"I'm not minded you shall send me to a British prison, Seth Jepson, and I swear solemnly that if you raise your voice above a whisper, or fail to run at your best pace, I'll thrust this knife into your heart with the certainty of killing you."
"Would you do murder?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, and I knew from the tremor of his voice that he was in an agony of fear.
"It will not be murder to kill such as you, and I shall have no hesitation in doing so unless you obey every command promptly."
During such time as we had been speaking the pace was not slackened, and that the cowardly cur had lost all heart, I understood when he forged ahead at his best speed, as if believing implicitly in the threat I had made.
Running swiftly we were soon on the shore of the mill pond, having arrived without seeing or hearing anything to betoken pursuit, and believing it safe to slacken the pace that I might reserve my strength in case we were come to that pass where I must release the prisoner in order to save my own skin, I allowed the Tory cur to walk, but took good care to keep a firm grip on his collar as I mentally asked myself how it would be possible to rid myself of the prisoner with due regard to safety.
I began to realize that I had made an awkward capture; that I had under my hand one whom I dared not set free, and could not take with me. It was a most perplexing situation, and during a few seconds I well nigh lost heart because of having thus plunged my comrades into yet greater difficulties.
"'WOULD YOU DO MURDER?'"
Yet what other could I have done? If, when he accosted me, I had turned to flee, he would have followed, and within two or three minutes a score of lobster backs must have been on my trail, when there could be no chance of escape. My only safety lay in holding fast to him, and yet by so doing was I increasing the peril.