“Take him away.”
Sevier fell in between the warriors and was led out-doors. Polcher walked behind him with drawn pistol.
Without glancing back the borderer said—
“You’d like mighty well to have me make a bolt for it.”
“I’d love to have you,” hissed Polcher. “And some one we both know is a big fool to bother with you for a second. You thought you held the whip-hand after I killed Old Thatch. You reckoned you was through with me when I quit Jonesboro on the jump. But all scores come to a reckoning sometime, and here you are in Little Talassee; and before Winter comes I’ll be back on the Nolichucky burning a few of our old friends. But I promise you Bonnie Kate shall not burn.”
With a low groan Sevier gripped his fingers till the nails cut the flesh. Maddened with rage, he still had mind enough to know Polcher was endeavouring to force him into open violence. Then the pistol at his head would crack and the tavern-keeper would be exonerated for killing a refractory prisoner.
“Remember this, Polcher. You’re to die by the noose, and I’m going to be the hangman,” whispered Sevier.
“Bah!” laughed Polcher scornfully.
It was the cabin Jackson had been imprisoned in that they took him to. As he was passing through the doorway a servant, sent by McGillivray, came running up with a roll of blankets. Polcher considered this forethought to be a sign of weakness in the emperor and hurled the roll viciously at the borderer’s head and swung the door and dropped the heavy bar.
Pausing outside at the window he softly gibed: