The pistol muzzle was all compelling, and, picking up a candle from the hall table, McGillivray with bad grace led the way into the apartment containing the collection of knives.
“But you can’t escape!” exploded McGillivray, his bewilderment slowly passing. “I don’t imagine you plan to murder me. Even if you did, you couldn’t get clear of the village.”
“McGillivray of the Creeks, it’s a chance for me to escape or your life,” sternly admonished Sevier. “Do as I say and you live, although it may mean my recapture. Try any tricks and you’re a dead man as surely as Polcher is a dead man.”
McGillivray of the McGillivrays was now his old unperturbed self and whimsically declared:
“My life comes first. What will you have?”
“Order your servant to bring your horse and rifle to this window. I took Polcher’s pistols. I shall want powder and bullets. Then tell your Creeks that I escaped to the south and order them to take the dogs and go in that direction.”
The village was now in an uproar. Torches were flitting back and forth; men were surrounding the big house. The dogs, infuriated by the confusion, were raising their ferocious voices, demanding to be released for action. As Sevier finished a hundred warriors ran to the lighted window, calling out to their master that the man Polcher was dead and that Little John had escaped by using black magic. Some terrible evil spirit had slain a slave, wrenched the iron bars from the window and tied the dead Polcher up to the window.
The Emperor stood in the open window. Sevier stood against the wall at one side with the pistol raised and levelled.
“Now earn your life,” whispered the borderer.
“Take the dogs and go south!” roared the emperor. “He seeks to escape that way. One of you bring my horse and rifle, powder and bullets here to this window. Off! All of you.”