“The Shawnees! I envy you your chance, sir.” Sevier gently nudged Jackson to stand aside and, leaning from the window, muttered: “Major, times are ticklish. Any little break will mean ruin to many cabins. Remember!” Hubbard made some reply inaudible to Jackson. In a freer tone Sevier asked— “What is the latest news?” “That —— mixed-blood, John Watts, and his Chickamaugas have gone to water. They’ll be raiding the French Broad and Holston next.” Sevier pursed his lips musingly and said: “We must have more men, more arms and money. North Carolina must act on my petition.” Hubbard laughed harshly and sneered: “Why should they give money when you’ve always been ready to foot the bills? Ask them for money, and they’ll tell you that the Indians—curse them, curse them—are friendly and much abused. And they’ll leave you to pay the shot.” “I can’t pay again. I’ve spent my all,” Sevier quietly answered. “But I’m hopeful the State will show common sense. North Carolina must realize we’re no longer able to handle the criminals pouring over the mountains without courts; that we’re unable to stand off the Creek Nation once the Cherokees join it. Old Tassel can’t always hold his three thousand in check.” “His chiefs rebel. Many of his young warriors are stealing away to go to water and follow Watts,” was the gloomy response. A few words more and Hubbard returned to the trail and struck off for the forest. Sevier stood and looked after him uneasily. Wheeling about, his face betrayed his anxiety and prompted Jackson to ask: “What’s the matter with him? Any relation to Hubbard, the Injun-killer, we heard about up on the Ohio?” “He is the killer. He’s killed more Cherokees than any other three men on the border. His family was wiped out by Shawnees back in Virginia. You can’t make him believe any Indian should be allowed to live. And he worries me. Now he’s off to scout the forest. It only needs the killing of an Indian or so to explode the powder under our feet. Huh! I wish he had not gone.” “He had news?” “Nothing more than we’ve suspected for a year. John Watts is always ready to take the path. He’s the shrewdest of the Cherokee leaders. If Old Tassel loses his grip or should decide that peace doesn’t pay—” His French blood found expression in an outward gesture of the hands as he dropped down at the table. Toying with the petition and speaking his thoughts aloud, he ran on: “But Major Hubbard wants war. He’s inclined to look on the dark side of things. Tush! The State by this time realizes what we’ve won for her without an ounce of help. Pure selfishness will compel the Legislature to send us the necessary aid. Ha! There’s news, by heavens! The Cherokees must have struck!” It was the distant clatter of flying hoofs. Sevier dropped through the window with Jackson at his heels. Polcher and his henchmen were piling from the tavern and staring toward the mountains. Some one was riding at top speed from the east.