“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!”