A majority voted for life.
“I knew they’d do it,” hissed O’Neill. “And Splitlog sanctions the decision. My men shall not vote.”
A stern determination clothed the last words, and they were yet quivering on his lips when the chief, with a triumph which his best dissimulative arts could not conceal, turned upon him:
“Now let the red-coats vote,” cried Splitlog. “If many of them say ‘death,’ the waters of the Huron shall roll over the Night-Hawk.”
An eager gleam of hope lit up the colonel’s eyes at this.
Sword in hand he leaped upon the log near the Night-Hawk captain.
“You who vote for life will advance ten paces westward. Right about—face. Forward—march!”
Many a Briton obeyed the military command, and the colonel ordered a sergeant to count the ayes.
Two hundred and one men voted for life, and strange to say, a like number had kept their places!
“I vote for death!” said the colonel, when he had informed Splitlog of the even counts; “therefore I make a majority, and the outlaw dies.”