“After he leaves the room I’ll tell you who killed your Creek,” retorted Sevier.
“You’ll tell in his hearing, or else the Creeks have forgotten their knack of making a man talk,” rumbled McGillivray.
“Between such men as you and I that is boy’s talk,” rebuked Sevier with a smile. “I’m disappointed in you.”
“I’m quite in earnest. This man, my paid agent, makes a charge against you—a prisoner—in your presence. You exonerate him of the killing and confess that you know the murderer. You also admit Polcher doesn’t know. I stand back of my men. I’ll put threats aside and appeal to your sense of justice. If Polcher doesn’t know who killed the Creek it is only right that you should speak before him.”
Sevier elevated his brows and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. Finally he said:
“There is justice in what you ask. It can’t make much difference, as he will never dare go back to the Watauga settlements to serve you again. I’ve decided to tell you what I know. The Creek was killed by an Indian-hater, a man whose entire family was butchered by Indians. The deed was done unknown to any settler; otherwise it never would have been committed. We will cover your dead with many presents. But as you sent him secretly into our settlements, with orders to skulk in the bushes, thereby giving the impression to any who might see him that he was there for mischief, I should say part of the responsibility for his death was yours, Alexander McGillivray.
“Had you sent him to me he would have been unharmed; for then he would have come openly, just as the Cherokee, Tall Runner, came and departed in safety. However, your Creek is dead, and the fanatic will not be handed over for you to kill. There’s the whole truth. Young Jackson is as innocent of the whole affair as you are.”
“I believe you, Sevier; but you talk big when you say the Creeks shall take no reprisal,” McGillivray bitterly observed.
“You can kill me or Jackson, but the settlement won’t turn over the half-crazed slayer of your Creek,” Sevier calmly reiterated. “It is for me to say that you talk big when you complain because your secret messengers aren’t received and protected in Jonesboro at almost the moment you hold as prisoners Kirk Jackson and myself, who came here openly.”
“Came here to make trouble,” ventured Polcher.