He planned to sleep through the first of the night, being confident no prowler would approach the cedars so long as the blazing fire suggested he was awake and alert. The flames would consolidate into coals about midnight; it was then that any lurking assassin would seek the blanketed decoy.
With the woods instinct he timed his slumber accurately. As he opened his eyes and caught the reek of the smouldering fire and beheld the glowing coals staring through the foliage he softly rose to one knee and raised his rifle.
The disturbing voice of a screech-owl raised his wa-huhu. Sevier pricked his ears, then relaxed as the dismal notes were repeated. They were genuine and no Indian signal. This corroborated his theory that Chief Watts’ men were holding back to give the mixed-blood every opportunity to kill. Something stirred on the borderer’s left, a faint rustling. The smoke from the fire would have repelled a night animal.
The darkness made vision useless except as he gazed toward the coals. He aimed his rifle at these. A minute passed and the glowing coals vanished, advertising the intervention of a solid body.
With finger on the trigger Sevier waited for a count of ten, when the explosion of the assassin’s rifle tore a red hole in blackness. Almost at the same moment Sevier fired. Something collapsed and the twinkling embers reappeared.
As he fired the borderer fell flat and remained motionless. The silence shut in again. The adventure was finished. Yet Sevier held back until he had reloaded. Then, armed with rifle and ax, he edged forward. He had covered half the distance to the cedars when his moccasin touched something that impelled him to drop his gun and spring forward.
But the form he grasped made no effort at defence. Groping about until he found the hands and had made sure they held no weapons, he dragged the limp figure up to the fire and dropped some dry grass on the coals. The flames flared up and revealed the face of the dead man. It was not Polcher but one of the two whites who had ridden with Red Hajason.
With a smothered exclamation of surprise he drew back under the bushy boughs and crouched on his heels. He observed by the expiring light where the bullet had pierced his blanket and he had no regrets for the death he had dealt. He was chagrined, however, for not anticipating Red Hajason’s entrance into the grim game. It was to afford the outlaws a chance to strike, rather than to give Polcher a clear field, that the Cherokees were moving leisurely. Hajason immediately on arriving at Great Hiwassee must have learned from Chief Watts about the white man riding for the Coosa. And how many men had Hajason sent down the trail? Was he one of the trailers?
“I only wish he’d been this chap,” muttered Sevier. “That peace law is bad medicine when it stopped me from shooting him on sight.”
Wa-huhu called a screech-owl. Another owl answered from the east and another from the west.