"A rope! A rope!" shouted one. "There, in my cabin you'll find a strong one!"
"That tree!" yelled another. "We'll sling him up!"
Old Pete tried his best to stop them in their mad design. He shouted, pleaded, and even fought to free the captive.
"Drive 'im from Klassan!" he roared, "but don't let his blood be on our heads!"
He might as well have spoken to the wind which was roaring around them. The men were besides themselves, demented. They had reached the limit of their patience, and the wild passions surged within their breasts. In their eyes the cowardly deeds of Pritchen were without parallel. What dastardly tricks! What base, underhanded work! What designs of hell! The rope, and rope only, was the proper punishment!
Half dragged and half stumbling, the wretched man reached the tree, Nature's solid gallows, standing ghost-like and grim in the deepening darkness. He looked wildly around, and tried to free his hands.
"Mercy! For God's sake, mercy!" he cried, as the noose was slipped around his neck. "Let me go! Give me another chance, and I'll leave the country!"
"The rope'll take you to a new country, and a hot one at that, quicker than you can mush," jeered one.
"Mercy! Mercy!" pleaded the wretched man. "Spare me this once! I'll tell you all, and get out!"
"Did ye kill that Injun woman?" asked Pete, stepping near.