“Eight of us have lost our time in pursuing you. You gave up the nugget because you were forced to. You intended to carry it away.”
“Mercy! mercy! I’m a very unlucky man. I’ll go away and never trouble you again.”
“We don’t mean that you shall,” said Crane sternly. “Peabody, tie his hands; we must take him back with us.”
“I won’t go,” said Hogan, lying down. “I am not going back to be hung.”
It would obviously be impossible to carry a struggling man back fifteen miles, or more.
“We must hang you on the spot then,” said Crane, producing a cord. “Say your prayers; your fate is sealed.”
“But this is murder!” faltered Hogan, with pallid lips.
“We take the responsibility.”
He advanced toward Hogan, who now felt the full horrors of his situation. He sprang to his feet, rushed in frantic fear to the edge of the precipice, threw up his arms, and plunged headlong. It was done so quickly that neither of his captors was able to prevent him.
They hurried to the precipice and looked over. A hundred feet below, on a rough rock, they saw a shapeless and motionless figure, crushed out of human semblance.