The joy on Hase's face gradually faded.
He looked back over his shoulder; with the relentless encroachments of the Americans over the past few months, the Cherokee Tribe's territory was almost gone.
Even if the American Army didn't attack again, his tribesmen would starve in this winter due to insufficient farmland and pastures, leaving half of them dead.
He squeezed the spear in his hand, wanting to order the reclaiming of the tribe's land, but not a single word could escape his throat—it would be no different from sending them to die.
Just then, a Cherokee warrior rode up and called out to Hase, "Two French men want to see you."
Half an hour later.
In a small town at the northernmost part of the Cherokee Tribe's area, Hase looked incredulously at the emissary sent by the Governor of Saint Louis Louisiana, speaking in English, "You mean we can have a piece of land in Arkansas?"
