"I would not; if you compel me to use violence, the consequences be upon your own head. Will you answer me?"
Maxwell hesitated. The dreadful thought of being murdered in cold blood presented itself on the one hand, and the scarcely less disagreeable thought of exposing his crimes, on the other. The loss of reputation, his prospective fall in society, were not less terrible than death itself. Resolving to trust in his good fortune for the result, he firmly refused to answer.
Hatchie now took the rope, and having cut off a portion from one end, with which he fastened together the legs of his prisoner, he ascended the tree with an end in his hand. Passing the rope over a smooth branch about fifteen feet from the ground, he descended and made a slip-noose in one end. Heedless of the remonstrances of the victim, he fastened it securely to his neck.
Seating himself again on the log, with the other end of the rope in his hand, he looked sternly upon the attorney, and said,
"Now, sir, I put the question again. Will you answer me?"
"Never!" said Maxwell, in desperation.
"Very well, then; if you have any prayers to say, say them now; your time is short."
"Fool! villain! murderer! I have no prayers to say. I am not a drivelling idiot, or fanatic; I can die like a man."
"You had better reconsider your determination."
"No, craven! woolly-headed coward! I will not flinch. Do you think to drive a gentleman into submission?"