"That is five miles from here," said Landless.
"Yes, near to the village where we took him. He 'll be kept there until they can try him. And they'll make short work of him. He 'll be food for crows directly."
The throng pressed upon them, forcing them nearer to the group beneath the dead tree. The overseer had finished his account, and the master was clearing his throat to speak. Landless found himself upon the inner verge of the mass of spectators, directly opposite the murderer, and confronted by him with a look so dark, wild and malignant, that he could not doubt the intention that lay behind those scowling eyes. Luiz Sebastian, still with the murderer's arm in his grasp, gave him a peculiar look which he could not translate. In the background he saw Trail's sinister face peering over the shoulder of an Indian.
"You dog!" said the planter, addressing himself directly to Roach. "What have you to say for yourself?"
The murderer made an uncertain sound with his dry lips, and his bloodshot eyes roamed around the circle from one staring face to another, until they returned to rest upon the watchful, amber-hued countenance beside him.
"Speak!" said his master sternly.
"I 'll say nothing," was the dogged reply, "until I stands my trial. I demands a fair trial."
"Remember that this is your last chance to speak to me, to speak to any one in authority before you are tried. Of course you will hang for this. Have you anything to say? Do you wish to speak to me in private?"
The murderer raised his head, and shaking the tangled hair from about his face, cast at Landless, standing ten paces beyond the planter, such a look of deadly and blasting hatred, that for a moment the blood ran cold in the young man's veins. He set his teeth and braced himself to meet the blow at plans and hopes and life that should follow such a look.
To his astonishment the blow did not fall. Roach changed the basilisk gaze with which he had regarded him to a vacant stare.