“What do you mean?” demanded Driscol, speaking for the first time.
“I mean this,” Grayson answered sternly: “I did not take that horse from Elwood's—but you did: I saw you do it. But since my testimony will not be received, I am determined that you shall give me a certificate in writing that such is the fact. You needn't look so obstinate, for by the God that made us both! you shall not leave that chair alive, unless you do as I say!”
Grayson was a large, rather fleshy man, with a light complexion and blue eyes; and, though good-natured and hard to arouse, when once in earnest, as now, like all men of his stamp, he both looked, and was, fully capable of carrying his menaces into execution. The imprisoned functionary did not at all like the expression of his eye, he quailed before it in fear and shame. He was, however, resolved not to yield, except upon the greatest extremity.
“Come,” said Grayson, producing materials for writing; “here are pen, ink, and paper: are you willing to write as I dictate?”
“No,” said Driscol, doggedly.
“We'll see if I can't make you willing, then,” muttered his captor; and, going to the other end of the cabin, he took down a coil of rope, which hung upon a peg, and returned to his captive. Forming a noose at one end, he placed it about Driscol's neck, and threw the other end over a beam which supported the roof.
“Are you going to murder me?” demanded the official in alarm.
“Yes,” answered Grayson, drawing the loose end down, and tightening the noose about Driscol's throat.
“You'll suffer for this,” said the lieutenant furiously.
“That won't help you much,” coolly replied Grayson, tugging at the rope, until one leg of the chair gave signs of rising from the floor, and Driscol's face exhibited unmistakable symptoms of incipient strangulation.