The horsemen passed from sight. McGillivray conquered his desire to run out and interrogate the outlaw and resumed his chair at the table, forcing himself to an appearance of indifference. He had barely swallowed a mouthful of the meat when the servant came in and mumbled something.
“Bring my pistols,” the emperor curtly commanded.
The servant turned to a small desk and produced a brace of Spanish weapons, long of barrel and profusely inlaid with gold and silver. Thrusting one of these into the bosom of his coat and dropping the other in his lap, McGillivray next directed—
“Now show both of them in.”
Polcher came first, bowing low. Behind him with head erect stalked the huge form of Red Hajason. Just inside the threshold the outlaw halted and stared insolently at the emperor.
“Red Hajason, of the Hiwasee and the Tugalo rivers,” announced Polcher, standing to one side. “He was picked up by your Majesty’s Indians while on his way here with an important talk for you.”
“I’ve heard of you, Hajason,” lazily informed the emperor. “And I never heard anything good. I was just telling John Sevier that if you have done what you’re charged with doing I probably shall have to hang you.”
Hajason opened his bearded lips in an ugly grin and replied—
“My neck’ll stand a heap of hangin’, I reckon. An’ it ain’t never been cracked yet. But I ain’t here to talk ’bout hangin’. I come to talk trade.”
“Well, what have you to trade?”