“Who calls the riflemen together when Little John is in Turkey Town?”
“The man called Jackson, who was held a prisoner of the Creeks in McGillivray’s own town until I unfastened the door and told him to go. Did the Creeks and their dogs stop him? Could the renegade Cherokees under John Watts stop him? He laughs at you and carries my word to the riflemen. My word is this: Unless I cross the French Broad on a certain day the men of the Holston, of the Nolichucky, the Broad and the Watauga, are to enter the Cherokee Nation, killing and burning. For if I do not come it will be known that Old Tassel has broken faith, doing me harm after asking me to a council on my return from the Creeks.”
The warriors glanced uneasily at each other and refused to meet the sharp gaze of the white man. Little John was once more establishing his influence. McGillivray was considered to be a mighty war-leader; yet he had been unable to hold Little John or Little John’s friend. If the Emperor of the Creeks could not hold two of the borderers prisoners in his own village, what guarantee did the Cherokees have he could aid them in withstanding the attack of some three thousand riflemen?
Old Tassel, greatly alarmed at the prospect of having the northern and eastern towns destroyed, hastily insisted:
“McGillivray does not make war for the Cherokees. It is for the Cherokees to say whether they will have war or peace. The Creeks live far from the western settlements. They talk like children at times. This council has not voted for war.”
“Not yet voted for war?” scornfully replied Little John. “Then take this talk from me and have done with talking. You can have war. I am not here begging for peace. I am tired trying to remain friendly with the Cherokees. Take your vote and go to water; then chew your sacred root and see if the medicine can stop our bullets. At Great Hiwassee I gave you a friendly talk and asked you to a grand council. And before doing that I sent a talk to you by Tall Runner—a peace talk.
“Now I will give you no more peace talks; for you do not like them. You want war. These young warriors from the lower towns want war. You can always have what you want if your medicine is strong. As I stood at the door I heard this warrior shouting for war.”
And he turned to Dragging Canoe’s orator and snatched the ax from the nonplussed warrior’s belt. With his knife he slashed his own forearm and allowed the blood to drop on the head of the ax.
Before the stupefied circle could more than draw a breath he waved the gory ax above his head and threw it at the feet of Old Tassel, defying—
“You, who want red war, pick up that red ax!”