The floor above him was one mass of coals. Then cinders fell upon his bare neck, hot and glowing. He shook his head, but the coal adhered to the hissing flesh.
Another and another fell, until his body was literally covered with the blazing sparks. Either the cords had been weakened by fire, or else the torturing coals had given Bob-tailed Horse a fictitious strength, for with one mighty effort he burst them asunder, and snatching the gag from his mouth, uttered a wild cry for help.
His hair caught fire and blazed furiously about his face. His flesh was fairly hissing beneath the heat, and it seemed as though he was one mass of fire. He screamed and yelled with frantic fury.
He sprung upward and caught at one of the glowing sleepers. It broke beneath his weight, and he fell back, covered with the hotly-blazing debris. Again he sprung to his feet and essayed to gain the level floor; and again he fell back, screeching—dying.
More of the floor crumbled away, and then he sprung upon the edge of the narrow pit. With yet another cry, he fell forward upon his face in the glowing mass of coals.
He tottered to his feet and rushed blindly forward, sinking nearly knee-deep in the burning embers. He ran against the still standing logs and staggered back; his eyesight was gone.
But he did not fall, and sprung ahead once more. This time he emerged from the doorway, and then with a gasping yell, he fell to the ground.
And yet, after all this torture, he still lived. Though he had undergone enough to have killed a half-score of men, the spark of life still flickered faintly in his breast.
He knew he was among friends, and cried out for water. More from his gestures, than aught else, he was understood, and Young hastened to supply his wants. Not from motives of pity, but because he hoped to gain some valuable information from the dying wretch.
The spring was close by, and a hatful of cold water was brought the scarred and mangled sufferer. He drank it down eagerly and begged piteously for more.