The dogs continued leaping up at the window; their master kept up his blind caresses. The one guard stared stupidly at the tableau of the two men, one with arms folded and counting the precious minutes, the other with a pistol ready in his hand and frowning heavily.
At last there came a patter of feet, and McGillivray straightened and brought the pistol to bear on Sevier’s deep chest.
“If the verdict is against you I have decided to shoot you here,” he grimly informed.
“I reckon I wouldn’t deserve it. I never promised not to harm Polcher. I’ve told you several times I fully intend to hang him.”
“Good heavens! You couldn’t have hung him—alone!” cried the emperor.
Up dashed the messenger and sagged against the window-sill and waited for his master to turn and address him. But McGillivray would not remove his gaze from Sevier and commanded over his shoulder:
“Speak, you fool! The man is waiting to know if he lives or dies.”
“The man Polcher was asleep,” panted the man.
“Asleep? You mean he is dead?” cried the emperor, beginning to contract his trigger-finger.
“No, your Majesty,” faltered the man, fearing a rebuke for stating the truth. “I found him asleep. He woke up and cursed me. I told him I was obeying your Majesty’s orders. At that he sprang from his blankets and began dressing.”