“You’d better tell that to someone else,” returned the renegade, endeavouring to assume a careless tone. “You needn’t tell Bill Ashbey you ain’t afraid to die, for I know better.”
“You kin only judge me by yourself,” said David, in a calm voice. “If ye’re not ready to meet yer Maker, I advise you, as a friend would, if ye had any friends, to git ready. Maybe that I shall die to-morrow, or it may be not; but, I can tell you, Bill Ashbey, I shall see your body a corpse long afore my own hour comes. I know that—mind you!”
The renegade turned pale, and shivered with a mortal terror.
“So-ho!” he exclaimed, with an attempt at bravado; “you think to scare me, old chap. To try your skill, suppose I have your head cut off at once; it will save the trouble of roastin’ ye, and a host of other inconveniences.”
“If you are ready to die, I’ll not object,” was the calm reply. “It were enough for one life to rid the earth of such a cuss as you!”
Ashbey gazed upon the man for a few moments in silence, then turned to Alfred. Bending upon the young man a look of contempt, he said:
“So, young puppy-face, you came out here, eh? Wal, I don’t wonder. I s’pose ye got so scart ye run any way. But ye’ll make a good roastin’-piece, and my braves will like the fun o’ toastin’ yer lamb’s carcass!”
“You can roast me if you choose,” the young man calmly replied; “but I think your braves will remember me for some time to come.”
“Of course, we’re glad to say ye did somethin’ afore ye died; but we don’t intend ye’ll ever harm us any more. But it seems you two weren’t alone; I hear thar’s another what run for’t.”
He waited some moments before either spoke. His manner gave them the assurance that Charles was still at large, and unharmed.