There was something in the drowsy atmosphere of the village that was reminiscent of James Robertson’s last visit to his home on the Nolichucky. The fancy was absurd and yet persisted; something that now thrilled him with a promise of succour, and yet too vaguely remembered to take a tangible form in his thoughts. He forced his recollections over the back trail. He recalled the evening. He could see Robertson at the table, talking. Then there flashed across the sensitive screen of his memory the words: Then Moses severed three cities on this side Jordan toward the sunrising; that the slayer might flee thither, which should kill his neighbour unawares, and hated him not in times past; and that fleeing unto one of these cities he might live. Now he had it through the seeming irrelevancy of some passages of Scripture. Robertson had been to Echota, and had spoken of it as a “white,” or “peace” town. Sevier had summoned it back to mind through the association of ideas. The Cherokees had degenerated in other matters, but they still held strictly to their ancient law and vouchsafed a refuge to the murderer which was even more liberal than that set forth in Deuteronomy. For, while Moses had stipulated that wilful or premeditated homicide placed the offender outside the pale of sanctuary on the east side of Jordan, the old Cherokee law protected even the wilful slayer once he gained Echota. Sevier knew a trader, a white man, who had demanded and secured sanctuary at Echota after slaying an Indian in defence of his goods. This man had even been warned by the chiefs that he would be waylaid and killed on his way home unless he first appeased the dead man’s relatives with gifts. Sixteen years back Oconostota, speaking for the Cherokee Nation at Johnson Hall on the Mohawk, in the course of making peace with the Iroquois, had said— “We come from Chotte, where the white house, the house of peace, is erected.” But this was not Echota, and yet the vague promise of help persisted in the borderer’s mind. Then there walked through his thoughts the figure of a Frenchman, who had visited him at Jonesboro, having come from the Creek country and passing near the lower towns, and the Frenchman had told of finding rest and security. “I have it now!” softly exclaimed Sevier, lifting his head and glancing sharply about the village. The domesticated fowls scratched and pecked before the silent cabins. Pigs grunted and nosed about. Then a small face shyly peeped round the corner of a cabin, and Sevier smiled as he beheld the little maid who had prayed to the beaver for a new tooth. She held up the trade mirror and ventured a few steps toward him. A low admonition from inside the cabin was ignored by the tot. Suddenly making up her mind, she ran to the window and gleefully held up the mirror for him to look in, then gravely opened her mouth and used the glass in seeking the belated gift of _Dayi_.