Dideyohvsgi and Benjamin travel to John Watts’ new headquarters at Willstown, Cherokee Town. The settlement rests near the base of Lookout Mountain and as the men walk in the wilderness, the landmark looms.
     “That’s much larger than your Cherokee Rock.” The freedman stops and admires the landmark.
     “In size, yes.” Dideyohvsgi gazes at the huge formation. “But not in spirit.”
     The blood brothers stand and appreciate their view for a moment, catch their breath and continue the journey.
     “Dragging Canoe raids the Whites south of the Tennessee River.” The shaman leads his friend through the thick brush. “I’m sure Watts is under pressure to join.”
     “The man handles pressure, but he’s forgotten you’re tasked to beat the pox,” Ben agrees.
     “Maybe not? Or perhaps.” The medicine man shifts his herbal pack for comfort.              “Eliminating smallpox appears impossible. I have investigated the known possibilities. We contain it, but patients never change, so no cure. They refuse proper prevention and treatment.”
     “Don’t abandon the search,” Ben’s glance reflects concern. “I was with you at Cherokee Rock. Dragging Canoe’s braggart claims damage your credibility.”
     “That is not on people’s minds. The new State of Georgia gives land south of the river to the Tennessee Company.” The healer finds an animal path, and the trek opens and becomes less tedious.
     “It’s not theirs to give.” Ben follows.
     “Convince the Georgians. Not much we can do. Smallpox and the settlers have killed so many.”
     “Can Watts gather enough fighters?”
     “You and I count as two,” Dideyohvsgi chuckles.
     “Dragging Canoe’s not much stronger,” Ben smiles.
     “Watts and Dragging Canoe against the United States of America,” Dideyohvsgi’s voice loses humor. “The Southern District joins soon. Rumor says their new name is Tennessee.”
                                                                   ***
     The young men follow a ridgeline into Willstown.
     The settlement, fifty log cabins built in the Cherokee manner, with an open-sided central lodge, hosts unusual guests.
     Three United States Army wagons with teams stand beside the council pavilion.
     Troopers hold a remuda of individual mounts while soldiers sit and watch the discussions.
     John Watts and a group of Cherokees face an army major with two attachés.
The conference sits in a rough circle.
     As Dideyohvsgi and Benjamin approach, John Watts notices, but continues his conversation.
     The travelers settle with the Cherokees.
     The White soldiers eye Ben, the only man of color.
     “I represent William Blount, Governor of the Southwest Territory and superintendent of Indian affairs for the southern district,” the army major addresses the leader.
     Ben leans close to Dideyohvsgi, “The politician doesn’t speak for himself?”
     Watts stands straight and proud.
     “He believes we should offer the safety and protection power of the United States.”
     Watts nods understanding, “To keep us safe from what?”
     The soldier hesitates with surprise. “Everything, Sir,” he sweeps an arm wide.
     “Specifically, Major?”
     “For a perpetual peace and friendship spirit.”
     The warrior stares at the officer with expressionless eyes. “That is for, not from.”
     The major swallows and continues, “We promise to set boundaries between Cherokee homes and settlers.”
     “We have borders the governor does not honor today.”
     “Blount agrees to negotiate new ones. He commits to build a road and regulate trade, which offers prosperity to your people.”
     “And provides more access to our lands for your settlers.”
     “He guarantees your territory. Citizens cannot settle or hunt on your soil.”
     Dideyohvsgi nudges Benjamin and nods toward the army soldiers who attend the horses.
     The military attendants shuffle among their mounts and reach for muskets as their commander resumes. “The United States offers presents to enable Cherokee to grow food and become independent. Animosities between settlers and your Nation cease.”
     John Watts considers the emissaries’ message. “Major, take this word to the governor. I invite him to come here in peace. Or, if he desires, I travel to him and discuss details.”
     The major snaps a salute.“The Governor hears those words of unity,” and turns to the wagons.
     Dideyohvsgi and Benjamin watch the soldier escort follow the emissary of the United States of America out of Willstown.
                                                                   ***
     That evening, as guests of John Watts for dinner, the two relax in the warmth of his cabin. 
     The leader offers venison strips, “Much has changed. My thoughts shift from war to peace.”
     Dideyohvsgi nods, “Becoming your uncle, Old Tassel?”
     “The old man was right. White settlers come as locusts, unstoppable. Another treaty is the way forward.” The host stares into the light of his fireplace that dances across faces and walls.
     “Remember Son of Stone Cloud said treaties with Whites are talking leaves.” The shaman accepts and chews a venison strip.
     “He was wise,” Watts nods. “But now, we are the talkers. And our numbers are few.”
     “The reason for treaties.” Ben chews a strip of meat.
     “Old Tassel spoke of real people from the mountains to the prairies.” Dideyohvsgi eyes dream as flames reflect off pupils.
     “The pox and the White settlers came.” Watts checks corn pone that fills the room with aroma. “Now, we clump together in the lower towns, a proud but a pitiful force.”
     “If you sign a treaty, Dragging Canoe will never honor the terms.” Dideyohvsgi swallows.
     “That is why I summoned you,” John Watts offers the sweet smell of bread.
     The medicine man glances at the freedman as he samples the delicacy.
     “Put aside the study of smallpox. I have a new mission.” The host serves Ben. “You appreciate and understand Dragging Canoe, and I recognize trust and loyalty. Serve as escorts for Blount during these peace talks.”
     Ben looks at Dideyohvsgi as the medicine man laughs, “Bodyguards! The entire power of the United States guards him.”
     “His soldiers do not know Dragging Canoe, or Mohi. I do not suspect force but expect deception. Protect the man from Cherokee politics.”
     “With due respect, I do not predict the Governor accepts such help,” the shaman smiles at the leader.
     “True.” Watts rubs his chin in thought for a moment, “If we cannot ensure Blount’s safety, then carry the news of the impending treaty to the Chickamauga and secure the representative from within that group.”
     “Mohi and Dragging Canoe do not trust me. That distrust stems from childhood.” Dideyohvsgi looks from the leader to his friend. “I cannot ask you to go. You have no stake in this fight.”
     “Won’t shed me that easy,” Ben smiles. “I go. Know that.”
     “The shaman is right. You have no interests in this and are not even Cherokee,” John Watts grasps the freedman’s shoulder. “I promise something significant for your service.”
     Dideyohvsgi and friend stare into the eyes of the peacemaker who was once a war leader.
     “I have listened to your campfire stories,” the man grins. “When conflict ends, our nation promises a grant, a part of our land, legal and agreed to by the United States, to grow your cotton field dreams.”
     The shaman grips his friend’s shoulder and smiles agreement and pleasure with the leader’s promise.