Waboga went about the work, without saying a word; and a couple of tomahawks were soon hacking at the tree.
It was but a slender one, of soft pine wood; and shortly fell. Then, lopped and topped, its trunk was dragged up to the spot where the chief stood, and where he had remained standing ever since issuing the order.
“It will do,” he said, looking at the felled piñon, as if satisfied of its being suitable for his purpose. “Now take it to the fall there, and set it up; behind the jet of the water, so that it just clears it. Sink a deep hole, and see you stake it firmly.”
The hole was sunk; the tree set upright in it; and then firmly wedged around with stones. The tiny stream, coming down from the cliff, fell vertically in front, according to the directions given, just clearing its top.
By further instructions from the chief, a stout piece of timber, taken from one of the limbs, was lashed transversely to it, forming a cross, about five feet above the ground.
During all these preparations no one knew for what they were intended. Even the Indians employed could not tell, and Waboga was himself ignorant.
The captives were equally at a loss to make out what was meant; though they surmised it to be the preliminary to some mode of punishment intended for themselves.
When they saw the erection taking the form of a crucifix, this of itself was suggestive of torture; but observing also the strange spot in which it was being set up, there began to glimmer on their minds a shadowy thought of its kind. Snively and one or two others—Blount Blackadder among them—in the upright post and its cross-piece, with the water-jet falling in front, were reminded of a mode of punishment they had themselves too often inflicted.
“I wonder what they can be after wantin’ with that,” said one of the planters to his fellow-captives.
None of them made reply. The same thought was in the minds of all, and it was terrifying them beyond the power of speech.