Sevier rose and stood at the window and stared thoughtfully across the valley and spoke as one repeating articles of faith in the privacy of his chamber:
“Virginians when we were colonials, but now Americans first and last—if this republic is to endure. If this union of States is to last, we must forget our former identity; we must be merged in one compact body and be known as Americans. Well, well. It will all come some day, please God!”
He broke off and leaned from the window and called out:
“Ho, Major Hubbard! Step here a minute.”
Jackson saw a tall figure in forest dress turn in the trail leading to the woods. As the man came toward the court-house, he beheld a dark, gloomy face, a countenance he could never imagine as being lighted with a smile. Hubbard came up to the window, and Sevier said:
“Mr. Jackson, step here, please. Meet Major James Hubbard. Major, this is Kirk Jackson, fresh from the Shawnee country and come to live with us.”
Hubbard’s face glowed with passion, and he clutched Jackson’s hand fiercely and cried:
“The Shawnees! I envy you your chance, sir.”
Sevier gently nudged Jackson to stand aside and, leaning from the window, muttered:
“Major, times are ticklish. Any little break will mean ruin to many cabins. Remember!”