He whistled to a negro lad, who took our horses, and led us through the court-yard and the house to the lawn at the far side of it.  A rude table was set there under a great tree, and around it three gentlemen were talking.  My memory of all of them is more vivid than it might be were their names not household words in the Western country.  Captain Sevier startled them.

“My friends,” said he, “if you have despatches for Kaintuckee, I pray you get them ready over night.”

They looked up at him, one sternly, the other two gravely.

“What the devil do you mean, Sevier?” said the stern one.

“That my friend, Tom McChesney, is going there with his wife, unless we can stop him,” said Sevier.

“Stop him!” thundered the stern gentleman, kicking back his chair and straightening up to what seemed to me a colossal height.  I stared at him, boylike.  He had long, iron-gray hair and a creased, fleshy face and sunken eyes.  He looked as if he might stop anybody as he turned upon Tom.  “Who the devil is this Tom McChesney?” he demanded.

Sevier laughed.

“The best scout I ever laid eyes on,” said he.  “A deadly man with a Deckard, an unerring man at choosing a wife” (and he bowed to the reddening Polly Ann), “and a fool to run the risk of losing her.”

“Tut, tut,” said the iron gentleman, who was the famous Captain Evan Shelby of King’s Meadows, “he’ll leave her here in our settlements while he helps us fight Dragging Canoe and his Chickamauga pirates.”

“If he leaves me,” said Polly Ann, her eyes flashing, “that’s an end to the bargain.  He’ll never find me more.”

Captain Sevier laughed again.

“There’s spirit for you,” he cried, slapping his whip against his boot.

At this another gentleman stood up, a younger counterpart of the first, only he towered higher and his shoulders were broader.  He had a big-featured face, and pleasant eyes—­that twinkled now—­sunken in, with fleshy creases at the corners.

“Tom McChesney,” said he, “don’t mind my father.  If any man besides Logan can get inside the forts, you can.  Do you remember me?”

“I reckon I do, Mr. Isaac Shelby,” said Tom, putting a big hand into Mr. Shelby’s bigger one.  “I reckon I won’t soon forget how you stepped out of ranks and tuk command when the boys was runnin’, and turned the tide.”

He looked like the man to step out of ranks and take command.

“Pish!” said Mr. Isaac Shelby, blushing like a girl; “where would I have been if you and Moore and Findley and the rest hadn’t stood ’em off till we turned round?”

By this time the third gentleman had drawn my attention.  Not by anything he said, for he remained silent, sitting with his dark brown head bent forward, quietly gazing at the scene from under his brows.  The instant he spoke they turned towards him.  He was perhaps forty, and broad-shouldered, not so tall as Mr. Sevier.