"How is it to be?" asks Slaughter, holding the watch as if he were
weighing it. "By one hand or both?"
"One hand, of course. That was the challenge."
"I propose that the other be tied. That will be the best way, and fair
for both parties. There will then be no balancing, and it will be a
simple test of strength in the arm used for suspension. The right, of
course. Let the left be tied down. What say you, boys?"
"There can be no objection to that. It's equal for both," remarks
Randall.
"I make no objection," says Brandon.
"Nor I," assents the young hunter; "tie as you please, so long as you
tie alike."
"Good!" ejaculates Bill Buck, with a sly wink to his companions, unseen
by the last speaker.
The competitors stand under the branch of the tree ready to be tied. A
minute or two sufficed for this. It is done by a piece of string cord
looped upon the left wrist, and then carried round the thigh. By this
means the left arm is secured against struggling or in anyway lessening
the strain upon the right.
Thus pinioned, both stand ready for the trial.
"Who goes first?" is the question asked by Slaughter. "The challenger,
or the challenged?"
"The challenged has the choice," answers Randall. "Do you wish it,
Choc?" he adds, addressing himself to the quarter-bred Indian.
"It makes no difference to me whether first or last," is the simple
reply.
"All right, then; I'll go first," says Brandon, springing up, and
clutching hold of the limb.
Slaughter, entrusted with the duty, appears to take note of the time.
One--two--three--three minutes and thirty seconds--told off on the dial
of his watch, and Brandon drops to the ground.
He does not appear to have made much of an effort. It is strange he
should be so indifferent to the losing of a splendid rifle, to say
nothing of the humiliation of defeat.
Both seem in store for him, as the young hunter, bracing himself to the
effort, springs up to the branch.
One--two--three--four--five. Five minutes are told off, and still does
he remain suspended.
"How much longer can you stand it, Choc?" asks Bill Buck, with a
significant intonation of voice. "Most done, ain't ye?"
"Done!" scornfully exclaimed the suspended hunter. "I could stand it
three times as long, if needed. I suppose you're satisfied I've won?"
"A hundred dollars against my own rifle you don't hang five minutes
more."
This comes from Brandon.
"I'll take the bet," is the rejoinder.
"Since you're so confident, then, you'll have to win or be hanged."
"What do you mean by that? What are you doing behind me?" asked the
young hunter.
These questions are put under a suspicion that some trick is being
played. He hears a whispering behind him, and a rustling of leaves
overhead.
"Only taking the precaution that you don't hurt yourself by the fall,"
is the answer given to the last.
It is followed by a peal of loud laughter, in which all six take part.
The young gymnast, still clinging to the branch, wonders what is making
them so merry. Heir speeches have suggested something sinister, and
glancing upward he discovers the trick played upon him. There is a rope
around his neck, with a running nose, its other end attached to a branch
above. It has been adjusted in such manner that were he to let go his
hold the noose would close around his throat, with his feet still
dangling in the air.
"Hang on!" cried Slaughter, in a mocking tone. "Hang on, I advise you.
If you let go you'll find your neck in a noose."
"You'll keep the time, Slaughter," directs Brandon, "Five minutes more.
If he drops within that time, let him do so. Well, then, see how long
the nigger can hang _by his neck_."
Another loud laugh rings through the glade, echoed by all except him who
is the subject of it.
The young hunter is furious--almost to frenzy. His cheek has turned
ashy pale--his lips too. Fire flashes in his coal-black eyes. Could he
but descend safely from the tree, at least one of his torturers would
have reason to repent the trick they have put upon him.
He dare not let go his hold; he sees the set snare, and knows the danger
of falling into it. He can only await till they may please to release
him from his perilous position.
But if patient, he is not silent.
"Cowards!" he cries, "cowards every one of you; and I'll make every one
of you answer for it: you'll see if I don't."
"Come, come, nigger," retorts Brandon, "don't talk that way, or we'll
not let you down at all. As good as you have been hanged in these woods
for too much talking. Ain't he a nice looking gallows bird just now?
Say, boys! Suppose we call back the girl, and let her have a look at
him? Perhaps she'd help him out of his fix. Ha! ha! ha!"
"You'll repent these speeches, Alfred Brandon," gasps the young man,
beginning to feel his strength failing him.
"You be hanged--yes, hanged, ha! ha! ha!"
Simultaneous with the laugh a deer-hound, straying by the edge of the
glade, gave out a short, sharp growl, which is instantly taken up by
those lying around the camp fire. At the same instant is heard a snort,
perfectly intelligible to the ears of the amateur hunters.
"A bear! a bear!" is the cry uttered by all, as the animal itself is
seen dashing back into the cane-brake, out of which it had come to
reconnoitre.
In an instant the hounds are after it, some of them already hanging to
its hams, while the six hunters suddenly rush to their guns, and
flinging themselves into their saddles, oblivious of all else, spur
excitedly after.
In less than twenty seconds from the first howl of the hound there is
not a soul in the glade, save that now in real danger of parting from
the body that contains it.
The young hunter is left hanging--alone!