I returned to the house and related all I had learned to Cuthan and Mary. Alexander, as was his nature, remained quiet and solemn. John and his younger sister, Rachel Ann, danced around demanding to know if there was going to be a battle. Little Hannah was only two, but she joined in what she considered a game.
We watched from the porch as the six Cherokee Confederates urged their reluctant ponies into the rushing current. They were halfway across the Yanube when the last man in line cried out as his horse lost its footing. The brave in front of him twisted around to see the cause of alarm, and his pony too, dumped him into the angry waters. The others laughed and jeered until Scar sent them downstream to catch their companions. I was sorry to see both horses wade ashore, apparently without injury. The incident had cost them nothing but a dunking and a delay.