“The prisoner pulled off my dicky to-day,” said the Elder, dolorously, “and otherwise disarranged my apparel. I think he deserves condign punishment!”
But other charges of graver import were to come.
“He shot our guide,” said Sally Niver; “and put his arm round my waist, when he lifted me out of the wagon, and no decent man would do that—unless he had a right to,” she added, with a glance at Leander. “I think he ought to be hung for murderin’ the guide, anyway!”
“He killed my brother John!” said Wimple.
“He butchered my old father and mother!” said the giant, “and he’s got to die an awful death for it! If any one here thinks he ought to live after committin’ all these crimes, let him speak!”
There was no voice to speak against the execution of the giant’s sentence, and he said:
“Shall he live or die? I’ll give him one more chance.”
“Let him die!” was the answer; and almost before the startled spectators realized what had taken place, Leander Maybob had cut the thongs that bound the doomed chief to the stake, and rearing him above his head, hurled him over the low stockade, among the snarling, half-famished wolves!
Retribution had come at last! He had expiated his many crimes! The vengeance of Leander and Alonphilus Maybob was accomplished!
A few moments later, the whole party rode out of the almost depopulated Indian village, the liberated captives mounted on some Indian ponies that they had found tethered near by.