The signal was repeated until it had run round the circle, and the men began to slowly advance toward the common centre. Ostensibly Sevier searched most carefully, but always with a sidelong glance to see that Polcher’s torch was on his immediate right. As the men worked inward they came nearer together, but it was not until they were but a few rods from the three oaks that Sevier gave a low exclamation of anger. The man next to him was not Polcher but one of his tools. Seizing him by the shoulder Sevier fiercely demanded— “Where’s your master?” Frightened, the man did not speak for a moment; then he faltered: “I don’t know. He gave me his torch to hold while he looked under some brush.” “Every one scatter and look for Polcher!” roared Chucky Jack. “I charge him with killing Thatch. The job was done with a butcher-knife, like what he carries under his apron. Stetson, take three men and follow me on the jump. You others beat the woods toward the settlement and come to the tavern.” “What’s on your mind?” asked Stetson as he raced beside Sevier up the trail. “I think he’ll make for the court-house. To get that scalp!” “He’s lighting out?” “He’ll be hiding among the Cherokees by morning.” Nothing more was said until they reached the court-house. Then, as they entered and by the stub of the candle beheld the horn of ink spilled on the table and inky finger-prints on the worthless petition and top of the table, Sevier quietly announced: “He’s been here and gone.” “And he took the scalp!” cried Stetson. Sevier smiled and drew it from his hunting-shirt, saying— “It was too valuable to leave behind.” One of the settlers now thrust his head in at the door and informed: “Polcher’s hoss is gone. The mulatter says he come an’ got a pile of money from a hiding-place under the bar. He’s lit out jest as ye thought.” Others now came up, and from the doorway Sevier addressed them, saying: “My friends, it’s all over. Polcher’s gone, showing that he killed Thatch. There’s nothing more you can do except to choose a guard to keep the trash out of the tavern. The men on guard are to find and keep for me all papers in the tavern. The rest of you go home to your families. Stetson, you stay here for a bit.” After the men had departed, Sevier thrust the scalp through a crack in the floor and poked it with the point of his knife until it entirely disappeared. Then to Stetson he directed: