“Remember Fort Mims!” was the slogan of the backwoodsmen. “Strike hard!” Desperation itself was the conduct of the Creeks; they fought like trapped wolves, ever seeking to break through the circle of their foes. But at length, when the last rifle had cracked, the last pistol had spoken its sharp sentence of death, the last hatchet, sword and knife had ceased to rise and fall, the smoke of the conflict slowly lifted and drifted away. Of the warriors of Tallushatchee more than a hundred and sixty were slain, and the remainder were taken prisoners. And when the white men took their way back to the river through the morning light they bore upon improvised stretchers six of their own men dead, and almost a half hundred wounded. CHAPTER X AN INDIAN MESSENGER At Fort Strother things were going with little smoothness; in spite of all that General Jackson could do, supplies came very irregularly through the forests and across the mountains. As things stood, almost any other commander would have fallen back until arrangements could be made to feed the army; but Jackson held on grimly. He knew that this was the time to strike; if he retreated the savages would at once conclude that it was a sign of fear on the part of the paleface, and so their ravages would have grown greater than ever. “The contractors must do better!” declared the haggard commander of the forces of Tennessee. “No matter what comes or goes, this force must hold its place. I’ll not retreat!” One gaunt hand was lifted as he spoke; there was a stain of fever in the hollow cheeks, his deep-set eyes glowed lion-like from under his bushy brows. “The men who are risking their lives to protect this border must have food; and if it’s not sent them, those who have neglected their duty will reckon with me.” Jack and Frank were seated just outside the flap of Jackson’s tent, when the commander spoke these words to his officers within. Jack nodded to his companions. “I wouldn’t care to be an army contractor and have the general on my trail,” said he. “He wouldn’t stop at much.” “Not he,” said a young Nashville lawyer, who was in the scouts. “Jackson is a man who accomplishes everything he sets out to do. He does not know what fear is, and has the most resolute will I’ve ever known.” “Well, it seems to me he’ll need it all,” said an old hunter who had been driven in from the forest by the Creeks, and who had enlisted in the volunteers in an effort to retaliate. “It’s a deal to undertake, this feeding so many men so far away from any place, where supplies can’t be had handily. A small party can carry and kill all it needs for months; but a force like this can’t go further than its supply train can follow.”