Do you know what will happen then?"
He paused and Nathaniel stared at him, partly understanding, yet giving
no sign.
"You will hang upon the thong about your neck until you choke to death,"
finished Neil. "That's the 'Straight Death.' If the end doesn't come by
morning the sun will finish the job. It will dry out the wet rawhide
until it grips your throat like a hand. Poetically we call it the hand
of Strang. Pleasant, isn't it?"
The grim definiteness with which he described the manner of their end
added to those sensations which had already become acutely discomforting
to Nathaniel. Had he possessed the use of his voice when the Mormons
were leaving he would have called upon them to return and lengthen the
thongs about his ankles by an inch or two. Now, with almost brutal
frankness, Neil had explained to him the meaning of his strange
posture. His knees began to ache. An occasional sharp pain shot up from
them to his hips, and the thong about his neck, which at first he had
used as a support for his chin, began to irritate him. At times he found
himself resting upon it so heavily that it shortened his breath, and he
was compelled to straighten himself, putting his whole weight on his
twisted feet. It seemed an hour before Neil broke the terrible silence
again. Perhaps it was ten minutes.
"I'm going to begin," he said. "Listen. If you hear an answer nod your
head."
He drew a deep breath, turned his face as far as he could toward the
shore, and shouted.
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