He had reached a point due east from the camp when he was startled by the sharp report of a gun. Dropping the turkey, he ran to the trail and crossed it, thinking his guide was the victim of some treachery. Before he came in sight of the fire he heard the Jumper wailing and moaning, and yet not as one who cries out when physically hurt. In fact, he knew a material wound could elicit no complaint from the Jumper. Slowing his pace, he advanced more cautiously and halted for a moment at the edge of the woods and surveyed the Indian. The Jumper was lamenting in a dismal manner. He was busy trimming some small branches into tiny rods. Stepping forth Sevier demanded— “Was it your gun I heard?” The Jumper groaned and held up the small rods. There were seven of them, seven being the sacred number of his people. Sevier took one of the rods and examined it. He found it was sourwood. “You have killed a wolf?” he asked. “I shot at one, thinking it was a turkey in the bushes,” shivered the Jumper. And he snatched up his gun and began unscrewing the barrel. “Now will Kanati, the Lucky Hunter whose watch-dog the wolf is, be very angry with me. Already I feel myself turning blue.” “The Lucky Hunter will know it was a mistake,” soothed Sevier, appreciating how serious a fault it was for any but the ceremonial wolf-killer to shoot at a wolf. “While you finish your medicine for the gun I will go back and get the turkey I dropped.” According to the Cherokee belief the gun was spoiled unless treated at once by a medicine-man. In the absence of a shaman one must make his own medicine as best he could. As Sevier well knew the incident reduced the Indian’s value as a guide and scout to zero. As a fighter he had become nil. Even if the bad spirit could be immediately exorcised from the offending barrel the Jumper would not dare fire it at a lurking foe for fear of making another mistake and rekindling the rage of the mighty Kanati. And those who stalked the borderer along a red path would not show themselves for an open shot. Disturbed by the incident Sevier recovered the turkey and hastened back. The Jumper was heating the slim rods over a small fire near the edge of the water and as Sevier came up he commenced inserting them in the gun-barrel. Sevier watched him in silence as he completed his task and leaned forward to place the defiled barrel in the creek, where it must remain for the night. Turning back, the Jumper plucked the turkey and prepared it for the coals, groaning and grimacing as he worked but taking no heed of his white companion. “What is it now, my brother?” asked Sevier. “The Crippler (rheumatism) has me,” lamented the Jumper, rubbing his legs. “I have angered a Deer ghost.” “You shall make a prayer to the Black, Blue and White Ravens. The Two Little Men of the Sun Land shall come and drive the intruder away,” comforted Sevier. “Only a shaman can make the prayer,” was the doleful reply.