So intent was he on scanning the outlaw’s burly body and repulsive face that he all but overlooked the horse he was riding. The moment he noticed the big black his interest in Red Hajason became a minor matter. There was no mistaking the animal. Not another horse on the border that showed those white knees, for all the world like two bandages. The horse was Tonpit’s favourite mount. Staring incredulously, Sevier darted his gaze over the rest of the animals and found the small bay Miss Elsie always rode. “By all the red gods in the East, he’s got the major’s and the girl’s nags!” gasped the borderer, craning his neck and risking discovery to watch the cavalcade move up the trail. Tonpit and his daughter had disappeared from home the night of Old Thatch’s death. Their departure was, presumably, the result of the Creek’s message from McGillivray. Lon Hester had disappeared the same night. “They were bound for Little Talassee,” he mused. “They rode in haste, or I should have overtaken them. And yet the girl had to have time to rest. Polcher and Hester are free to come and go among the Cherokees. I know Polcher is ahead, waiting for me. Hester is just the man to dicker with Hajason for fresh animals for the major and the girl. But their horses appeared to be fresh. Why change them?” He stared longingly up the trail, fighting down his impulse to pursue Red Hajason and kill him, if need be, to get the truth. To shed blood would be a violation of the law he had invoked to save his own life. He heard Hajason shouting a boisterous greeting in the Cherokee tongue and knew he had glimpsed some of the warriors advancing on either side of the trail. To go after the outlaw and scare the truth from him would mean an encounter with the Indians, who had been ordered to treat him as a coward did they catch him turning back. They would not slay him on the white path, but they surely would make him a prisoner. He almost wished he had delayed his departure until Hajason had arrived. And yet, had Fate worked that way, new complications would have arisen and the trail to the south might not have been open to him. Next rose the puzzling point: why should Hajason come in person to superintend the sale or exchange of a dozen horses? The outlaw was a villain of large activities. He was well known and hospitably received in Great Hiwassee. His immunity to danger consisted in leaving details to his subordinates. “No!” growled Sevier. “He never came just to get rid of the horses. He has had many deals with this town. He could have sent a boy and a talk and made the trade. He came for a purpose. The nags happened to be on hand, and he fetched them.” The Jumper pressed through the bushes behind him and touched his shoulder and anxiously insisted: “Little John loses much time. The medicine of the Deer tells me Death creeps down the trail, even though it be a white trail.”