“You will have twenty thousand riflemen. I will pledge you twenty thousand Indians. You shall have supreme military command. Together we can laugh at Spain, oust her from the Mississippi and bury the ax so deep there shall be no more burning of cabins, or of prisoners at the stake. It will mean the absolute end of Indian warfare, and a prosperity such as men never dreamed of.” “Once for all, McGillivray of the Creeks, I will form no alliance with Spain. I will work to establish no separate Government, as that would dismember the Union. There is one thing I will do, whether we create a new State or fail.” “Well?” “I will protect the Western settlements against the Indians, be they Creek or Cherokee.” “By ——! You throw a red ax. Then this is the ax I hurl back to you,” snarled McGillivray. “My treaty with Spain will stand. I shall surely win over the Cherokees. The Chickasaws, who now cling to Robertson’s hand because of their chief’s friendship for him, shall join us or be stamped out. We will blot out the Western settlements. The Ohio and Northwestern tribes are eager to join us. If you remain alive to see the border cabins in flames you will remember the offer I made to you in all friendliness. Then will you decide whether you followed a straight or a crooked trail.” “If it must be so,” sighed Sevier. McGillivray tapped the bell and rose. Sevier also stood. The servant entered and made a low obeisance. The Emperor of the Creeks stared moodily at the borderer, hospitality struggling against resentment. Almost sullenly he said: “If you will give me your promise you will not attempt to escape from the village during the night, I shall be pleased to have you shown to a guest room. The bed is better than what we furnish in the cabins.” “I have no desire to leave the village tonight. I promise. But I would like to know if my horse—” “Your horse has been brought in and has received excellent care. I take your promise to save you from a disagreeable death. It is impossible for you to escape. The dogs are out. See here.” Stepping to the window, he leaned out and whistled shrilly on his fingers. A wild chorus of baying answered the signal, and in the faint moonlight Sevier beheld a dark patch swerve from between the cabins, running close like wolves. They swept up to the house with two men behind them. Halting beneath the window, they leaped up to caress their master’s hand. For a minute or two McGillivray called them by name and stroked the heads of the milling mass. They were gaunt, tawny brutes, one being more than a match for any man unarmed. Stepping back from the window, McGillivray remarked: “It would be hard for one to escape my pets. They are a special breed. A streak of the mastiff, and the rest is pure devil. They’re trained to touch no one in the village; but woe to the man who goes out of bounds against my orders. Give me a thousand such and I’ll chew up the foolish Chickasaws and never lose a warrior.”