Between them and the tree of punishment a small fire was burning, and the light from this clearly exposed the face of the bound man.  His eyes were dilated with terror, his weak lower jaw had dropped, and his mouth was wide open.  So overcome was he, that he had no strength left to stand, so his entire weight rested upon his bonds.  Never was there a more pitiable object of abject terror and cowardice.  But the Indians did not seem in the least affected by their captive’s misery.  With stern, impassive faces they went on with their chanting, which steadily increased in weirdness as they continued.

At length they ceased, and at once Sconda seized a burning brand from the fire and approached the prisoner.  Then wild shrieks rent the air as Curly frantically struggled to free himself.  He might as well have addressed his words to the trees which surrounded him, as to those grim natives of the north.

Sconda had already stooped, as if to touch the brand to the inflammable material about the victim’s feet, when Weston stepped within the ring, and ordered him to wait.  Sconda immediately straightened himself up and stepped back.

“Save me!  Save me!” Curly yelled.  “Don’t let these devils burn me!  For God’s sake, save me!  Oh, oh!”

For a few seconds Weston stood with folded arms looking upon the helpless man.  Then his lips curled in a sarcastic smile.

“You’ve got only yourself to blame for this,” he began.  “Did you not bet that you would defy all the power of Glen West, and lure my daughter to her ruin?  You can’t deny it.”

“No, no, I don’t deny it.  I was a fool, a madman.  But save me, oh, save me!  Don’t let them burn me!”

“Do you think you are worth saving, Curly Inkles?  You are a plague-spot in any community.  You have brought untold misery upon many innocent ones, and why should you be allowed to do so to others?”

“I will never do any harm again,” Curly whined.  “I swear by all that is holy that I will change my life.”

“Bah, I wouldn’t give the snap of a finger for all the oaths you make, Curly.  You don’t know the meaning of an oath.  Your soul is so seared and blackened that one might as well try to change that stump to which you are bound into a living one as to transform you into a good citizen.  No, it is better for you to be off the earth than on it.”

“But it’s murder!” Curly yelled.  “Would you murder a helpless man?  You will hang for it, and all these devils here.”

“How do you dare to speak about murdering a helpless man?” Weston asked.  “What happened to Bill Ducett, at Black Ravine?”

At these words Curly’s eyes fairly started from their sockets, and the perspiration poured down his face in great beads.

“W-what d’ye know about that?” he gasped.  “W-who are you, anyway?”

“Oh, never mind who I am, or how much I know.  It is sufficient for the present to say that I have all the knowledge necessary to stretch your neck.  You have now run the length of your wild career, and it shows you that it is impossible to escape justice here or anywhere else.  But, there, I’ve wasted too much time talking to you, so get ready.”