“When Elsie informed me you were in Jonesboro, Mr. Jackson, I set out to find you,” Tonpit now delighted the young man by saying.
“I have to thank her and Sevier for rescuing me from a ridiculous position,” he blurted out and then bit his tongue for having uttered the words.
“Ha! How is that?” coldly demanded Tonpit, but with his gaze seeking a glimpse of the rider, now well among the cabins.
“The men in the tavern were taking advantage of their numbers,” quickly spoke up the girl. “The man called Hester was the ringleader, I should say.”
“This is the first time you’ve said anything about it,” murmured her father, his eyes now lighting as they focussed on the bobbing figure of the horseman.
“It only needed Mr. Sevier’s command to relieve Mr. Jackson of any embarrassment,” she awkwardly explained.
Tonpit’s thin visage grew cold with hate.
“I and my friends refuse to be beholden to this man Sevier,” he harshly warned.
And, touching spur to his mount, he beckoned the girl to follow him and darted toward the tavern. With one backward glance she rode after him.
Jackson ran forward, as did Sevier, as the rider reined in before the tavern door and wearily dismounted. From all quarters came the settlers and their families. Polcher brought out a pitcher of brandy, and the messenger drank deeply. Then jumping on a horse-block he waved a paper in his hand and cried out—