He should have walked the skies as he returned to the settlement, but somehow complete happiness was held in abeyance until he could learn what it was that Tonpit was to ask of his daughter. His peace of mind could not return until he had seen her again and learned the truth. He had worried none while with her, for joy had destroyed perspective and dulled imagination. He had actually lived in the present, taking toll of each delicious minute. Now he was recalling her father’s reputation as a man of mystery.
Back east, before his last trip to the Shawnee country, he had heard strange remarks concerning John Tonpit. Here in Jonesboro the talk was resumed. He could remember when Tonpit was counted a poor man, but now he seemed to be above want. The sordid fact angered him by persisting in invading his speculations. John Sevier had the right of it in saying Tonpit was engaged in a conspiracy—no doubt about that. But it was left for the girl herself to hint that she might be involved in his wretched schemes.
“—— his beastly ambitions!” growled Jackson, turning from the trail and throwing himself under a clump of willows.
He lighted his pipe and smoked it empty before recovering any of his natural optimism. After all, he told himself, a father could not be unnatural with his only child. Tonpit’s mode of address, even when talking to Elsie, was harsh. That characteristic induced one to attach undue significance to his simplest statements. The girl had permitted his solemn assertions to carry too much weight. She had confused the austere vehicle of his spoken thoughts with the simple meaning of his words.
“He’s a queer one,” Jackson admitted as he stowed his pipe preparatory to resuming his walk back to the settlement. “I can imagine the poor child being thrown into a panic by his cold voice announcing it’s going to rain tomorrow.”
He chuckled a bit at this caricature of the maid’s awe, then fell back under the willows as the long shadow of a man fell across the sunlight within a few feet of him. Walking noiselessly, the stealthy figure of Lon Hester swung by.
For a moment Jackson was tempted to accost him and conclude the little argument started in the tavern. But his impulse vanished because of wonderment at the bully’s presence at this end of the settlement. The tavern was his proper habitat. Again he saw Polcher whispering in the bully’s ear and saw the latter set out afoot with the purposeful step of one going on an important errand. Linked up to this recollection was the girl’s statement that her father had a visitor whom she was unwilling to name.
“But it couldn’t have been the tavern brawler,” muttered Jackson, rising and softly following Hester. “Still, Polcher was giving the lout some orders and sent him somewhere. And Sevier says Polcher is a deep one. Polcher showed he was for the Spanish alliance after the messenger came. He and Tonpit have the same fancy, it seems. But Tonpit was there and heard as much as Polcher did. What could happen that needed a message and a messenger? Sevier says all messages are brought to the tavern.
“Almost appears as if the affair was ripe for a sudden blow somewhere, for something decisive to happen—and Tonpit was singing and whistling. Good Lord! What with being thrown off by North Carolina and not yet accepted by the Union, it certainly isn’t any time for the settlers to take on fresh troubles. Reckon I’ve been selfish. I’ll see Chucky Jack and tell him what little I know.”
Making a detour so as to escape the notice of the tavern loungers, Jackson approached the court-house from the east side of the settlement. The town was ominously calm. Small groups of men were quietly talking, and all carried their rifles. As they talked, they looked much at the court-house, where through the windows Sevier could be seen pacing back and forth, his hands clasped behind him, his head bowed. He was one man who carried the entire load of the settlement’s troubles. He was idolized by the men, and there was none who would think of intruding in this his great hour of anxiety.