Neil was similarly fastened, with his face turned partly toward him.
There was no change in his attitude. His head hung weakly upon his
chest, as if he had fainted.
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.
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