The young man shuddered, a livid pallor spread over his countenance; he looked at the hunters, who nodded their heads, with a glance of horror.
"What do you mean, gentlemen?" he cried; "Do you intend to torture this man, whose life hangs on a thread?"
"It is our right and our duty, not to torture him, but to try him, and execute the sentence, whatever it may be, at once."
"This is terrible!" cried the young man.
"You do not know him. If, for reasons best known to ourselves, we feigned not to know him, now that your friend has left we will tell you who the wretch is."
"No matter who he is," cried Clinton, fiercely, "all I know is that he is wounded and under the protection of my roof."
"Your sentiments of humanity do you honour," said Bright-eye, ironically; "they are well suited to civilised society, where the law defends you. In the desert they have no meaning. Every moment menaced with death, you must cut down your murderous foes without mercy."
"Better be victim than executioner," said George.
"If you like to present your breast to the enemies, that is your lookout; we beg to differ from you."
"But, gentlemen—" said Clinton, haughtily.