A look of anxiety and horror swept over the face of Dr. Spooner. Peter Brush did not seem to catch the meaning of the last words.
“Surely,” said Lycurgus, “you would not kill an innocent boy?”
“The Great Spirit has said it,” said the Indian, gravely.
“Kill Tom!” ejaculated Peter Brush, horror-stricken. “He don’t mean that, does he, doctor?”
“The boy must die!” said the interpreter.
“Then you may kill me, too, you bloody butcher!” exclaimed Peter Brush, tugging fiercely at his fettered hands.
“Calm yourself, friend Brush,” said Lycurgus Spooner. “Let me speak with the Indians. Perhaps I can convince them of their folly.”
“I’d like to argy the point myself,” said Peter.
Of course, Tom had heard all this, and the thought of the fate which seemed inevitable blanched his cheek and sent a cold chill to his heart.