“Then Little John’s horse must grow wings like awahili, the war-eagle.”
Sevier replied:
“But I brought him in here, and from the south. The trail to the north is not so bad.”
“Little John’s medicine is very strong,” conceded the Jumper.
Moving by night with the stealth of phantoms, with the Jumper leading the way; following little-travelled side-paths, sometimes doubling back, often making wide detours to avoid the Cherokees hastening south to be in at the killing of the white man, the two edged their way toward Turkey Town. The first day they covered but a short distance, satisfied to work to the east and taking time to rest; for it was the Jumper’s plan to make a dash round the left of the Cherokee line and cover the distance with a rush during the last twenty-four hours of grace.
The second night they made notable progress, escaping detection by inches when they stole between two large groups of warriors. With the morning sun they found themselves above the smoke signals. They had passed through the barrier and would now have to guard against stragglers only. Sevier was impatient to make an open ride for it, as he feared he might be too late. Did he arrive after the warriors had gone to water Old Tassel would consider himself hopelessly committed to a program of war and, being surrounded by men of the belligerent lower towns, he would be too weak to resist the pressure.
The Jumper insisted, however:
“They do not begin the rites until tomorrow. The ceremony takes four days. We must move cunningly until dark. If I am seen by Watts’ Chickamaugas——”
“You shall not be seen. We will move cunningly,” agreed Sevier.