The newcomer slowly turned and eyed him curiously and smiled faintly as he noted the cock’s feather. And he quietly reminded:
“The first settlers on the Watauga were Virginians. When they came here fourteen years ago, they reckoned they was on soil owned by Virginy. I don’t reckon North Car’lina lost anything by their mistake.” He threw off his drink and proceeded to deliver himself of the sting he had held in reserve. “From what I hear, the Sand-hillers didn’t care to come over the mountains and face the Indians till after the Virginians had made the country safe.”
The two groups of men shifted nervously. Hester’s eyes flew open in amazement, then half-closed in satisfaction.
“The——they had to wait for Virginy to blaze a trail!” he growled, slowly straightening up his long form and tipping his hat and its belligerent feather down over one eye. “An’ where was ye, mister, when the first brave Virginians kindly come over here to make things safe for North Car’lina?”
“I was eleven years old, shooting squirrels in Virginy,” chuckled the stranger.
“An’ wearin’ a Shawnee belt! Who give it to ye?”
“The warrior who was through with it when I got through with him. It happened up on the Ohio,” was the smiling response. “Anything else you’d like to ask?”
“Killed a Injun, eh?” jeered Hester. “That’s easy to tell. Sure ye ain’t the feller that licked the Iroquois all to thunder? No one here to prove ye didn’t, ye know.”
Toying with his empty glass, the stranger again surveyed Hester, much as if the bully were some strange kind of insect. He grimaced in disgust as he observed the long, pointed finger-nails. “One thing’s certain,” he drawled, “you never fought no Iroquois, or they’d have them talons and that hair of yours made into a necklace for some squaw to wear. Just what is your fighting record, anyway?”
“I ain’t never been licked yet by anything on two kickers atween here an’ the French Broad,” bellowed Hester, slouching forward, his hands held half open before him. Then he flapped his arms and gave the sharp challenge of a gamecock. “I’m Lon Hester, what trims ’em down when they’re too big an’ pulls ’em out when they’re too short.” And again he sounded his chanticleer’s note.