The colonel seemed to me to be prodigiously strong for the sick man the soldier had reported him to be. His hands compressed my throat so tightly that I could not cry out, and my limbs were paralyzed; an unpleasant situation for an invading army, I willingly admit. The colonel's eyes were angry, and his face was very red, which could be the result both of fever and of wrath. Both, I think, added to the strength of his arms.
He sat up on the ice and held me out at arm's length like a big doll. I knew that Crothers was near, and I wanted to cry out instantly and wanted to do it very badly; but for the life of me I could not, with that old Confederate's iron fingers on my throat. I had no doubt that Crothers and the men would continue to creep upon the hut, rush into it, and find nobody there. Meanwhile, I would be turning into a cold corpse on the ice.
The colonel released his hold upon my throat so suddenly that I fell upon my back and gasped, which, however, was much better than not breathing at all.
"Why did you do that?" I asked, feeling injured in the spirit as well as in the flesh.
"It was my intention to kill you," he said, "but I've changed my mind."
"Thank heaven!" I exclaimed, devoutly.
"I couldn't do it; it was too easy," he said.
If that was the reason, I was not so thankful. But I considered it good policy not to explain my views just then. Although the colonel had released me, he kept his hand on the butt of a very large pistol in his belt. I thought it wise to withdraw.
"Good-evening, colonel," I said, giving the military salute as well as I could in my undignified position.