“Not so fast,” muttered McGillivray, staring at him meditatively. “I didn’t mean it that way. If there is no red wampum, neither is there any white wampum between us. You’ve come here without being asked. I’m not yet ready to smoke with you.” “At least we could go inside and sit down and have a talk,” suggested Sevier. “Why, certainly, we can do that. And some cakes and a glass of wine into the bargain,” laughed McGillivray. “My surprise at your coming made me forget my hospitality. Only remember, I did not ask you to bring a talk, and we shall talk without belts.” “That suits me perfectly,” assured Sevier, taking his rifle from where he had stood it against the cabin when seeking to attract Jackson’s attention. McGillivray waved his hand and the warriors closed about the borderer. Polcher disappeared in the darkness, after loitering to see if he were included in the emperor’s hospitality. As McGillivray strode on ahead, leading the way to the big house, he laughed softly but laughed much. As he drew up at the door a slave in gay livery threw it open and humbly stood aside. The emperor slapped his leg with the riding-whip and exclaimed: “——! But this is unexpected. If I’d offered ten thousand pounds in gold I couldn’t had you brought here alive. Behold! You’re here without my even asking.” “Yet it cost something for me to get here,” said Sevier. “Meaning just what?” “Two dead men on the Great War-Path. They tried to stop me.” McGillivray’s eyes danced. “Good! Whose men? Watts’? Dragging Canoe’s—” “Oh, none of the friendly Indians,” Sevier interrupted, smiling as he read McGillivray’s ardent hope that Cherokees had been slain and that their deaths would precipitate the nation into a war against the settlements. “Merely two renegade whites. Two of Red Hajason’s men.” The emperor’s face fell. Sevier only raised the red ax against his Northern neighbours. He eyed the borderer gravely; then a little smile curled his thin lips and he said: “Those two are better than nothing. If this Red Hajason lived nearer my country I should send some of my young men to break off his head. He rather got the best of me on a batch of horses. And he’ll never come himself with a drove; always sends some of his tools.” Sevier yawned. Instantly the emperor stood aside, bowed courteously and lamented: “I am forgetting myself. Please leave your rifle and belt with the servant. And enter. You are most welcome to Little Talassee—my guest? Prisoner? I wonder!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII THE EMPEROR OF THE CREEKS