He held the candle close and superficially examined the location of the wound and measured the cut in the soiled hunting-shirt. Returning to the table he asked— “Are there any witnesses to the killing of the Indian?” One of the tavern characters stood up and awkwardly bobbed his head. “Job Twill,” greeted Sevier. “Tell what you know.” Twill began: “Me’n two other fellers was down on the trail an’ seen this Jackson crawlin’ toward the three black oaks. We watched, ’lowin’ he was goin’ to bag a deer. Then we see a Injun stick his head out of some bushes, an’ this yere Jackson cuss fired. Almost the same time we seen poor Thatch come through the bushes an’ go into the bushes after Jackson. Afore we could git to thinkin’ straight, Old Thatch busted back into sight, runnin’ his old legs off, with Jackson poundin’ after him. That’s all we seen.” “Who were the two men with you?” “Lon Hester ’n Bert Price. They’re out huntin’ for the murderer now.” “I see. You were in the tavern this morning when Jackson had trouble with Hester?” “I was there when he picked a row with Hester,” growled the witness. “They laid aside their weapons?” “Yes, ’cause Polcher wouldn’t have any killin’. Hester threw his knife on the bar, an’ Jackson hung his ax an’ pistol on his rifle. That is, he hung his belt holdin’ ’em on the rifle.” “Can you describe the pistol?” “Long one, with the bar’el all scarred up, like it had been banged round a lot.” “Good for you, Twill. You’ve got a sharp eye. What about the ax?” “Ahem!” broke in Polcher, trying to catch the witness’ eye but unable to do so because Twill stood in front of him. “I think—” “I think you’ll be lying beside Mr. Thatch if you interrupt these proceedings with another word!” roared Sevier, covering the tavern-keeper with his pistol. Then to the startled witness, “Go on, Twill.” “Th’ ax wa’n’t a common trade ax. It was made for real work, extry strong an’ the handle showed hard wear,” faltered the witness, feeling Polcher’s gaze boring into the back of his head but not daring to look back. “Excellent!” heartily approved Sevier. “Give me a thousand men with your eyes and memory and I’d ask help of neither State nor Congress. But we must get along faster. Now describe the knife.” “There wa’n’t no knife,” the witness promptly answered. A faint growl of rage from Polcher and a wide smile from Sevier warned the witness his patron was displeased with his evidence. Half turning his head and entirely missing the cue Polcher’s savage gaze was seeking to convey to him, he persisted: “Don’t ye remember, Polcher, when he hung his belt on the rifle, it held only a ax an’ pistol an’ that there wa’n’t no loop for a knife? One of the boys spoke about it after he went out that it was queer he didn’t carry no knife. An’ Price said he might ’a’ killed lots of Injuns but without a knife he couldn’t ’a’ took any—”