“Men come. We must leave the trail.”
“Why should we hide, Little Brother? What is there to fear along the white path that leads to the white town?”
“Nothing to fear from men of my colour,” said the Jumper with a touch of irony. “But I can not answer for the whites.”
“White men!” exclaimed Sevier, dismounting and leading his horse aside and into cover.
His first thoughts were of Tonpit, the man who, despite his weakness and ambitions, was so necessary to Spain and Charles III’s field representative, Alexander McGillivray.
“They bring horses to trade in Great Hiwassee,” the Indian added.
Sevier’s hopes fell, then rebounded as he discredited the Indian’s ability to know who was coming and their purpose. Thus far he had been able to detect nothing but the usual forest sounds.
“How do you know that?” he demanded.
“Some of the horses have no riders.”
Sceptical, Sevier composed himself to wait in patience. After what seemed a long time, there came a burst of voices and the trampling of hoofs, and above the confusion roared a coarse voice hurling curses at animals and men.