Yet the day passed without any demonstration from the man ahead or any sign of the Cherokees behind. Both red and white were in their places, never a doubt of that. At sundown Sevier found water and followed it some distance from the trail. Selecting a small circle of cedars he made his fire where he could not be seen unless the prowler approached very close. He had saved enough of the turkey to suffice him for food; and after the first darkness came to hide his movements he shifted his horse up-stream. Returning to the cedars, he gathered small boughs and rolled them in his blanket. Then, heaping fresh fuel on the fire, he withdrew into the night and took up his position between the sprawling roots of a mighty oak. He planned to sleep through the first of the night, being confident no prowler would approach the cedars so long as the blazing fire suggested he was awake and alert. The flames would consolidate into coals about midnight; it was then that any lurking assassin would seek the blanketed decoy. With the woods instinct he timed his slumber accurately. As he opened his eyes and caught the reek of the smouldering fire and beheld the glowing coals staring through the foliage he softly rose to one knee and raised his rifle. The disturbing voice of a screech-owl raised his _wa-huhu_. Sevier pricked his ears, then relaxed as the dismal notes were repeated. They were genuine and no Indian signal. This corroborated his theory that Chief Watts’ men were holding back to give the mixed-blood every opportunity to kill. Something stirred on the borderer’s left, a faint rustling. The smoke from the fire would have repelled a night animal. The darkness made vision useless except as he gazed toward the coals. He aimed his rifle at these. A minute passed and the glowing coals vanished, advertising the intervention of a solid body. With finger on the trigger Sevier waited for a count of ten, when the explosion of the assassin’s rifle tore a red hole in blackness. Almost at the same moment Sevier fired. Something collapsed and the twinkling embers reappeared. As he fired the borderer fell flat and remained motionless. The silence shut in again. The adventure was finished. Yet Sevier held back until he had reloaded. Then, armed with rifle and ax, he edged forward. He had covered half the distance to the cedars when his moccasin touched something that impelled him to drop his gun and spring forward. But the form he grasped made no effort at defence. Groping about until he found the hands and had made sure they held no weapons, he dragged the limp figure up to the fire and dropped some dry grass on the coals. The flames flared up and revealed the face of the dead man. It was not Polcher but one of the two whites who had ridden with Red Hajason.