na's tyranny, and traitors betrayed you again. And now they have
betrayed your leader. Will you avenge him, or will you sit down like
cowards while they hang him for treason?"

His voice was drowned, but he stood immovable with arms folded until
there was silence again.

"Will you rescue him?" he cried, and the roar rose again. "Will you
avenge him? By to-morrow we shall have two thousand here. Invade North
Carolina, humble her, bring her to her knees, and avenge John Sevier!"

Pandemonium reigned. Hats were flung in the air, rifles fired, shouts
and curses rose and blended into one terrifying note. Gradually, in the
midst of this mad uproar, the crowd became aware that another man was
standing upon the stump from which Nicholas Temple had leaped. "Cozby!"
some one yelled, "Cozby!" The cry was taken up. "Huzzay for Cozby! He'll
lead us into Caroliny." He was the huge, swarthy man I had seen riding
hard with Nick that morning. A sculptor might have chosen his face and
frame for a type of the iron-handed leader of pioneers. Will was supreme
in the great features,--inflexible, indomitable will. His hunting shirt
was open across his great chest, his black hair fell to his shoulders,
and he stood with a compelling hand raised for silence. And when he
spoke, slowly, resonantly, men fell back before his words.

"I admire Mr. Temple's courage, and above all his loyalty to our beloved
General," said Major Cozby. "But Mr. Temple is young, and the heated
counsels of youth must not prevail. My friends, in order to save Jack
Sevier we must be moderate."

His voice, strong as it was, was lost. "To hell with moderation!" they
shouted. "Down with North Carolina! We'll fight her!"

He got silence again by the magnetic strength he had in him.

"Very good," he said, "but get your General first. If we lead you across
the mountains now, his blood will be upon your heads. No man is a better
friend to Jack Sevier than I. Leave his rescue to me, and I will get him
for you." He paused, and they were stilled perforce. "I will get him for
you," he repeated slowly, "or North Carolina will pay for the burial of
James Cozby."

There was an instant when they might have swung either way.

"How will ye do it?" came in a thin, piping voice from somewhere near
the stump. It may have been this that turned their minds. Others took up
the question, "How will ye do it, Major Cozby?"

"I don't know," cried the Major, "I don't know. And if I did know