“Yes,” he was sure that he would succeed, “I shall get his secret by promising pardon; then I will spit upon his face and say ‘die dog, I’ll not spare you.’” So forth he sallied, and made his way to the cell where the young man sat in chains.

“Well, malignant tyrant, what do you here?  Whatever your business is, let it be dispatched quickly, for your presence stifles me.  What dishonourable proposal have you now to make?”

“Monsieur Scott, it seems to be a positive pleasure to you to revile me.  Yet have I sought to serve you;—­Yea, I would have been, would now be, your friend.”

“Peace; let me hear what it is that you now propose?”

“You are aware that it is ordered by Court-Martial, of which, I was not a member, that you are to be shot at one o’clock this day?  It is now just forty-five minutes of one.  I can spare your life, and I will do it, upon one condition.”

“Pray let me hear what dishonour it is that you propose?  I ask the question now, for the same reason that I made a similar query during my first incarceration, out of a curiosity to learn, if possible, a little more of your meanness and infamy.”

“And I reply to you as I answered before, that I shall take no notice of your revilings, but make my proposal.  I simply ask you to state to me where Jean and his daughter Marie have taken up their abode?”

“Where you will never find them.  That’s my answer, villain and tyrant, and now begone.”

“Perhaps you imagine that the sentence will not be carried out.  I ask you to choose between life and liberty, and an almost immediate ignominious death.”

“I care not for your revenge, or your mercy.  Once more I say, get you gone.”  Then the ruffian turned round, rushed at the chained prisoner, and dealt him a terrific kick in the side, after which he spat upon his face.

“She shall be mine!” he hissed, “when your corpse lies mouldering in a dishonoured traitor’s grave.”  The young man was chained to a heavy table, but with a sudden wrench, he freed himself, raised both arms, and was about bringing down his manacled hands upon the tyrant miscreant —­and that blow would have ended the rebellion at Red River,—­when Luc burst into the room, seized the prisoner, and threw him.  While his brute knee was on the young man’s breast, and his greasy hand held the victim’s throat, Riel made his escape, and turned back to his own quarters.

As for poor Scott, when the tyrant, and the brutal guard had left the cell, he began to pace up and down, sorely disturbed.  All along he had cherished the hope that the tyrant would be induced to commute the sentence to lengthy imprisonment.  But the diabolical vengeance which he had seen in the tyrant’s eye now began to undermine his hope of life.  Some friends were admitted to his cell, and they informed him that they had pleaded for him, but in vain.

“And do you think that he will really perpetrate this murderous deed?” he asked.