Girty scowled, ominously, at the words.
“Keep your tongue within bounds, or it may be the worse for you. Do you know where you are?”
“Yes, a prisoner in your hands,” Virginia answered, with a look of settled despair.
“Do you know what your fate is going to be?”
“Death by some dreadful torture, I suppose.”
“No, your guess is wrong; you are not fated to die yet. Were you the captive of the Shawnees it is probable that you would die at the torture-stake; but you are my prisoner; no red brave holds your fate in his hands.”
“If report speaks true, I am the prisoner, then, of a man whose nature is more cruel than that of the Indian,” said Virginia, with spirit.
“I am merciless to those that brave my anger,” retorted Girty, with a lowering frown.
“And how have I ever wronged you?” asked Virginia, in wonder.
“You have never wronged me.”