The joy on Hase's face gradually faded.
He looked back behind him; after months of constant encroachment by the Americans, the land of the Cherokee Tribe was almost gone.
Even before the American Army attacked again, his people would starve to death in droves this winter for lack of farmland and pastures.
He squeezed the spear in his hand, wanting to give the order to take back their land, but the words stuck in his throat—doing so was no different from marching to their deaths.
At that moment, a Cherokee warrior galloped over on horseback and shouted to Hase, "There are two French people who want to see you."
Half an hour later.
In the northernmost small town of the Cherokee Tribe, Hase stared in disbelief at the envoy sent by the Governor of Saint Louis Louisiana, and asked in English, "You mean there's land in Arkansas that the Cherokee Tribe can have?"
