“Pretty sight, eh, Nat?” he chuckled.  “Ah, the king has a wonderful eye for beauty, Nat—­wonderful eye!  He orders that no skirt shall fall below the female knee.  Ho, ho, if he dared, if he quite dared, Nat!”

He nudged Nathaniel again with such enthusiasm that the latter jumped as though a knife had been thrust between his ribs.

“By George, I admire his taste!” he laughed.  The women caught him staring at them, and one, who was the youngest and prettiest of the lot, smiled invitingly.

“Tush—­the Jezebel!” snapped Obadiah, catching the look.  “That’s her child playing just beyond.”

The young woman tossed her head and her white teeth gleamed in a laugh, as though she had overheard the old councilor’s words.

“See her twist her hair,” he snarled venomously as the young woman, still boldly eying Nathaniel, played with the luxuriant curls that glistened in the sun upon her breast.  “Ezra Wilton is so fond of her that he will take no other wife.  Ugh, Strang is a fool!”

Nathaniel turned away from the smiling eyes with a shrug.

“Why?”

“To tell our women that it helps to save their souls to wear short skirts and let their hair hang down.  For every soul of a woman that it saves it sends two men on the road to hell!”

So intense was the old man’s displeasure and so ludicrous the twisting contortions of his face that Nathaniel could hardly restrain himself from bursting into a roar of laughter.  Obadiah perceived his inclination and with an angry bob of his head led the way through to the inner edge of the waiting circle of men.  Within this circle, in a small open space, was a short post with straps attached to an arm nailed across it, and leaning upon this post in an attitude of one who possesses a most distinguished office was a young man with a three thonged whip in his hand.  An ominous silence pervaded the circle, with the exception of the hushed whispering of a number of women who had forced themselves into the line of spectators, bent upon witnessing the sight of blood as well as hearing the sound of lashes.  Nathaniel noticed that most of the women hung in frightened curiosity beyond the men.

“That is MacDougall with the lash—­official whipper and caretaker of the slave hounds,” explained Obadiah in a whisper.

Nathaniel gave a start of horror.

“Slave hounds!” he breathed.

The councilor grinned and twisted his hands, in enjoyment of his companion’s surprise.

“We have the finest pack of bloodhounds north of Louisiana,” he continued, so low that only Nathaniel could hear.  “See!  Isn’t the earth worn smooth and hard about that post?”

Nathaniel looked and his blood grew hot.

“I have seen such things in the South,” he said.  “But not—­for white men!”

The councilor caught him by the arm.

“They are coming!”