“Spread out in a thin line an’ beat up the woods. The hoss come from some spot near here. The trackers will go ahead an’ foller the hoss’s tracks. When any one sights the runaways jest give a yell an’ lay low till all of us can come up. Not a word, mind ye, till ye see something.”
Sevier crawled closer, until, by kneeling, he could detect the movement of a horse on the trail. Raising his rifle, he fired. The animal dropped, shot through the head. The rider, thrown violently to the ground, quickly identified himself by cursing volubly as only Red Hajason could curse.
Sevier, although deeply regretting his lead had killed the horse instead of its master, thus distracted the outlaws from their purpose of searching the woods in the vicinity of the ledge. He began falling back, slipping noiselessly from tree to tree, while Hajason yelled for his men to dismount and give chase. The men obeyed but displayed a strong inclination to keep well together. Such a daring attack could have been made by but one man, Chucky Jack, whose woodcraft was superior to that of an Indian’s.
“—— ye for white-livered hounds!” roared Red Hajason. “Spread out! A hundred pounds to the man what fetches me his head!”
Stimulated by this offer and spurred on by their fear of their leader, the men lengthened the line, and Sevier knew he must give ground in earnest. He was in a peculiar predicament, for his task was increased two-fold by the appearance of Hester’s horse. He must adhere to his original plan of securing assistance; the safety of the girl demanded that. Yet he must remain in contact with the gang or the men would become discouraged at their lack of success and return to investigate the east side of the trail.
To find succour under the circumstances would demand something of a miracle. Any band of Cherokees in the neighbourhood would scatter and take to cover when they heard the sound of the chase. He had counted on finding a village, unsuspected by the outlaws, and by a diplomatic “talk” enlisting the aid of the warriors. The precipitate pursuit eliminated any chance of finesse. Could he play the game until nightfall he might find it possible to double back and lead the Tonpits north.
Against this manœuvre bulked the obstacle of the horses and their guard left in the trail. Once the outlaws lost him they would return to their animals, arriving coincident with his return to the ledge.
“Devil of a mess!” Sevier inwardly raged as he knocked the legs from under an outlaw closing in on his right. “Held up by these scum after standing off both the Creek and the Cherokee Nations! If it wasn’t for Miss Elsie I’d love to stay round these parts till there either wasn’t any Chucky Jack or there wasn’t any outlaws.”
His shot at the man on the right brought the gang forward in a wild rush, each eager to sight the fugitive before he could reload. Sevier raced for his life until he gained enough leeway to pause and recharge his rifle. He had barely finished when a rustling behind him sent him to the ground, his gun levelled.
“Wa-ya!” softly called a voice.