“Ye may shake my old body with rackin’ pains. I know you’ve got devil’s inventions, and I don’t deny but they’re awful; but there’s somethin’ about me that ye can’t make tremble, not if all the imps o’ hell war yer slaves—that’s my soul. It’ll come out of yer fiery ordeal as calm as it is now; and with its last thoughts it’ll despise and dare ye! Cris Carrol arn’t bin backwoods hunter for a matter goin’ on forty year to be skeart at burnin’ sticks or hot lead; and he’ll die as he has lived, an honest man!”
A mingled murmur of admiration and anger ran through the assembled crowd, and it was evident that many of the warriors would have given their consent to his being set free.
There is something about TRUE courage which extorts admiration even from an enemy.
A hurried consultation took place among the head men in council.
It was speedily over, and the oldest of their number rose and pronounced sentence against the prisoner.
It was death by burning at the stake!
Cris Carrol was not surprised on hearing it.
The sentence had already lost half of its terror. He had made up his mind that this would be his doom.
Only one word of response came from his lips—
“When?”