If Sevier were correct in his surmises, the thieves in the settlement would respect the place as belonging to a friend of McGillivray. Honest men would not intrude. But what would it profit for him to enter? He had no light, and he doubted if a crumb of fire would be burning in the fireplace now it was July. His fumbling hands would find many reminders of the girl, and he needed no more than his heart now held. Turning away, he regained the trail and hastened back to the settlement. As he approached each cabin, he pulled forth the paper, hoping to find a lighted window outside of which he could pause and read his message. The settlers, however, retired early in the Watauga region, and each cabin was a squat, dark mass. But ahead there did gleam a light, a tiny beacon, and he knew Sevier was awaiting his return to the court-house. He ran swiftly and noiselessly and without pausing to announce himself pushed open the door and jumped across the threshold. Sevier was seated at the table, his right elbow resting on it, his hand gripping a long pistol, the muzzle of which covered the door. “You, Jackson!” he softly exclaimed, dropping the pistol. “You come as if the devil was after you.” “There’s no one in the Tonpit house. She left a message for me, and I haven’t had a chance to read it,” panted Jackson, snatching up a candle and holding it close to the paper. Sevier watched his face closely and saw the dark features change from a frown of perplexity to a scowl of understanding. “Read!” choked Jackson, restoring the candle to the table and dropping the note. Sevier bowed over it and read— Little Talassee. “——!” gasped Jackson, wiping his wet face. “Little Talassee! Where McGillivray, Emperor of the Creeks, lives!” The writing was a mere scrawl, as if the girl had but a moment. “It was a surprise to her,” murmured Sevier. “She wasn’t prepared for it. They started immediately after her father gave the word. Of course he went with her. He isn’t entirely an idiot.” “But why? Why?” was Jackson’s agonized query. Sevier rose and paced to the window and back, his brows wrinkled in perplexity. But when he halted at the table again, the furrows on his forehead were ironed out. Placing a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, he said: “I think I have it. The Creek messenger brought a talk for Tonpit, a writing from McGillivray. Both McGillivray and Tonpit knew what the Legislature intended to do. Tonpit was here to be on the ground. His reward was to be great if he influenced the bulk of the settlers to submit peacefully to Spain’s rule. But McGillivray, in putting everything at stake, feared Tonpit would not stand firm. So, I believe, his message was to demand a hostage, a guarantee that Tonpit would see the matter through to the end. He demanded the girl as the hostage. Her father consented.” “Good God! Impossible! His own daughter!” choked Jackson.