Jack and Frank were seated just outside the flap of Jackson’s tent, when the commander spoke these words to his officers within. Jack nodded to his companions.
“I wouldn’t care to be an army contractor and have the general on my trail,” said he. “He wouldn’t stop at much.”
“Not he,” said a young Nashville lawyer, who was in the scouts. “Jackson is a man who accomplishes everything he sets out to do. He does not know what fear is, and has the most resolute will I’ve ever known.”
“Well, it seems to me he’ll need it all,” said an old hunter who had been driven in from the forest by the Creeks, and who had enlisted in the volunteers in an effort to retaliate. “It’s a deal to undertake, this feeding so many men so far away from any place, where supplies can’t be had handily. A small party can carry and kill all it needs for months; but a force like this can’t go further than its supply train can follow.”
It was this same night that Jack and Frank were visiting in the camp of the friendly Cherokees just outside the fort. They sat at a camp-fire with the father of Running Elk, a stately old chief with a hard Cherokee name and great fame as a warrior and hunter. Running Elk was also there, as were numerous braves of the tribe. Conversation with them was most difficult, as everything had to be translated by Running Elk; and as his knowledge of English was very limited, the boys had to work hard to make themselves understood.
It was while they were so engaged that a sudden commotion began upon the outskirts of the camp; loud voices were heard in the Cherokee tongue, then the rush of moccasined feet in the darkness.
“Hello! What’s all that?” asked Jack Davis, looking around.
The Cherokees about the fire had arisen and were talking excitedly among themselves in the laconic Creek jargon.
“What’s happened?” demanded Frank Lawrence of Running Elk.
The young Indian hunter, who had been listening intently to the voices beyond the light circle of the camp-fire, replied: