“Only an hour ago,” said he, “there were ten Creek warriors here, all on horseback, and painted and armed.  Should they come back and discover you here, they would certainly kill you all, and put me and my family to death also.”

But Crockett, instead of being alarmed by this intelligence, was only animated by it.  He assured Radcliff that he could desire no better luck than to meet a dozen Indians on the war-path.  He considered his party quite strong enough to meet, at any time, three times their number.  Evening was approaching, and the full moon, in cloudless brilliance, was rising over the forest, flooding the whole landscape with extraordinary splendor.  After feeding their horses abundantly and feasting themselves from the fat larder of their host, they saddled their steeds and resumed their journey by moonlight.

The trail still led through the silent forest.  It was, as usual, very narrow, so that the horses walked along in single file.  As there was danger of falling into an ambush, not a word was spoken, and, as noiselessly as possible, they moved onward, every eye on the eager lookout.  They had been thus riding along when Crockett, in the advance, heard the noise of some animals or persons apparently approaching.  At a given signal, instantly the whole party stopped.  Every man grasped his rifle, ready in case of need, to leap from his horse, and select the largest tree near him as a rampart for the battle.

All solicitude was, however, soon dispelled by seeing simply two persons advancing along the trail on Indian ponies.  They proved to be two negro slaves who had been captured by the Indians, and who, having escaped, were endeavoring to make their way back to their former master.  They were brothers, and being both very stout men, and able to speak the Indian as well as the English language, were esteemed quite a powerful reinforcement to the Crockett party.

They rode quietly along another hour and a half, when toward midnight they saw in the distance the gleam of camp-fires, and heard shouts of merriment and revelry.  They knew that these must come from the camp of the friendly Cherokees, to which their Indian guide, Jack Thompson, was leading them.  Soon a spectacle of wonderful picturesque beauty was opened to their view.

Upon the banks of a beautiful mountain stream there was a wide plateau, carpeted with the renowned blue-grass, as verdant and soft as could be found in any gentleman’s park.  There was no underbrush.  The trees were two or three yards from each other, composing a luxuriant overhanging canopy of green leaves, more beautiful than art could possibly create.  Beneath this charming grove, and illumined by the moonshine which, in golden tracery, pierced the foliage, there were six or eight Indian lodges scattered about.