The grim fiendishness of this will be understood when the lameness of poor Murphy is remembered. All through the talk, he was standing in the background on one foot, his rugged face twitching with the pain he could not keep back. Buckongahelas would have interfered, had he not known that it was useless. There was a point beyond which he could not hold his warriors. He had denied them their favorite pastime, and even he could not say that they should be robbed of every form of amusement. There was not a warrior among the howling throng who did not know the scout who had wrought them so much evil, and upon whom they had tried so long to lay hands. The chieftain nodded his consent to their proposal. Murphy was familiar enough with the Delaware tongue to understand the decision that had been reached. He was too sensible to protest and silently nerved himself for the dreaded ordeal soon to come. The Delawares made their preparations with the enthusiasm of so many boys, while those who were not to take part chuckled with delight. The persecutors formed in two rows, facing each other, with hardly a dozen feet of space between. In each row were twenty-eight warriors and squaws, separated by slightly less distance. The arrangement was meant to give each one just enough room to swing his or her arms with freedom. Thus, as will be seen, Murphy was doomed to run over a path nearly a hundred yards in length, and between two rows of persecutors, all eagerly waiting for him to come nigh enough for them to reach him with the clubs in their itching hands. They had laid their guns aside, and every one was armed with a heavy stick, which he meant to bring down with a vicious energy that would hurl the poor fellow to the ground, if the implement once reached its mark. Behind these rows of exultant redskins were grouped the other members of the tribe, to the extent of several hundred. Barbarous as were the warriors, the squaws were worse, if that was possible, and the dancing children were as eager as their elders to see the white man pounded to death. One of the Delawares took Murphy by the arm and led him to the head of the line. He limped so heavily that he barely touched the ground with the tip of one foot. He was seen to shut his lips and shake his head, as if to force back his suffering and to brace himself for the trial before him. But he did not utter a word; it was useless. At the head of the line on his right, was stationed a warrior whom he recognized as one of his captors and his chief persecutor. He was large and inclined to corpulency, but his painted face was ugly to the last degree. He had struck the captive on the way to the village, and had subjected him to many indignities. Now he took a place which gave him the first chance to reach the helpless prisoner, and there can be no doubt that he meant to leave no work to be done by the others in the lines.