Now Sevier knew for a certainty that Polcher was near and had told his story to the lower towns. Nor did Sevier care to explain that a Creek had been killed, and not a Cherokee; for that news, relayed to McGillivray, would bring even greater evil. He was forced to believe Watts was sincere in considering Tall Runner dead. The messenger’s failure to return home was alarming. He found one slim hope to cling to: Tall Runner had started from one of the Little Tennessee towns and had returned there. During his absence Old Tassel had set out on a journey and the Runner had not yet caught up with him. “After Tall Runner gave me his talk and had received mine and was ready to start back, I told the settlers of Jonesboro I would hang the man who crossed his homeward trail. And they know Chucky Jack keeps his word,” Sevier declared. Watts seemed impressed and remained silent for several moments, his head bowed. Then he rose and with racial dignity said: “I will send a runner to find Old Tassel to see if anything new has been heard from his messenger. But if the Cherokees should find their red brother had been killed and scalped—just as it is now believed in this village that he dwells where it is ever growing dark—and if Little John should be asked to cover the dead with his blood, who is there to become angry and make war-medicine against us?” “My riflemen know how and when to make war-medicine.” “Little birds whisper that they can do nothing without a leader; that their minds are in many pieces, some crying for Spain to buy their tobacco, some saying they will make themselves into a new nation and have done with Chucky Jack, who plans to join the Thirteen Fires (thirteen States).” Sevier folded his arms and stared over the chief’s head. Watts continued: “It can not be that North Carolina will be angry if the spirit of Tsan-usdi travels to the spirit land in the West, for Carolina has driven him from her cabin. The Thirteen Fires will not ask presents for his death, for the Thirteen Fires are made of green wood and give more smoke than flame and will soon die out. The Thirteen Fires are not like fires; they are like an old man without legs to run on, without hands to lift the ax, like an old man who can only open his mouth and make foolish sounds.” With the quickness of a released steel spring Sevier came to his feet, and, before a savage could guess his purpose, he had Watts’ scalp-lock in his left hand and Watts’ knife in his right and in a low, vibrant voice was warning: “I am an American. Say what you will about the Watauga, about Carolina. But, by the white man’s God, another black word against the Thirteen Fires and I’ll empty your flesh of blood!” They stood breast to breast, their eyes fighting the old, old battle, with no warrior daring to move for fear of precipitating a tragedy. Nor was there any cowardice in Watts’ bearing when he finally broke the tense silence by saying: