Many settlers were long used to classifying the red men with the wild animals along the border. Therefore, the question of killing the two fleeing Cherokees became a matter of policy, rather than of sentiment. But Davis, although he wavered, finally declared he would have none of it. He reminded his friends that they would soon be called by Dunmore to march against the Ohio tribes, and that it would not do to leave hostile Cherokees behind them to attack the valleys. Hacker, Runner, Scott and Crabtree perceived that the settlers were opposed to further bloodshed, but Crabtree still had a card to play. Turning to Baby Kirst, who was staring intently down on the dead man, he suddenly cried:
“Sweet sugar, Baby, if you ride and find two Injuns just gone away.”
And he pointed in the direction taken by the man and woman. With a yelp of juvenile delight Baby slapped his horse and rode away down the valley.
“Now you’ve done it!” growled Davis, scowling blackly at Crabtree. “You’ve made trouble atween us and the Cherokees, and you’ve drove away the best defense against Injuns we could ’a’ had.”
“I don’t have to have no loose-wit to stand ’tween me and Injuns,” sneered Crabtree.
“You’re better at killing unarmed Indians than in putting up a real fight,” I accused. “You’re not fond of traveling very far from a settlement when you draw blood. Shelby Cousin was telling me down on the Cheat that you like to be near a white man’s cabin when you make a kill.”
His sallow face flushed red, but he had no harsh words to say against young Cousin. Without replying to me he made for the Davis cabin to get something to eat, leaving Cherokee Billy for others to bury. I noticed it was the Widow McCabe, with her slate-gray eyes half-closed and gleaming brightly, who waited on Crabtree and heaped his plate with food.
What with the interruptions and the nervous tension of the men it was after sunset before the roof of the fort was finished. It was agreed that the men with families should sleep in the fort that night with the single men occupying the cabins nearest the fort. I took up my quarters in the Davis cabin, after reminding my friends again that I must start early in the morning to cross the mountains on my way to Colonel Lewis who lived near Salem.
“Why, land sake! To Salem! Why, look here! You’ll be seeing my cousin, Ericus Dale!” excitedly exclaimed Mrs. Davis.
My emotion was far greater than that expressed by Mrs. Davis, but the dusk of early evening permitted me to conceal it. It was three years since I had seen the Dales, father and daughter. They were then living in Williamsburg. It was most astonishing that they should be now living in Salem. But this was going too fast.