"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.
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