“Gentlemen,” he said, rising, “you are mistaken, and I am the victim of a plot. It isn’t pleasant to stay where I am suspected, and I’ll bid you good evening.”
“Not so fast!” said the leader, putting his hand heavily on his shoulder. “You deserve to be punished, and you shall be. Friends, what shall we do with him?”
“Kill him! String him up!” shouted some.
The Rip-tail Roarer’s swarthy face grew pale as he heard these ominous words. He knew something of the wild, stern justice of those days. He knew that more than one for an offense like his had expiated his crime with his life.
“It seems to me,” said the leader, “that the man he injured should fix the penalty. Say you so?”
“Aye, aye!” shouted the miners.
“Will you two,” turning to Joe and Bickford, “decide what shall be done with this man? Shall we string him up?”
The Pike man’s nerve gave way.
He flung himself on his knees before Joshua and cried:
“Mercy! mercy! Don’t let them hang me!”