule
through men like me. I tell you this as I’m positive you won’t repeat
it to the emperor. And when I am ruler I shall find a bonnie wife in
Bonnie Kate. That is, if I decide to marry her.”
Sevier bent and found one of the two knives Jackson had concealed under
his pallet of straw and glided cat-like to the window, the knife held
behind him. Never suspecting he held a weapon, yet rendered uneasy by
the awful anger raging in the blue eyes, Polcher gave ground and saved
his life. Keeping the weapon behind him, Sevier contented himself with
saying—
“You will pay for everything when you pay for your neck.”
Polcher began to feel afraid of the imprisoned man. There was something
so inexorable in the borderer’s low-pitched voice; it was more menacing
than any raving in overtones. Sevier could not harm him—now. But let
him get free and no obstacles could prevent him from reaching the man
who had dared to utter the name of Bonnie Kate in his boasts.
Retreating still farther from the white face at the window, the
tavern-keeper selected three Creeks and ordered them to guard the cabin
until he returned.
Two of the men remained in front to watch the door and window, while
the third guarded the rear, lest by some miracle Chucky Jack should
break loose. Although the Creeks were thrown in contact with Sevier
less often than their Northern brothers, his reputation had lost none
in travelling South. That their emperor ranked him high was shown by
the hospitality at the big house. The man Jackson had not been taken
there.
In spite of his taunts Polcher was far from satisfied with the
situation. The feeling grew upon him that so long as Sevier lived so
long would he have a Nemesis on his trail. To have Sevier a prisoner
meant nothing. He had been a prisoner at the big house. The only
difference in his status now was the change of quarters. Then, too,
McGillivray might change his mind. His soul was not the red man’s, and
he admired his captive.
Should the Tonpits arrive and should the emperor decide his success was
sure, it would be like him to release Chucky Jack and have him up to
the house for wine and cakes again. Then the inevitable would
happen—Chucky Jack would escape. And there was a deadly quality in
Sevier’s last threat which inclined Polcher to great uneasiness. So the
obsession grew up in his mind that neither the fate of Spain’s nor of
McGillivray’s plans was so important to him as the knowledge that
Sevier had breathed his last.
“So long as he lives my neck is in danger,” he muttered. “—— him and
his talk of the noose.” And he rubbed his neck nervously. “If I had a
little more Cherokee in my veins I’d begin to think I was a fool to
kill that eagle. Now if he was to die—but he is not to be harmed! He
must be treated like a high and mighty gentleman, curse him—unless he
breaks loose. Ah! There’s a thought. If some one would kindly help him
get clear of the cabin where I could shoot him down or feed him to the
dogs. It’s worth thinking about.”
Only the more he meditated over the idea the more pronounced became the
problem of securing a trustworthy tool. Even did he bribe a slave or
Indian to unfasten the door to Sevier’s little prison there remained
the risk of the accomplice being detected and telling the truth. In
event of violated orders McGillivray would have the truth if he dragged
out a man’s heart by the roots to get it.
He even considered the possibility of inducing some one to open the
door and then shooting him down and openly branding him as a traitor to
his master. But such a scheme demanded that he be alone with his
accomplice when the trick was played. The arrival of an Indian on the
scene would spoil the game.
“There would sure be some slip up,” he told himself. “—— it! There’s
but one way left. I must free him myself, shoot him in his tracks and
let McGillivray suspect the whole nation. No one being guilty there
will be no one to confess. But what if I didn’t hit him? What if he
escaped or he killed me. Huh! There is one way that’s sure. Kill him
inside the cabin, then drag him out and claim I jumped him outside.”
But how to make it appear logical that Sevier had escaped without help?
There were two points of egress possible, providing a man had the
proper tools and plenty of time—the door and window. To cut through the
door from the outside, so as to make it appear the job had been done
from the inside, would require the presence of a knife in the cabin.
There would be no time to hack a hole through the stout door after
shooting the prisoner through the window; and Sevier would be certain
to investigate any assault made on the door while he lived. The same
objections were encountered in considering the window.
“It’s got to be done mighty quick,” summed up Polcher. “The door’s got
to be thrown open the minute he’s potted through the bars. He’s got to
be dragged outside before the sound of a shot disturbs any one.”
For the rest of the day he worked on the idea and at last came to a
solution, which, after testing it from all angles, gave every promise
of success because of its simplicity and directness. At no time would
it oust him from control of the situation, and he whittled it down to
so fine a point that only one shot would be necessary.
Shortly before sunset he visited the slave-quarters and, selecting a
dull-witted man, directed him to take a platter of food and carry it to
the prisoner after the slaves had had their supper. This would mean an
hour after dusk. In concluding his directions he touched the fellow’s
belt and said—
“And have a knife in there so he won’t try to reach through the window
and catch you as you pass the pan through the hole.”
The slave’s eyes grew round with fear. He had no heart for any errand
that suggested danger. And it was whispered among the slaves that even
the emperor was afraid of this white man. Returning to Sevier’s cabin,
he dismissed all the guard but one. To him he said:
“When the slave comes with the food you may go. He will stay until
relieved.”
The Indian grunted and Polcher hurried to his own cabin and secured his
rifle and a brace of pistols.
Making into the woods, he skirted the village until in the rear of the
locked cabin. The beauty of his scheme was the assurance no harm could
come to him if it failed. If it did not work tonight, then tomorrow
night. When it did work the warriors and their emperor would be called
to the spot by excited cries and the sound of a shot. They would rush
up to find the slave dead, stabbed with his own knife, and the prisoner
dead outside the open door. The explanation would be simple.
The slave foolishly entered the cabin with the food instead of
thrusting it through the slot. Sevier, quick to see his chance, had
snatched the fellow’s knife and inflicted a mortal wound and then
sprang from the cabin to fall before Polcher’s pistols or rifle.
Sevier was as hungry for night as was Polcher. The two knives cached
under his straw bed would soon permit him to dig out enough iron bars
to squeeze his slender body through the opening. He must work softly so
as not to alarm the guard outside. But should one of the guards
discover him at his task the fellow must be quieted and secured. For
such a contingency he thanked McGillivray for the blankets; at the edge
of sunset he swiftly used his knife and turned one blanket into narrow
strips and braided these into a tough rope.
When Polcher came and gave instructions to the guard Sevier hid the
blanket-rope under the bed, fearing lest the tavern-keeper should
venture to peep inside and discover signs of his handiwork. Early in
the day, when Bonnie Kate’s name fell from the rascal’s lips, the
borderer would have forgotten his plans to escape and would have been
content to flash a blade through the bars and rip open the lying
throat. Now he was calmer and would accept nothing but escape. Polcher
could pay up later.
He stood at the window as if idly looking out on the dusk-littered
opening, but in reality cutting deep into the window-sill to get
beneath the end of a bar. The one guard was impatient to be relieved
and was giving scant heed to the cabin. The knives were strong and keen
and the task was far easier than Sevier had anticipated. He soon came
to the end of one bar and, testing it gently, knew he could bend it
back and upward with one push of his powerful arm. Leaving it, he
assailed the next, estimating that he must loosen four.
The dogs had not yet been turned out, and, whereas he had originally
planned to take his time and escape during the night, he now was
determined to make the break while only the slave was on guard. He
rejoiced that Polcher’s voice had carried the information to him. A
slave would be much easier to deal with than a warrior. He would
succumb to fear and refrain from attempting to give any alarm. Whether
or not he should escape directly after receiving his supper would
depend, however, on whether the dogs were loose or chained in the
slave-quarters.
He worked feverishly and, having learned the knack of the job, made
better time in cutting to the embedded end of the second bar. The sun
by this time had waded deep into the forest and the film of shadow over
the village blurred objects a few rods from the cabin. The guard began
grumbling in a minor tone and walked a dozen feet from the cabin and
stared impatiently toward the fires in front of the slave-quarters. The
slaves were singing and dancing about the fires, and the warrior grew
very peevish. The third bar was ready to be forced clear.
The guard stalked back in front of the window but never bothered to
give it a glance. Turning abruptly and grumbling more forcefully, he
retraced his steps and walked some distance from the cabin. Now Sevier
caught the wild melody of a slave drawing near, singing, perhaps to
bolster up his courage. The Indian called sharply to him. The man came
on slowly, his song hushed. The Indian went to meet him and paused to
warn him not to leave the cabin until relieved. The slave slowly came
on, bearing a steaming dish in one hand, his other nervously feeling of
the knife in his rawhide belt. The fourth bar was cut free at the lower
end.
Standing to one side of the window, his strips of blanket in one hand,
Sevier thrust the two knives into his belt to have a hand free for
receiving the pan when it came through the slot. He heard the slave
halt at the end of the cabin near the door. He thought he caught the
murmur of voices. The discovery startled him, although it was possible
the slave was muttering to himself. Then he stiffened and his jaws
clamped together as there came a muffled groan and the thud of a heavy
body falling to the ground.
His first thought was that Kirk Jackson, unable to break through the
Creek and Cherokee lines, had doubled back and was to repay his debt by
setting him free. A moment of silence, then the sound of a heavy body
being dragged to the door. The next moment the window was blocked by a
man’s head and shoulders.
“Sevier,” whispered a low voice. “Where are you?”
Had it been Jackson, the door would have been thrown open immediately.
Turning his head away, Sevier fiercely whispered—
“On the bed.”
And plucking a knife from his belt he tossed it on the straw.
“I can make you out now!” hissed Polcher, reaching his pistol far
between the bars. “—— you! This is where I win!”
He fired and found his arm caught in an iron grip. A hand was fumbling
at his head. He essayed to throw it off but decided its efforts were
weak and futile, and he believed he had wounded his man. To make sure
he reached his free hand for his second pistol. The grip on his right
wrist was amazingly strong for a wounded man. A panic seized him as the
pistol caught. Then something touched the back of his neck, pressed
against the sides, began crowding his Adam’s apple. He tried to shriek.
From a great distance came Sevier’s metallic voice, crying:
“So you’ll bother Bonnie Kate, eh? You killed an eagle out of season.
It spoiled your medicine. The noose, you know—”
McGillivray of the Creeks stood in front of the big house when a
muffled shot rang out. There followed no outcry, yet the shot was a
sinister omen to the emperor’s moody train of thought. He could not
locate the sound but believed it came from the direction of Sevier’s
cabin. He walked in that direction until he met a warrior. Of him he
asked—
“Where is the man Polcher?”
“He stands at the window of the cabin, talking with the white man,”
answered the warrior. “I heard a gun shoot. I ran to look and found
him. I spoke and asked him if anything was the matter. He didn’t speak.
Just stood with his face against the bars. There were no other guards
there.”
Instantly suspicious that the tavern-keeper was planning to play him
false, having been won over by the borderer’s magnetism, the emperor
ordered:
“Call the warriors and surround the cabin. Tell Polcher to come to me.
If he refuses, bring him.”
The warrior melted away in the darkness. He had scarcely departed when
a figure broke through the gloom and McGillivray greeted:
“I was just sending for you, Polcher. My men tell me you were guarding
the cabin alone.”
“Your messenger must travel far to find Polcher,” returned a well-known
voice and Sevier, now standing by the emperor’s side, presented a
pistol. “Polcher is dead. Died by the noose, as I said he must die.”
McGillivray stood as one paralysed. Finally he choked out:
“God! Is it possible!”
“Take me into the house!” hissed Sevier as a loud yell broke up the
evening calm. There came the patter of moccasined feet running swiftly.
“Inside, quick!”
Propelled by the prodding pistol, the emperor led the way into the
house, panting:
“—— you, Sevier! Polcher was right. I should have killed you! You
bribed one of the Indians.”
“With what?” growled Sevier. “A slave brought me my supper. Polcher
killed him at my door. Then tried to shoot me through the window. The
game was simple. I, dead, was to be dragged out. Polcher would claim
the slave opened the door and that I killed him. Then he came up and
killed me; that would have been his story. With a strip of your blanket
round his throat he now stands dead, tied to the only iron bar in the
window I did not remove. He was caught in his own trap. Take me to the
room where I slept last night.”
The pistol muzzle was all compelling, and, picking up a candle from the
hall table, McGillivray with bad grace led the way into the apartment
containing the collection of knives.
“But you can’t escape!” exploded McGillivray, his bewilderment slowly
passing. “I don’t imagine you plan to murder me. Even if you did, you
couldn’t get clear of the village.”
“McGillivray of the Creeks, it’s a chance for me to escape or your
life,” sternly admonished Sevier. “Do as I say and you live, although
it may mean my recapture. Try any tricks and you’re a dead man as
surely as Polcher is a dead man.”
McGillivray of the McGillivrays was now his old unperturbed self and
whimsically declared:
“My life comes first. What will you have?”
“Order your servant to bring your horse and rifle to this window. I
took Polcher’s pistols. I shall want powder and bullets. Then tell your
Creeks that I escaped to the south and order them to take the dogs and
go in that direction.”
The village was now in an uproar. Torches were flitting back and forth;
men were surrounding the big house. The dogs, infuriated by the
confusion, were raising their ferocious voices, demanding to be
released for action. As Sevier finished a hundred warriors ran to the
lighted window, calling out to their master that the man Polcher was
dead and that Little John had escaped by using black magic. Some
terrible evil spirit had slain a slave, wrenched the iron bars from the
window and tied the dead Polcher up to the window.
The Emperor stood in the open window. Sevier stood against the wall at
one side with the pistol raised and levelled.
“Now earn your life,” whispered the borderer.
“Take the dogs and go south!” roared the emperor. “He seeks to escape
that way. One of you bring my horse and rifle, powder and bullets here
to this window. Off! All of you.”
The crowd rushed away. The dogs, however, had already been brought out
and taken to the cabin. They had found the scent and were following it
to the big house.
“You must stop them!” warned Sevier.
McGillivray thrust his head from the window and energetically repeated
his command. The keepers could not understand why their terrible pets
should be so keen to enter the master’s house, but McGillivray of the
Creeks was not to be questioned and they began belabouring the animals
and dragging them away. A servant came up, skirting the milling mass of
struggling brutes, leading McGillivray’s favourite mount. The emperor
groaned and muttered—
“I’d prefer you had taken all my horses rather than to take King.”
“He will be unharmed and you shall have him back, providing he is not
torn by your pack or shot by your warriors,” comforted Sevier.
“Curse you, Sevier—”
“Go ahead. Curses never hurt any one yet,” encouraged Sevier as the
emperor halted.
“It’s a foolish habit. I’ll wait,” mumbled the emperor.
“Send the servant away.”
McGillivray obeyed. By this time the dogs had been dragged to the
southern limits of the village and the warriors were already scouting
the trail that led to the gulf. Sevier made the emperor face the wall
and with a sheet ripped from the bed tied his hands behind his back.
Forcing him to be seated on the bed, he proceeded to secure his ankles.
When he improvised a gag the royal prisoner opened his mouth to shout
for assistance, but the pistol silenced him.
“John Sevier, I’ll have your life for this,” he whispered.
The borderer thrust the gag into his mouth and made it fast, remarking:
“You’re getting off easy. It would be better for the settlements if I
could bring myself to stop your plotting for all time. If we meet on
the border there will be no quarter.”
With that he leaped through the window and into the saddle and galloped
away to enter the northern trail. The few warriors and slaves he passed
recognized the horse and marvelled that their master should be riding
north after sending the dogs and the fighting-men to the south.
------------------------------------------------------------------------