“I won’t,” said the little black-faced man, folding his arms upon his caved-in chest.
The captain’s face went very white. “Jennings,” he said to the guard standing by; “Jennings, you get your rifle.”
Jennings had disappeared, then had returned with the rifle.
“Put your hands up to this ring,” began the captain again when Jennings, rifle in hand, again stood in the chapel.
“I won’t,” said the little man. He stopped to cough, looking up at the captain out of his inflamed eyes, with their red-drooping lower lids. “You c’n kill me; I won’t be flogged.”
“Carroll, I’m man of my word,” said the captain, very white. “And so help me God, if you don’t put up your hands to this ring, you’ll be shot.”
“Shoot,” said Jimmy Carroll.
“Jennings, get ready,” said the captain.
Jennings stared at him, stared at Carroll, raised his rifle, and aimed it at the little black-faced man.
