Another five minutes and Sevier came face to face with a group of citizens in front of the court-house. Some of them carried torches. Among them were several of Polcher’s men; some were honest men.
“What’s all this confusion about?” demanded Sevier. “One would think there was an Indian raid on.”
“Yer friend, Kirk Jackson, has killed a friendly Injun!” roared a tavern man.
“Prove that, and we shall have to hang Mr. Jackson,” Sevier promptly replied. “But, if any one tries any promiscuous hanging, he’ll dangle from an oak limb just as sure as I’m called Nolichucky Jack. Burn that fact into your brains. We belong to no State now. Until we’ve arranged some form of government, I’m the law. Let a hair of Jackson’s head be harmed before his guilt is proven and I’ll hang the offender. And the first man to tread air will be Polcher, the tavern-keeper. Now we’ll hear the evidence.”
CHAPTER IV
FOR WATAUGA AND AMERICA
While some of the men, notably those under the influence of Polcher, pressed the search for Jackson, others heeded Sevier’s request and repaired to the court-house to conduct an inquiry into the tragedy. There was none so simple-minded as not to realize that the death of either Creek or Cherokee might precipitate a bloody war. With Spain in league with the Creek Nation, it was only the pacific tendency of Old Tassel that had restrained the Cherokees under his immediate control. There were other thousands of Cherokees who only waited for a strong incentive to send them into line with the Creeks.
The five lower towns on the western frontier of the Cherokee country, including Creeks, Shawnees and white renegades as well as the original Cherokee founders, lusted and clamoured for battle. John Watts and Dragging Canoe, their leaders, only waited to augment their numbers before striking. To start the riot of bloodshed and burning cabins it only required some isolated act such as the unprovoked slaying of an Indian near a white settlement. For two years the situation had been shaping up. If ever Spain was to establish an empire by force in America, no fairer opportunity could exist than the present.
Of course there was Old Thatch’s death to be investigated, but aside from his tavern cronies there were few to lament his passing. His demise could be considered leisurely; it carried no train of red axes. The murder of the Indian was epochal. The settlers assembled in the court-house viewed the situation objectively. Whether the dead be Creek or Cherokee, his people would seek reprisal. Sevier’s vision carried him beyond the Watauga. He saw the destiny of the new world about to unfold. The vast western country was unexplored except as half-civilized forest-rangers penetrated depths they could not comprehend.
The door to this unknown region was closed, and Sevier knew it must soon open and reveal a home-maker’s paradise. Bold men in Kentucky had glimpsed the marvellous possibilities. Now was the crisis; an Indian’s death might be the hinge on which the door would swing to admit either imperial Spain or democratic America. Could it be kept shut a bit longer, until Chucky Jack had summoned the faithful, then let it open as widely as it would and Spain face her answer.