"Jacob," said Fred Godfrey in a low voice, but with such significance that the Tory was transfixed, "I hoped that you would say and do something that would give me excuse for believing you less a miscreant than you are, but you have persisted in shutting out all merciful thoughts—"
"Wh-wh-what d-d-do you m-mean?" stammered Golcher, beginning to feel a giving away in his knees.
"Do you suppose I was such a fool as to allow Habakkuk McEwen, one of my best friends, to bring me back a prisoner to you? You showed your idiocy in sending him out for me; but it is scarcely credible that you could really think he would ever show himself again. But he has, and here I am—
"And now, Jacob, I have the pleasure of informing you that you are at my mercy, and I have only to raise my hand—so—to have you riddled with bullets."
CHAPTER L.
As Lieutenant Fred Godfrey slowly raised his hand, as if it were the signal for his friends to open fire, Jake Golcher collapsed.
Sinking down on the ground, as limp as a rag, he began begging in the most pitiful tones for his life. Indeed, he groveled so in the dirt that all the whites who looked upon him found their feelings of hatred turning to disgust and pity.
Fred Godfrey was disappointed, and, stepping back a pace or two, gazed on the miserable craven as he would upon a dog he had caught stealing sheep, and which was then cringing at his feet.
Instead of waiting until the patriot had proven the truth of his declaration, the renegade succumbed at once. It is hard to kick the wretch who clasps your knees, and the lieutenant, who was determined to rid the world of the man as soon as he had made the declaration of his purposes respecting the captives, found his resentment gone.