Hunting up his horse, he followed his trail to a spring. With thirst and hunger satisfied, he proceeded to examine the low hill, or knoll, and as he had expected discovered it was surrounded by the swamp. Toward the north, however, the signs indicated an easier escape than that afforded by the route he had taken in gaining his refuge. He could see occasional groups of deciduous trees that demanded a stout soil. Ascending to the top of the knoll, he climbed an oak and obtained a wider survey of the country. In the east the lowlands met the sky-line. The extent of the swamp to the south, his back track, was much less but so hazardous to contemplate that he wondered how he ever managed to cross it with the horse. The Great War-Path skirted the swamp on the west, and the solid forest wall in that direction was quite close, not more than half a mile away, but was barred by open expanses of water. The path to the north was the way out. Now that he possessed a high coign of vantage he could trace the course most desirable to follow. For many minutes he examined the country, jotting down in his mind certain landmarks to go by. A smudge of smoke in the southwest held his gaze, one of the ominous pillars that had followed him for three days. Another column, directly south, was crawling high above the forest crown. A third in the east marked the long line established by the Creeks. As he was about to descend something vague and sombre in the north caught and held his gaze. Now it took shape and ballooned upward, opening like the petals of a black flower. The Cherokees were signalling to the Creeks that they, too, were on guard and waiting for their old foe to be driven into their arms. “The trap is well set,” mused Chucky Jack. As he slid down from his perch his attention was attracted by the action of the myriads of water-fowl in the north. They began rising in fan-like formations at the very edge of the swamp; nor did they circle about and return to their feeding-grounds, but flew some distance to the east before descending. He waited and after a time a second flock, much nearer his refuge, took wing and whirred away. “They’re coming,” he mumbled, beginning to locate the probable path of the advancing enemy. Dropping to the ground, he hastened to the foot of the knoll and caught King and led him into a thicket and secured him. Then with his rifle ready he stole to the shore of his little “island” and ensconced himself in a thicket of willows. He believed he had been there nearly an hour when directly in front of his position and within a few rods of firm land he observed a violent agitation among the bushes and caught the sound of a guttural voice raised in alarm. Sevier crept from under the willows. “Awi-Usdi! _Higinalii?_” There was but one voice and it was calling on the Little Deer and asking if the super-spirit were not a friend. Sevier struck into the bog and again heard the frenzied voice crying: “Little Deer! You are my friend?”