Michael Cresap's group, hearing screams, looked up from the river seeing white and Indians fighting. Pulling canoes on the western side of the Ohio, they found trappers assaulting Shawnee women, husbands dead nearby. Several tried to intervene; trappers focused on the women. Seeing one squirm on the ground holding her chest, Cresap pulled a pistol, a shot filling the air. "Enough!" The gang's leader, Tomlinson laughed through missing teeth, "Who's ya." "Never ya mind," pointing to a woman nearby, "ya cutting 'em off just ain't right." "Ah, ya looking fa these," he held up two breasts. "I'll skin 'em ... they'll make a mighty fine purse." "Leave the others alone," George Rogers Clark, in the Cresap party, pointed to another struggling women. Tomlinson, a head taller and a hundred pounds heavier, smiled. "Listen here li'll one ... look around; I's got twelve guns against ya six." Then another laugh to lower the impasse, "Heard Dunmore gonna kill a bunch of these heathen, so's we're help'n." Cresap in the rear, "George, can't help 'em, let's go." The group backed toward the Ohio River. In North Carolina, Tsiyu'gunsini, Dragging Canoe, pointed north, shouting to the assembled whites, "Can-tuc-kee a dark and bloody land! Many die when they plant houses on our hunting lands!" Turning to the assembled chiefs, "Whole nations of our race have melted away like snowballs in the sun before the white man's advance." He pointed to Judge Henderson, negotiating the Transylvania Purchase, "Blood on your hands!" He raised his arms as if to strike but suddenly walked past the Cherokee council fire, taking a few young men with him. The upcoming Revolution forced both whites and Indians to choose sides. From the Ohio to the southwest frontier, the wilderness turned into a brutal war pitting several Indian nations, with British weapons, against the influx of frontiersmen and settlers.