“Well, my beauties, are you ready to die?”

“We don’t expect any thing else, Simon Girty,” answered the old man mildly.

“Don’t you, by ——!” rejoined Girty.  “Perhaps it’s just as well you don’t—­ha, ha, ha!  Come, old dotard,” he continued, “down on your marrow bones and say your prayers; for, by ——! you will never behold the setting of another sun.”

“I’ve said my prayers regular for thirty year,” answered Younker; “and I’ve been ready to die whensomever the Lord should see fit to call me; and therefore don’t feel myself no more obligated to pray jest at this particular time, than ef I war told I war going to live twenty year more.  It’s only them as hain’t lived right, that the near coming o’ death makes pray, more nor at another time; and so jest allow me, Simon Girty, to return you your advice, which is very good, and which, ef you follow yourself, you’ll be likely to make a much better man nor you’ve ever done afore.”

“Fool!” muttered the renegade, with an oath.  Then turning to Algernon, he continued:  “You, sirrah, are destined to live a little longer—­though by no design of mine, I can assure you.  Don’t flatter yourself, though, that you are going to escape,” he added, as he perceived the countenance of Algernon slightly brighten at his intelligence; “for, by ——! if I thought there was a probability of such a thing happening, I would brain you where you sit, if I died for it the next moment.  No, young man, there is no escape for you; you are condemned to be burnt, as well as Younker, only at another place; and, by ——!  I will follow you myself, to see that the sentence is enforced with all its horrors.”

“For all of which you doubtless feel yourself entitled to my thanks,” returned Algernon, bitterly.  “Do your worst, Simon Girty; but understand me, before you go further, that though life is as dear to me at the present moment as to another, yet so much do I abhor and loathe the very sight of you, that, could I have it for the asking, I would not stoop to beg it of so brutal and cowardly a thing as yourself.”

“By ——!” cried Girty, in a transport of rage; “the time will come, when, if you do not sue for life, you will for death, and at my hands; and till then will I forego my revenge for your insolence now.  And let me tell you one thing further, that you may muse upon it in my absence.  I will raise an army, ere many months are over, and march upon the frontiers of Kentucky; and by all the powers of good and evil, I swear again to get possession of the girl you love, but whom I now hate—­hate as the arch-fiend hates Heaven—­and she shall thenceforth be my mistress and slave; and to make her feel more happy, I will ever and anon whisper your name in her ear, and tell her how you died, and the part I took in your death; and in the still hours of night, will I picture to her your agonies and dying groans, and repeat your prayers for death to release you.  Ha! you may well shudder and grow pale; for again I swear, by all the elements, and by every thing mortal and immortal, I will accomplish the deed!  Then, and not till then, will I feel my revenge complete.”