“He took to water and washed out his trail,” grunted one of the Indians. “He rode fast, although the night was very black. We lost time at the creek in picking up his trail again. Then we followed only to find he had taken to water again. With the dogs on the leash we made slow headway.”
“On the leash? I told you to let the dogs have him!” thundered McGillivray. “You should have loosed them.”
“We did slip two free, Petro and Little One, the fiercest and swiftest of the pack. We sent them after him the moment we left the village,” was the humble reply. “Petro did not come back. We found him where the white man first took to the water. Here, Little One!” And the Indian pulled forward a huge brute whose sides had been wickedly slashed. And he explained, “The Little One crawled back to meet us before we found Petro’s body. Came back like this. I was afraid to set them all free, fearing they would come up with him one or two at a time. And surely he is a black spirit.”
The emperor’s eyes turned toward the open window and made Sevier think of a flash of a knife as it leaps from the sheath in the sunlight.
“I have my guest to thank for this,” slowly remarked the emperor. “My best dog gone and another all but done for. And the prisoner still free. Take the dogs away and see they are well fed and rested.”
He would have turned back to the house, but Polcher now came galloping from the forest, his horse in a lather. McGillivray called out to him and the tavern-keeper raced up and sprang to the ground.
“The dogs have failed. What about you?” asked the emperor.
“I think I shall get him,” replied Polcher. The words sent a chill to Sevier’s heart. “Your warriors are spreading out to the east and west to cut in ahead of him. And I have sent runners north to warn the Cherokees to bar his path. I do not see how he can escape.”
“Luck seems to be against me,” complained McGillivray. “The prisoner told me he had spent much time in the Shawnee country. He must be very cunning.”
“Let him be as cunning as the whole Shawnee Nation and yet he must pass through the neck of the bottle before he can escape,” boasted Polcher. “I don’t care how much he wanders about in the Creek country. He is our prisoner until he strikes into the Cherokee country and gets beyond the Hiwassee River. Even should he by some miracle dodge the Cherokees of Great Hiwassee and the lower villages and cross the river he will stand but a small chance of reaching the Tellico. But should he do that still the Cherokees will stick at his heels till he reaches the French Broad. We’ll see if his Shawnee cunning can carry him that far!”