of the English were in that vicinity, and likewise the identity of certain Indians who, it seemed, were serving with the English as guides. But to not one question could David make intelligent answer, and the sachem grew each moment more incensed, until, in the end, he tossed his pipe on the ground and sprang to his feet.
“You not talk now, you English dog, but soon you talk grand! Much heat make tongue wag! Plenty fire you get, plenty talk you make! You see!”
The younger Indian pulled David to his feet and thrust him before him through the doorway. Outside he called others and they came gathering about with cruel, snarling grins. He who had haled him forth spoke for a minute, evidently directing, and then hands were again laid on the boy and he was pushed and dragged over the ground toward where, at an edge of the swamp island, a lone cedar tree stood. Until they approached it, David believed the sachem’s threat to be but idle, born of exasperation and anger, but now he knew that it was to be carried out. Fear and desperation lent him strength. Wrenching himself free from the grasps of those who held him, he shot a clenched fist into the face
