“That is for Old Tassel to look after. Perhaps he knows you already have made a treaty with the Creeks; that you want war against the whites.” “Why do you say such things?” cried Watts. “Why do you hide the white peace-pipe when I’m brought here? The pipe you have just smoked with the chiefs sent by McGillivray?” “It is false. My people do not want war with the whites. They only ask to have back the lands they always held from the beginning of things, the lands the whites have stolen from them.” “It is true you have made a bargain with McGillivray. You are a renegade Cherokee. You lead the Chickamaugas. You have Shawnees in your cabins, bad Indians who dare not go home to their Ohio brothers. Beware, John Watts. The Chickamauga towns have been burned once. The fire is kindled that will burn from Crown Town to Running Water.” “Who will lead the Watauga men when they bring that fire?” hoarsely asked the chief, his bronzed chest rising and falling spasmodically as he fought to retain his self-control, to keep his hand off his knife. “Nolichucky Jack will lead them,” was the even response. “Little John, you are said to have killed a man of the Wolf. Were you many times Chucky Jack you should die,” Watts passionately declared. “If it is proved I killed him, or that he was killed by any of my men, I will shoot myself,” Sevier readily promised. “But, if he is alive, you will be sorry you held me here. If he has been killed on Cherokee land by Polcher, the murderer, then I demand that Polcher be handed over to me to be hanged. After he is dead you can have his scalp.” The warriors along the cane-benches stirred and twisted uneasily at these bold words, and more than one began considering the possibility of there being any truth in the intimation that the tavern-keeper was the assassin. Chief Watts was quick to note the disturbing effect of the borderer’s speech and loudly proclaimed: “Our _shamans_ have looked into the Great Crystal and have seen you and the Tall Runner facing each other with a bloody knife between you, the point at the Runner’s breast. And the Tall Runner has not come.” “No _shaman_ has seen me in the Ulunsuti as you tell,” Sevier denied, his serene countenance belying his conviction that Watts was determined to remove him from the path of Spain and was prepared to use the _shamans_ in order to still any protest from Old Tassel. Watts rose and extended his hand, shaking a finger dramatically at Sevier, fiercely demanding— “You dare to say a Cherokee was not killed and scalped at Jonesboro a few days ago; that you did not hold a council in your council-house and saw the raw scalp placed before you?”