My notion is that some devilry is
going on in the West, and I might guess that there's a white man in
it." He spoke to the chief, who spoke again to his companion, and
Lawrence listened with contracting brows, while Ringan whistled between
his teeth.
"They've got a queer story," said Lawrence at last. "They say that when
last they hunted on the Roanoke their young men brought a tale that a
tribe of Cherokees, who lived six days' journey into the hills, had
found a great Sachem who had the white man's magic, and that God was
moving him to drive out the palefaces and hold his hunting lodge in
their dwellings. That is not like an ordinary Indian lie. What do you
make of it, Mr. Campbell?"
Ringan looked grave, "It's possible enough. There's a heap of
renegades among the tribes, men that have made the Tidewater and even
the Free Companies too warm for them. There's no knowing the mischief a
strong-minded rascal might work. I mind a man at Norfolk, a Scots
redemptioner, who had the tongue of a devil and the strength of a wolf.
He broke out one night and got clear into the wilderness."
Lawrence turned to me briskly. "You see the case, sir. There's trouble
brewing in the hills, black trouble for Virginia, but we've some
months' breathing space.
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