“I will not give you even that loop-hole from which to escape,” said Black Will, after a pause. “I leave the camp to-day in search of a man who is at one of the Indian stations, a Lutheran missionary. Let me say to you that he is a man who would not perform the ceremony if you offer a word of objection, and that you have only to say ‘no,’ and that ceremony will cease and one of another kind commence, for as there is a sky above us I will take your friends out and hang them before your eyes. Git my horse, Jack Fish.”
The man obeyed, and after giving some orders to Dick Garrett in a low tone, the renegade mounted and rode away through the wood.
Two days passed, and they heard nothing of him. Upon the afternoon of the third he came into camp accompanied by a pale, intellectual-looking man in the dress of a clergyman, who looked mildly about on the wild group in the camp, evidently surprised to find himself in such a place. He was at once conducted to one of the brush cabins which had been built up by the men, while Black Will dismounted and ordered that Melton and the other prisoners should be removed into the woods a short distance from the camp, for he knew the missionary too well to believe that he would perform the ceremony if he had any doubt of the willingness of the lady to do her part, and Black Will feared the prisoners might let him know the true state of the case.
Five men accompanied the prisoners into the woods, with orders to shoot them down at the first attempt to escape. When this was done Black Will approached the brush cabin in which Sadie spent the time, and called her out.
“I have returned,” he said, cheerfully. “You must excuse me for staying away from you so long, but I found it difficult to find the missionary.”
“I only wish you had never found him or had received your just deserts, sir,” was the somewhat unpromising reply.
“My deserts; I deserve better treatment at your hands, I think.”
“Twelve feet of rope and a tree would suit you better,” she replied. “Do not deceive yourself by the belief that I shall ever change in my regard for you. The most slimy reptile which crawls through the swamp would be to me a more pleasant companion. I give my hand to you to save my friends, but never my heart with it.”
He stood moodily before her, tapping his boot with the riding-whip he carried.
“I have half a mind to refuse your hand upon these terms,” he said, gloomily, without raising his eyes from the earth upon which they were bent. “Your language is horrible to one to whom you are about to join yourself for life, and the day will surely come when you will repent it bitterly. There, I will say no more now; but, in half an hour I shall come for you and we will be married.”