“Death walks everywhere,” carelessly returned Sevier. “And it skips the brave to touch the coward.”
Taking his rifle, he crossed the trail and, as soon as he was out of hearing of the Cherokee turned north and made for a heavily wooded hill. He had noted this elevation shortly before arriving at the creek and knew it would be an excellent vantage point for spying on the back country. He ascended it without detecting any signs of his trackers and lost no time in climbing a tree. The stretch of country he had covered that afternoon was spread out below him in broad relief. For the most part the view consisted of the forest crown but there were occasional openings and it was on the nearest of these that he focused his gaze.
He glimpsed nothing that hinted at pursuit. He studied the birds but was unable to discover any symptoms of alarm. This emptiness of the trail puzzled him, for he had been convinced his every step would be dogged until he crossed into the country of the Creek. Leaving the tree, he descended the hill and, pausing only long enough to knock over a turkey, made his way back toward the creek.
He had reached a point due east from the camp when he was startled by the sharp report of a gun. Dropping the turkey, he ran to the trail and crossed it, thinking his guide was the victim of some treachery. Before he came in sight of the fire he heard the Jumper wailing and moaning, and yet not as one who cries out when physically hurt. In fact, he knew a material wound could elicit no complaint from the Jumper. Slowing his pace, he advanced more cautiously and halted for a moment at the edge of the woods and surveyed the Indian.
The Jumper was lamenting in a dismal manner. He was busy trimming some small branches into tiny rods.
Stepping forth Sevier demanded—
“Was it your gun I heard?”
The Jumper groaned and held up the small rods. There were seven of them, seven being the sacred number of his people. Sevier took one of the rods and examined it. He found it was sourwood.
“You have killed a wolf?” he asked.
“I shot at one, thinking it was a turkey in the bushes,” shivered the Jumper. And he snatched up his gun and began unscrewing the barrel. “Now will Kanati, the Lucky Hunter whose watch-dog the wolf is, be very angry with me. Already I feel myself turning blue.”