What did it mean?

Suddenly every nerve in Nathaniel’s body leaped into excited action.

The guards were entering their boat!  The last man was shoving it off—­they were rowing away!  His throbbing muscles seemed ready to burst their bonds.  The boat became indistinct in the starry gloom—­a mere shadow—­and faded in the distance.  The sound of oars became fainter and fainter.  Then, after a little, there was wafted back to him from far out in the lake a man’s voice—­the wild snatch of a song.  The Mormons were gone!  They were not to be shot!  They were not—­

A voice spoke to him, startling him so that he would have cried out if it had not been for the cloth that gagged him.  It was Neil, speaking coolly, laughingly.

“How are you, Nat?”

Nathaniel’s staring eyes revealed his astonishment.  He could see Neil laughing at him as though it was an unusually humorous joke in which they were playing a part.

“Lord, but this is a funny mess!” he chuckled.  “Here am I, able and willing to talk—­and there you are, as dumb as a mummy, and looking for all the world as if you’d seen a ghost!  What’s the matter?  Aren’t you glad we’re not going to be shot?”

Nathaniel nodded.

The other’s voice became suddenly sober.

“This is worse than the other, Nat.  It’s what we call the ’Straight Death.’  Unless something turns up between now and to-morrow morning, or a little later, we’ll be as dead as though they had filled us with bullets.  Our only hope rests in the fact that I can use my lungs.  That’s why I didn’t let them know when my gag became loose.  I had the devil’s own time keeping it from falling with my chin; pretty near broke my neck doing it.  A little later, when we’re sure Jeekum and his men are out of hearing, I’ll begin calling for help.  Perhaps some fisherman or hunter—­”

He stopped, and a chill ran up Nathaniel’s back as he listened to a weird howl that came from far behind them.  It was a blood-curdling sound and his face turned a more ghastly pallor as he gazed inquiringly at Neil.  His companion saw the terrible question in his face.

“Wolves,” he said.  “They’re away back in the forest.  They won’t come down to us.”  For a moment he was silent, his eyes turned to the sea.  Then he added, “Do you notice anything queer about the way you’re bound to that stake, Nat?”

There was a thrilling emphasis in Nathaniel’s answer.  He nodded his head affirmatively, again and again.

“Your hands are tied to the post very loosely, with a slack of say six inches,” continued Neil with an appalling precision.  “There is a rawhide thong about your neck, wet, and so tight that it chafes your skin when you move your head.  But the very uncomfortable thing just at this moment is the way your feet are fastened.  Isn’t that so?  Your legs are drawn back, so that you are half resting on your toes, and I’m pretty sure your knees are aching right now.  Eh?  Well, it won’t be very long before your legs will give way under you and the slack about your wrists will keep you from helping yourself.  Do you know what will happen then?”