Taking his horse by the bridle he waded into the ford and the mocking-bird darted away. He was hoping no Indian had seen the songster’s fright when there sounded behind him the click of a rifle being cocked. He stopped with the water swirling about his knees and looked back. A glance sufficed to tell him his plight was hopeless did he offer resistance. Fully a dozen warriors were on the bank with rifles aimed. Turning and leading his horse back to them, Sevier complained— “When a Cherokee brings a talk to Tsan-usdi he is not met with a pointed gun.” One of the warriors met him as he came out of the river and relieved him of his rifle and belt and significantly replied— “They say that when a Cherokee went to see Little John he left his scalp.” Eyes flashed, and bronzed hands played with knife and ax at the speech. Sevier knew Polcher had begun spreading his poisonous tale and that by this time the story was radiating through the wilderness, village after village catching it up and passing it on. Like magic would the news spread throughout the nation. “By the lips of a Cherokee himself you shall learn that it is a lie. None of your brothers has been harmed in Jonesboro where the Cherokee talks are brought to me,” quietly answered Sevier. “Who commands here?” “We follow John Watts,” sullenly replied the warrior. “Chickamaugas, hopelessly hostile,” Sevier inwardly exclaimed. Then aloud, “Where is he? I bring him a talk. I have come fast as the wind to see him.” “He is near. You shall see him,” was the grim reply. “Then do not keep me waiting,” was the brusque command. And the borderer leaped on his horse. The Indians feared him as they had never feared white or red man, and, although he was unarmed and greatly outnumbered, they kept their distance and nervously covered him with their guns as if fearing some magic. The temporary leader of the band went ahead and frequently glanced back to make sure Chucky Jack was not too close to his heels. Sevier whistled softly, outwardly calm and indifferent. As a fact, he would have preferred that almost any other man than Watts should be ahead of him. He had fought Watts and whipped him, but he respected him for his courage and shrewdness. He considered him the most astute of all the Cherokee leaders, the one chief destined to succeed Old Tassel. Watts was hopelessly belligerent, where Old Tassel sought to gain his ends by trickery and diplomacy. “Where is Tall Runner?” Sevier sharply called out to the warrior ahead. “Ask those who laid down the Black Path for his feet to follow to the Twilight Land,” was the ominous answer. “Tall Runner will come to give you the lie,” coolly declared Sevier. “He has not gone to the ever-darkening land in the west.”