Polcher stood up and testified: “I was in my room, with a coloured boy tending the bar. I was figuring up my accounts when I heard my name spoken softly and looked up to see poor Thatch’s face at the window. He seemed to be badly frightened. I thought it was nerves, the need of a drink. I picked up a jug and gave him a drink. The liquor seemed to straighten him out, and he told me he was trying to escape the man called Kirk Jackson. He said he had come upon Jackson down the trail and that Jackson was ripping the hair off an Indian he had just shot—” “Did he say he saw him shoot him?” broke in Sevier. “I don’t think so. He talked fast and was much frightened. I remember he said the shot attracted his attention. He was lying down, had been asleep. He got up and saw Jackson scalping the Indian. I take it for granted he didn’t see the shot, although he must have been very close. Of course his story was more or less broken up. I’m only giving the substance of it. He said he cried out and asked Jackson why he killed the Indian and risked bringing on a war. Jackson sprang to his feet and snapped his rifle at him, forgetting he hadn’t reloaded it. “Poor Thatch then ran for his life with Jackson after him. He knew Jackson would catch him if he didn’t hide. He managed to dart into a hollow tree. Knowing Jackson would kill him to prevent his being a witness against him, the old man kept in hiding till long after dark. If he could make my place without being seen, he knew I would protect him. His talk was wild because of his fear. He insisted he was followed, that Jackson was right behind him. He wanted to crawl through the window. Poor Old Thatch! If I’d only let him in through the window! But I thought it was all nonsense. “He’d been drinking too much the last few days, and only this morning I refused to let him have some whisky. I told him to pass round to the tap-room door and I’d see that no one harmed him. He started to do so when some one jumped him from behind the currant-bushes. The old man must have lost his head, for instead of running up to the window he stood in his tracks as if paralyzed. Then he yelled out, and I knew he’d got it. “I climbed through the window and Jackson saw me and fired. I called to the men, and they came on the run. We got lights and found where Jackson hid behind the bushes. The tracks of his Shawnee moccasins are very plain. You can see them for yourself. It was at that spot we found the scalp I’ve given you. I think that’s all.” “Very connectedly told,” murmured Sevier, rapidly making some notes. “Did you see Jackson to recognize him?” “I did. After I leaped through the window he started toward me, then heard the men coming and thought better of it. I saw his face plainly.” “That would seem to prove the killing of Thatch,” mused Sevier, rising and advancing with a candle to the body.