“No, John,” he said before the other could speak; “I decided not to risk it. For a bit I believed it could be done; then I saw _tsiskwaya_, the little sparrow, fly upward, afraid of something on the ground.” “_Tsiskwaya_ saw a snake,” suggested Watts. “He wore Cherokee paint,” smiled Sevier. The chief lowered at him evilly, a heavy scowl distorting his dark face. The borderer knew something had gone wrong with his enemy and philosophically decided he ought to be benefitted by whatever had displeased the chief. “My brother is angry because I did not ride down the trail,” he said. Watts snarled like a tree-cat, then forced his face to composure and said: “I am angry at your narrow escape. If you had gone down the trail, the snake might have bitten you. Who knows? Bad dreams would have come to me if you had been harmed.” “Just what does that mean?” Sevier suspiciously asked. Watts pointed to the end of the village, where warriors were filing in between the first cabins. “Old Tassel comes, and with him is the Tall Runner, the man of the Wolf, who Polcher said was dead.” Sevier could scarcely credit his eyes. Old Tassel and Tall Runner rode ahead of the band. “Then I am free to go. I do not need to wait for the Green Corn Dance to wipe out all sins,” he cried. “Little John is as free as the birds of the air,” quickly assured Watts. “His horse is waiting. He has his rifle, pistol and ax. He had better go before Old Tassel asks him to stay. If there is a snake in the woods, I will drive him away.” And he raised two fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly. The signal was promptly answered. “The path is open and smooth,” he said to Sevier. There was a strong possibility that Old Tassel would insist on his remaining in the village. Sevier had learned, however, that he invariably profited by doing the opposite to what hostiles like Watts wished him to do. Now that luck had permitted him to meet Old Tassel, whose pacific inclinations were a thorn in the side of the war-faction, he instantly became determined to win some advantage from the encounter. “Where is the man Polcher?” he asked. “He is here somewhere.” “I think my medicine is telling me to see Old Tassel before I go,” he announced. With that he hastened forward, followed by the chief, and overtook Old Tassel in front of the council-house. The old chief was not prepared for the meeting, and his alarmed manner of glancing about suggested an expectation of beholding a band of Chucky Jack’s famous riflemen. His show of perturbation impelled Sevier to wonder what tricks the wily old diplomat was up to. The Tall Runner ignored Sevier’s presence entirely. “My brother did not think to see me here,” greeted Sevier, grasping the chief by the hand. “My brother is far from home,” mumbled the chief. “Not when he is in the home of his friends,” corrected Sevier. “Come, let us open a bag of talk. I sent you a talk by Tall Runner to say I would meet you in council. I am here alone to do so.”