“And also promise that you will work no harm to any in the block house by the black art,” went on Carteret. “Though it might serve, could you practice some devil’s trick on those red servants of His Majesty of the lower regions, who howl without. Say, Captain,” he continued, eagerly, and looking at me for the first time since he had read the warrant, “would it not be within your province and power to summon a horde of witches and have them torment the Indians? That would be fine. The savages would be filled with fear and trembling and the terror of death, and leave us alone.
“Could you not work some such black art as that,” he went on earnestly. “’Twould be a noble use for your powers, and might even serve to absolve you when it comes to trial. What say you?”
“Why do you speak like a child?” I answered with some anger. “Enough of this. I give the promises you want readily, because there is no need to make them. I have no more power as a witch than have you or Simon or----”
“The Lord forbid!” exclaimed Carteret, with fervor. And he shrank back as if to escape contact with me.
“Then you cannot ride a fence rail?” he asked when he had studied over the matter a while longer.
“Nay,” I said, mockingly, for I was weary of the farce.
“Nor a broom stick?”
“Nay.”
“Nor a black cat?”
“Peace! Peace!” I cried; “this is worse than to fight the Indians.”