"Not murder," answered the man. "We-uns is goin' ter put two revenues out o' ther way, that's all!"
"It's murder," cried Frank, in a ringing tone. "You know we are not revenue spies! Men, we appeal to you. We can prove that we are what we claim to be—two boys who are tramping through the mountains for pleasure. Will you kill us without giving us a chance to prove our innocence?"
The leader laughed harshly.
"It's ther same ol' whine," he said. "Ther revenues alwus cry baby when they're caught. You-uns can't fool us, an' we ain't got time ter waste with ye. Git reddy, boys!"
About the boys' necks the fatal ropes were quickly adjusted.
"Stop!" Frank commanded. "If you murder us, you will find you have not killed two friendless boys. We have friends—powerful friends—who will follow this matter up—who will investigate it. You will be hunted down and punished for the crime. You will not be allowed to escape!"
Again the leader laughed.
"Pore fool!" he sneered. "Do you-uns think ye're stronger an' more po'erful than ther United States Gover'ment? Huah! Ther United States loses her spies, an' she can't tell who disposed o' 'em. We won't be worried by all yore friends."
He made another movement, and the rope ends were flung over a limb that was strong enough to bear both lads.
Hope was dying within Frank Merriwell's breast. At last he had reached the end of his adventurous life, which had been short and turbulent. He must die here amid these wild mountains, which flung themselves up against the moonlit sky, and the only friend to be with him at the end was the faithful friend who must die at his side.