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: