And now an hour goes by, during which these grave chiefs sit as silent and motionless as if keeping watch around a sepulchre. At its close the tramp of a body of horsemen is heard, and soon Robertson, escorted by a score of painted warriors, enters the council-chamber. Like the rest, the new-comers are of fine physical proportions; and, as the others rise to their feet and all form in a circle about him, Robertson, who stands only five feet nine inches and is not so robust as in later years, seems like a pygmy among giants. Yet he is as cool, as collected, as apparently unconscious of danger, as if every one of those painted savages (when aroused, red devils) was his near friend or blood-relation. The chiefs glance at him, and then at one another, with as much wonderment in their eyes as was ever seen in the eyes of a Cherokee. They know he is but one man and they twelve hundred, and that by their law of retaliation his life is forfeit; and yet he stands there, a look of singular power on his face, as if not they but he were master of the situation. They have seen physical bravery; but this is moral courage, which, when a man has a great purpose, lifts him above all personal considerations and makes his life no more to him than the bauble he wears upon his finger. Robertson waits for the others to speak, and there is a short pause before the old chief breaks the silence. Then, extending his hand to Robertson, he says, "Our white brother is welcome. We have eaten of his venison and drunk of his fire-water. He is welcome. Let him speak. Oconostota will listen." The white man returns cordially the grasp of the Indian; and then, still standing, while all about him seat themselves on the ground, he makes known the object of his coming. I regret I cannot give here his exact answer, for all who read this would wish to know the very words he used on this momentous occasion. No doubt they were, like all he said, terse, pithy, and in such scriptural phrase as was with him so habitual. I know only the substance of what he said, and it was as follows: that the young brave had been killed by one not belonging to the Watauga community; that the murderer had fled, but when apprehended would be dealt with as his crime deserved; and he added that he and his companion-settlers had come into the country desiring to live in peace with all men, but more especially with their near neighbors the brave Cherokees, with whom they should always endeavor to cultivate relations of friendliness and good-fellowship. The Indians heard him at first with silent gravity, but, as he went on, their feelings warmed to him, and found vent in a few expressive "Ughs!" and when he closed, the old Archimagus rose, and, turning to the chiefs, said, "What our white brother says is like the truth. What say my brothers? are not his words good?" The response was, "They are good."