Warriors had been sent after him and there was a chance he might be overtaken before he could reach the French Broad. But there would be no excuse if Chucky Jack, prize of all prizes, slipped through the Cherokees’ hands. Thus, despite his inclination to remain at the village until Old Tassel was irrevocably crowded into the war-pact, Chief Watts was compelled to rejoin his lynx-eyed warriors. And Old Tassel sat disconsolate and heavy-hearted among the hot-bloods. There were staid and sophisticated head men in Old Tassel’s train who would be pleased to see the red ax buried. These lived in the Eastern towns and had mingled with the whites and had begun to realize the irresistible momentum of the tide sweeping down over the Alleghanies. Old Tassel knew he could count on his followers, but he had permitted John Watts to believe he would consent to war, and he feared the scorn of the fighting chief and his men. Now that he knew he was being carried along with the red tide and was to be dashed against the Western settlements he sought surcease from worry by whipping himself into a rage. God knows he had had much to bitterly complain of. But despite the injustices worked him he could not establish a lasting anger. His attempt to cultivate a blood-lust failed. He had held to the white trail too long. Even in these great moments of regret he recalled certain victories he had won by guile and cunning, or fair dealing, when never an ax was reddened with blood. The long benches were full and the majority of those present were flushed with thoughts of conquest. Theoretically they could not fail. Old Tassel was an Indian and not to be put out of countenance by the death of white folks. It was the ever present fear of disaster to his people that worried him. Even the most perfect of theories may end in alarming facts. And there was the rub. He could not be sure the Creeks would do all they boasted. If a single link in the chain broke, the chain would fly to pieces. Then it would be Old Tassel’s domain that would first feel the vengeance of Chucky Jack and his horsemen. Old Tassel cast a mournful glance over the assemblage and rose and said: “I am an old man. My path is very steep and slippery. Now it leads me to this council where war or peace is to be decided.” He paused and glanced furtively about. With the exception of his own personal following this ambiguous announcement was received with indignant glances. Thrown into something of a panic he hastily added—— “I believe most of the men here are for war.” A loud chorus of affirmatives accented the truth of this statement. With a poorly suppressed sigh Old Tassel continued— “Is there any one here who has a talk for us?” Up sprang one of Dragging Canoe’s leading warriors, who began: