Although the rider might be bringing the fate of a continent, Jackson’s first interest was in a man and woman cantering up the trail from the opposite direction. Instead of watching for the furious rider, he had eyes only for the two. The man was tall and gaunt and of haughty bearing, his sharp, cold face swinging from side to side as if he were the master riding among slaves. The girl was his daughter, Elsie Tonpit. The young Virginian forgot the approaching messenger and ran toward the couple, his heart beating tumultuously. To his glad surprise Tonpit greeted him with a shadowy smile and stretched out a hand in welcome. The girl, however, betrayed symptoms of alarm instead of being pleased by her father’s attempt at cordiality. She even sought to evade the fond gaze of her lover and glanced apprehensively toward the court-house. Jackson knew in a moment that she felt shame for what she believed Sevier had told him. “When Elsie informed me you were in Jonesboro, Mr. Jackson, I set out to find you,” Tonpit now delighted the young man by saying. “I have to thank her and Sevier for rescuing me from a ridiculous position,” he blurted out and then bit his tongue for having uttered the words. “Ha! How is that?” coldly demanded Tonpit, but with his gaze seeking a glimpse of the rider, now well among the cabins. “The men in the tavern were taking advantage of their numbers,” quickly spoke up the girl. “The man called Hester was the ringleader, I should say.” “This is the first time you’ve said anything about it,” murmured her father, his eyes now lighting as they focussed on the bobbing figure of the horseman. “It only needed Mr. Sevier’s command to relieve Mr. Jackson of any embarrassment,” she awkwardly explained. Tonpit’s thin visage grew cold with hate. “I and my friends refuse to be beholden to this man Sevier,” he harshly warned. And, touching spur to his mount, he beckoned the girl to follow him and darted toward the tavern. With one backward glance she rode after him. Jackson ran forward, as did Sevier, as the rider reined in before the tavern door and wearily dismounted. From all quarters came the settlers and their families. Polcher brought out a pitcher of brandy, and the messenger drank deeply. Then jumping on a horse-block he waved a paper in his hand and cried out— “For Chucky Jack!” “Here!” called Sevier from the edge of the crowd. The missive was tossed into his outstretched hand. As he was breaking the seal, the messenger drew a deep breath, waved his arms for silence and shouted— “North Carolina has ceded us to the central Government to pay for her part of the war debt!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER II THE DEAD ARE DANGEROUS