“The Lucky Hunter will know it was a mistake,” soothed Sevier, appreciating how serious a fault it was for any but the ceremonial wolf-killer to shoot at a wolf. “While you finish your medicine for the gun I will go back and get the turkey I dropped.”
According to the Cherokee belief the gun was spoiled unless treated at once by a medicine-man. In the absence of a shaman one must make his own medicine as best he could. As Sevier well knew the incident reduced the Indian’s value as a guide and scout to zero. As a fighter he had become nil. Even if the bad spirit could be immediately exorcised from the offending barrel the Jumper would not dare fire it at a lurking foe for fear of making another mistake and rekindling the rage of the mighty Kanati. And those who stalked the borderer along a red path would not show themselves for an open shot.
Disturbed by the incident Sevier recovered the turkey and hastened back. The Jumper was heating the slim rods over a small fire near the edge of the water and as Sevier came up he commenced inserting them in the gun-barrel. Sevier watched him in silence as he completed his task and leaned forward to place the defiled barrel in the creek, where it must remain for the night.
Turning back, the Jumper plucked the turkey and prepared it for the coals, groaning and grimacing as he worked but taking no heed of his white companion.
“What is it now, my brother?” asked Sevier.
“The Crippler (rheumatism) has me,” lamented the Jumper, rubbing his legs. “I have angered a Deer ghost.”
“You shall make a prayer to the Black, Blue and White Ravens. The Two Little Men of the Sun Land shall come and drive the intruder away,” comforted Sevier.
“Only a shaman can make the prayer,” was the doleful reply.
Sevier turned away in disgust. He had counted on the Jumper as a powerful ally for defensive work at least. His woodcraft and sharp ears and eyes would be invaluable in detecting the secret approach of Polcher. Now his superstitions had changed him from an asset to a liability. It was useless to argue with him. Deer ghosts sent rheumatism as a punishment for some deer killed without placating the spirit.
Every one knew that the Little Deer, chief of all Deer spirits, watched over all his subjects. Never could one fall by the hunter’s arrow or bullet without the Little Deer standing at the victim’s side and asking the clotted blood if “it had heard”; that is if the blood had heard the hunter begging forgiveness for the life he had taken. Obviously the Jumper at some time had failed to repeat the prayer and as a result he was now useless.