Had not the prisoner been prevented by his own feelings from giving note to any thing save the mere words of the refugee, he might have detected the traces of some extraordinary emotion in the unusual abruptness of his expressions. He even failed to observe the incongruity between Oran's invitation to choose an executioner from his whole band, and the late declaration he had made, that the band was broken up. He repeated the name of Staples, adding, "Let it be Staples, brother, for he is the boldest and truest: he fears nothing, and he misses nothing."
"Call him out of the yard then," said Oran; "he lies there cold as a stone."
"Ashburn then, Tom Ashburn!" cried Hyland, after an exclamation of dismay at the intelligence; "he is the next boldest, and a true shot."
"Another, another! They fished him out of the river at the Foul Rift, yoked fast to the carcass of his horse."
"Bettson, then!"
"He lies, with Staples, dead in the yard here."
"Good God! is there none left then to save me from this horror. Oh brother, send any one. Is there not one?"
"There is one," said Oran, and his teeth chattered as he spoke; "there is one, and only one; but he shoots well too, and is as bold as any. Farewell, young brother—the streaks are in the sky: we will never see one another more. Reach forth your hand, brother, and let me touch it."
"Alas, Oran, I am chained to the floor."
"Ay,—I forget: 'tis all one. Say that you beg God to forgive me, and that you forgive me yourself—let me hear you say it."