"
"Do you believe in this madman, Shalah?" I asked.
"I know not," he said, with a troubled face. "I fear one possessed of
God. But of this I am sure, that the road of the Children of the West
Wind lies not eastward but westward, and that no good can come of war
with the white man. This Sachem hath laid his magic on others than our
people, for the Cherokee nation and all the broken clans of the hills
acknowledge him and do his bidding. He is a soldier as well as a
prophet, for he has drilled and disposed his army like a master of
war."
"Will your tribe ally themselves with Cherokee murderers?"
"I asked that question of this man Onotawah, and he liked it little. He
says that his people distrust this alliance with a race they scorn, and
I do not think they pine for the white man's war. But they are under
the magic of this prophet, and presently, when blood begins to flow,
they will warm to their work. In time they will be broken, but that
time will not be soon, and meanwhile there will be nothing left alive
between the hills and the bay of Chesapeake."
"Do you know their plans?" I asked.
"The Cherokees have served their purpose," he said. "Your forecast was
right, brother. They have drawn the fire of the Border, and been driven
in a rabble far south to the Roanoke and the Carolina mountains.
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