Mr. Brainerd, with an expression of scorn, sprang up from the log and strode over to his son.
"In Heaven's name, let him go, Fred! Kick him out of sight, for he hasn't the manhood to stand up and be shot like a man."
"Get up!" commanded Fred, catching him by the collar of his coat, and jerking him to his feet: "I want to speak to you."
But Golcher was no sooner on his feet than he went to pieces again, groaning and whining, and begging for that mercy that he had so often denied to others.
Again the lieutenant yanked him to the upright position, and, finding him collapsed as before, he cuffed his ears until they tingled, shouting:
"Stand up, or you're a dead man!"
Finally, after wabbling about several minutes, Golcher summoned enough strength to keep his feet, though in a shaky condition; and finding he was not to be executed immediately, he managed to grasp the situation.
"I was going to say—What do you mean, Gravity?"
This sudden question was caused by Gimp, the African, who, with a chuckle, ran forward from the darkness that was beginning to give away before the approach of day, and, jamming his head down in the ground between Godfrey and Golcher, threw his huge feet in the air, and began kicking with such recklessness that one of them struck the lieutenant in the breast, nearly knocking him over, while the other sent the Tory recoiling some distance.
"Can't help it!" exclaimed the happy African; "Jake Golcher's s'prise party dat was to hab arriv, hab arroven, and me and Aunt Peggy feels like standin' on our heads, and kickin' de limbs off de trees."