Sevier smiled in quiet satisfaction. He was sure he had cleaned out the white assassins, else the Indians would have waited for a third to precede them. For the rest of the day he nursed his speed, walking much to rest his horse and racing madly only when the trail stretched in a straight line for any distance. Whether afoot or flashing down the leafy alley at break-neck pace, he momentarily expected the tavern-keeper to announce his presence with singing lead. Abrupt turns in the path were negotiated carefully, some being avoided by detours. Night found him far advanced on his journey without having discerned any signs of Cherokees or Polcher. At last he stood at the edge of Little Talassee. His ride through the Creek country had been accompanied by stealth and superb woodcraft and had been uneventful. The wandering bands of warriors that might have intercepted him were avoided without much effort. This taught him the Creeks did not imagine a hostile white man was so far within their territory. It also carried the conviction that Polcher took it for granted Red Hajason’s men would prevent his coming. This belief necessitated the conclusion that some of the Cherokee runners had passed round him and informed the tavern-keeper he need bother no longer with Chucky Jack as others had undertaken the work of removing him. Sevier had timed the last leg of his journey so as to permit an entrance to the village after sundown. From his hiding-place he halted and observed the emperor’s home. It was a large handsome house, pleasingly situated back from the river and surrounded by shade trees and extensive beds of flowers. The grounds presented nothing to view which would suggest the red man. It might have been a bit of Pensacola or New Orleans. It was the environment of a white man. Back of the big house were some two-score neat little cabins that constituted the slave-quarters, while scattered about the residence in a seemingly haphazard manner were outbuildings for supplies and equipment. The entire effect on the borderer was that of a town rather than Emperor McGillivray’s private estate. Near Sevier’s hiding-place was a large corral filled with horses. Other animals grazed outside. Waiting until evening had blurred the landscape, Sevier left his horse to graze and ventured among the outbuildings. From the opposite side of the grounds came a chorus of melodious voices as the slaves sang and made merry. Lights sprang up in the big house, fires twinkled before the cabins in the slave-quarters, but the edge of the estate where Sevier reconnoitred seemed deserted.