Watts stepped forward and extended his hand, and, as Sevier grasped it and searched his face, he said:
“Little John is still a brave man. Whether it be peace or war, you are a brave man. And will you go to little Talassee?”
Sevier dropped his hand and coldly replied—
“Unless stopped by a Chickamauga bullet, I shall go there.”
Watts clicked his strong teeth and whispered:
“McGillivray will keep you safe there. You will not get in his trail again.” Then turning to the curious warriors he cried out, “Ho! A brave man goes to Little Talassee. You will not harm him. But, if you see white man turning back before reaching McGillivray’s town, you may know he is a coward and treat him as such.”
Ignoring the hostile glances, Sevier glided from the council-house and made for his horse. He now had his chance to go to McGillivray on the Coosa, and a fringe of Cherokee warriors would see to it that he did not turn back alive.
Hurrying to the corral, he saddled his horse and mounted and confided:
“Well, old fellow, that’s where I reckon to go, to Little Talassee. But I’d rather go alone instead of being chased there. Coming back will be harder.”
As he rode down the white path, he kept his eyes opened for signs of Polcher. He did not anticipate any attack from the tavern-keeper until he left the vicinity of the village, for Watts must have warned that no blood was to be shed so long as the path was white. When he struck into the main trail leading southwest, then he would be traversing a red way, and there would be no ancient law holding Polcher back. However, that was a detail to be attended to when encountered. What worried him considerably was not the tavern-keeper, sure to be in ambush somewhere ahead, but Kirk Jackson and the Tonpits.