“All I want to do is my duty by the settlers on this side of the mountains,” Polcher warmly declared. “Our first duty is to see that the settlers in this valley and those on the Holston and French Broad are not wiped out by that red ax you said was coming.” “I spoke foolishly,” sighed Polcher. “I only meant that the killing of this Indian would make trouble. You and I are one in wanting to save the settlements. Why not accept aid where we can find it?” “From over the water? Already we’ve stood more from Spain than we ever endured from the mother country. If we didn’t want a separate existence, why did we go through a war that’s left us bankrupt?” “We could accept help till we’re strong enough to strike out for ourselves,” insisted Polcher. “The man who’d sell us to Spain would next be selling us to the devil,” Sevier sharply retorted. “As for strength, we’re strong enough now to send a red ax to every Indian nation in the South—and another to Charles III.” Polcher knew this was said for rhetorical effect and did not represent Sevier’s true belief. But he took the words seriously and argued: “I can’t see that. Other men, bigger than me, can’t see it, either.” “Meaning Tonpit.” “You named him; not me. There are men over the mountains, who stand very high, who believe it would be our salvation from the Western Indians if we had Spain at our back.” “Spain at our back today means Spain at our throats tomorrow.” “Bosh! Then there are the Northern Indians. When you get a war-belt from Cherokee and Creek, you’ll get others from the Ohio tribes. Just now the friendship of Piomingo, the Chickasaw chief, for Robertson holds that tribe back. But what if Robertson dies or Piomingo dies? What will hold the tribe back then? And, as the Chickasaws go, so go the Choctaws, seven thousand in round numbers.” “We haven’t come to that trail yet.” “But it’s only a step ahead. How can the Western settlements get anywhere or do anything under the present Government? We’re shut off from the seaboard. Spain controls every mile of the Mississippi. Our tobacco rots on the ground. We’re hemmed in. If we accepted Spain’s friendly offer, we could ship our tobacco down the Mississippi and sell it in New Orleans for ten dollars a hundred. Today a man’s lucky to sell any of his crop for two dollars a hundred. And so it is with everything else. We’ve everything to win and nothing to lose.” “Polcher, you’re a dangerous man, the most dangerous man on the border. Your trade-talk will catch some settlers who are honest at heart but who only think of selling their tobacco. You have other lines of talk to win over the man who refuses to make a move that will divide or weaken the thirteen States.