“It is said a white man killed him. What is the colour of the slayer?”
“He is a white man.”
The chief paused and cast a glance at Sevier. The borderer knew the climax was about to be sprung but concealed any concern he might have felt by staring at the eagle’s feathers and smiling sardonically.
“Brothers, it is said Little John of the Nolichucky killed Tall Runner. What do we find?”
“Tsan-usdi killed Tall Runner.”
Chief Watts rose and stared gravely at the prisoner. Polcher leaned forward and grinned in open malevolence.
“There is but one more vote to take, my brothers,” slowly said the chief, speaking almost sadly. “What is your answer, brothers?”
“Death to Little John!” chorused the council.
Polcher laughed aloud. The chief scowled at him.
As Watts resumed his seat, Sevier leisurely smoothed out his hunting-shirt, brushed back his brown hair and calmly fixed his blue eyes on the chief. His first words were a question, an unlooked for and astounding query.