The hero of Tippecanoe whirled about upon his stool. His rugged face darkened ominously. A storm was brewing.
“My young friend,” he interrupted in hard, cold tones, “you talk as if you came to plead his case.”
“I came to intercede in his behalf,” Ross replied calmly.
General Harrison sprang to his feet, his face black with rage.
“By heavens!” he cried. “You are——”
Then the grizzled warrior stopped suddenly. He bit his thin lips—and was silent. At last he said quietly, but firmly:
“What I would say, young man, is this: It’s useless to ask me to show clemency to Hiram Bradford—the spy, the deserter. I can’t blame you—I don’t blame you—for feeling sorry for him. He has befriended you—in a way, perhaps. But you’re an American—you love your country. And you mustn’t forget that this man is your country’s bitter and avowed enemy. That’s not all. During the Tippecanoe campaign, he entered my service as a scout—he enlisted regularly. At that time, he was in the employ of the English—was their spy. He plotted against my life—he deserted. I needn’t tell you all this; you know it only too well. You were the first to arouse my suspicions. You put me on my guard—and saved my life. After your escape from the savages—at Franklinton, you remember—you told me that Hiram Bradford had confessed all to you. As a spy, I should let him go; for his scheme failed—and his attempt upon my life was in another war. But a deserter once is a deserter forever;”—fiercely—“and the penalty is death! To-morrow a preliminary court-martial will be held; and you will appear as a witness against Hiram Bradford.”
Douglas dropped upon a stool, moaning:
“I can’t! Oh, God!—I can’t!”