Old Tassel drew back as if it were a deadly serpent. Wheeling on the owner of the ax, Sevier invited:
“You pick it up for him. He is old and his bones are lame. You are young and strong. You love war. Yours is the voice that raises the red war-whoop. It is your ax and my blood is on it. You pick it up!”
The startled warrior glared from the chief to the borderer, then dropped his gaze and folded his blanket about him and drew back.
“Ho! Dragging Canoe’s brave cries for the white man’s blood but will not take back his own ax when there is white blood upon it!” jeered Sevier, spurning the weapon with his foot. “Is there any one from the lower towns who wants to pick up the ax? Remember, the Creeks will help you—the Creeks who could not hold two white men prisoners. What Chickamauga wants it? I call on the men from Running Water, from Nickajack, from Long Island, from Crow Town, from Lookout Mountain town. Who wants the red ax?”
Old Tassel scrambled to his feet and in a low voice announced:
“Red axes have no place in a peace council. Go back to the Nolichucky, Little John, and tell your riflemen to put away their guns. The Cherokees do not go to water or lay down a red path. I am an old man. My path is steep and slippery. I will not make it red with blood. You gave me a promise at Great Hiwassee. I gave you one. I said if you came to me after going to McGillivray I would meet you in a grand council on the French Broad. I will do so. Go to your home, Little John, before your men ride into my country. You shall find nothing but white trails between here and the French Broad. I have said it.”
“Ku! But there is something else. How can I hold my riflemen back when Creek warriors are crossing your land to strike us in the head? If you are honest, see to it the Creeks are turned back home. For my riflemen will believe you have given them a bloody belt if they see them on your land. Ride! Ride fast, Utsidsata! Reach the Tellico before I reach the Nolichucky, so my men may know your talk is straight when you say you will come to a grand council. Send out warriors to drive McGillivray’s Creeks where they belong—back on the Coosa. I will not answer for peace unless this is done.”
Leaving the village, followed by the black scowls of the fighting-men, Sevier lost no time in striking for the Hiwassee River a hundred miles away. He left the warriors in the council-house inert and speechless under the impress of his bold speech. His personal magnetism had once more stood him in good stead, and did Old Tassel ride for the Tellico before Watts returned to Turkey Town there was every likelihood of the Cherokees refusing to complete their war-pact with the Creeks. A few miles from the village, as he galloped along the eastern bank of the upper Coosa, he found the Jumper waiting for him.
“Brother of the Deer, you have a talk for me,” he saluted as he drew abreast of the silent figure.
“The man called Red Hajason is ahead with Creek warriors. They will turn east at Fighting Town and make for the head of the Hiwassee, where Red Hajason has his village.”