Behind him the Cherokee smokes still answered the Creek signals, the watchers confident that Chucky Jack was bottled up between the lines. The result of the peace talk had not yet been conveyed to Chief Watts. And Chucky Jack smiled as he pictured McGillivray’s rage on being told Old Tassel was opposed to the Creek alliance. “If he sticks to his word and keeps on being opposed!” Sevier murmured as he picked his way beneath the ancient trees. “Can Watts win the chief back again? Not if fear for his towns on the Little Tennessee sends him home without meeting Watts. If he rides for home he will sweep the country with the news that the ax is buried. I’ll save time by waiting a bit to make sure. If he stays at Turkey Town, then Watts will make him change his mind.” That night he made his camp on the side of a hill overlooking the trail to the north. Before sunrise he was up and anxiously scanning the worn ribbon of a path where it debouched into an opening. Either Old Tassel and his followers would pass within a few hours or had succumbed to the insistence of the Chickamaugas. If the old chief was still for peace he must be within a few hours’ ride of the borderer and would press on hotly to avoid being overtaken by Watts. With his gaze fixed on the opening Sevier saw the mist-ghosts rise and draw their shrouds about them and vanish before the level rays of the sun. For two hours the open trail was purified by sunlight; then a horseman, riding hard, broke from the woods. Behind him came others, until the borderer counted nearly two score, and in the middle of the galloping line rode Old Tassel. “I’ve won!” softly exclaimed Sevier, sinking limply back on the moss. “Old Tassel hurries to the Tellico. That means peace! Now, McGillivray of the Creeks, go ahead with your secret treaty with Spain, and be —— to you!” In great elation Sevier shot a turkey and ate his breakfast and leisurely followed on after the warriors. The cry of peace would radiate on all sides of their advance. Twice during the day he saw Cherokees. One party he avoided. The second was afoot and hidden by a twist in the trail and he rode into them unexpectedly. Instead of seeking to force him to pass between them, they drew to one side. Yet he halted and sternly asked— “Is it peace?” They presented empty hands, and an elderly warrior gravely answered— “It is peace, Tsan-usdi.” He galloped on. Could he but intercept the Tonpits he would set back McGillivray’s plans for two years; and during that period of grace he was confident his riflemen would increase in numbers until a show of force on Spain’s part would be folly.