Butler’s visage became deathly, and for a full minute he stood there in silence.  Suddenly he turned, nodded to Hiokatoo, pointed at Boyd, then at Parker.  Both prisoners rose as a yell of ferocious joy split the air from the Senecas.  Then, wheeling on Boyd: 

“Will you answer my questions?”

“No!”

“Do you refuse to answer the military questions put to you by an officer?”

“No prisoner of war is compelled to do that!”

“You are mistaken; I compel you to answer on pain of death!”

“I refuse.”

Both men were deadly pale.  Parker also had risen and was now standing beside Boyd.

“I claim the civilized treatment due to an officer,” said Boyd quietly.

“Refused unless you answer!”

“I shall not answer.  I am under Brant’s protection!”

“Brant!” exclaimed Butler, his pallid visage contorted.  “What do I care for Brant?  Who is Brant to offer you immunity?  By God, sir, I tell you that you shall answer my questions—­ any I think fit to ask you—­ every one of them—­ or I turn you over to my Senecas!”

“You dare not!”

“Answer me, or you shall soon learn what I dare and dare not do!”

Boyd, pale as a sheet, said slowly: 

“I do believe you capable of every infamy, Mr. Butler.  I do believe, now, that the murderer of little children will sacrifice me to these Senecas if I do not answer his dishonorable questions.  And so, believing this, and always holding your person in the utmost loathing and contempt, I refuse to reveal to you one single item concerning the army in which I have the honour and privilege to serve.”

“Take him!” said Butler to the crowding Senecas.

I have never been able to bring myself to write down how my comrade died.  Many have written something of his death, judging the manner of it from the condition in which his poor body was discovered the next day by our advance.  Yet, even these have shrunk from writing any but the most general details, because the horror of the truth is indescribable, and not even the most callous mind could endure it all.

God knows how I myself survived the swimming horror of that hellish scene—­ for the stake was hewn and planted full within my view....  And it took him many hours to die—­ all the long September afternoon....  And they never left him for one moment.

No, I can not write it, nor could I even tell my comrades when they came up next day, how in detail died Thomas Boyd, lieutenant in my regiment of rifles.  Only from what was left of him could they draw their horrible and unthinkable conclusions.

I do not know whether I have more or less of courage than the usual man and soldier, but this I do know, that had I possessed a rifle where I lay concealed, long before they wrenched the first groan from his tortured body I would have fired at my comrade’s heart and trusted to my Maker and my legs.