"How much longer can you stand it, Choc?" asks Bill Buck, with a significant intonation of voice. "Most done, ain't ye?" "Done!" scornfully exclaimed the suspended hunter. "I could stand it three times as long, if needed. I suppose you're satisfied I've won?" "A hundred dollars against my own rifle you don't hang five minutes more." This comes from Brandon. "I'll take the bet," is the rejoinder. "Since you're so confident, then, you'll have to win or be hanged." "What do you mean by that? What are you doing behind me?" asked the young hunter. These questions are put under a suspicion that some trick is being played. He hears a whispering behind him, and a rustling of leaves overhead. "Only taking the precaution that you don't hurt yourself by the fall," is the answer given to the last. It is followed by a peal of loud laughter, in which all six take part. The young gymnast, still clinging to the branch, wonders what is making them so merry. Heir speeches have suggested something sinister, and glancing upward he discovers the trick played upon him. There is a rope around his neck, with a running nose, its other end attached to a branch above. It has been adjusted in such manner that were he to let go his hold the noose would close around his throat, with his feet still dangling in the air. "Hang on!" cried Slaughter, in a mocking tone. "Hang on, I advise you. If you let go you'll find your neck in a noose." "You'll keep the time, Slaughter," directs Brandon, "Five minutes more. If he drops within that time, let him do so. Well, then, see how long the nigger can hang _by his neck_." Another loud laugh rings through the glade, echoed by all except him who is the subject of it. The young hunter is furious--almost to frenzy. His cheek has turned ashy pale--his lips too. Fire flashes in his coal-black eyes. Could he but descend safely from the tree, at least one of his torturers would have reason to repent the trick they have put upon him. He dare not let go his hold; he sees the set snare, and knows the danger of falling into it. He can only await till they may please to release him from his perilous position. But if patient, he is not silent. "Cowards!" he cries, "cowards every one of you; and I'll make every one of you answer for it: you'll see if I don't." "Come, come, nigger," retorts Brandon, "don't talk that way, or we'll not let you down at all. As good as you have been hanged in these woods for too much talking. Ain't he a nice looking gallows bird just now? Say, boys! Suppose we call back the girl, and let her have a look at him? Perhaps she'd help him out of his fix. Ha! ha! ha!" "You'll repent these speeches, Alfred Brandon," gasps the young man, beginning to feel his strength failing him. "You be hanged--yes, hanged, ha! ha! ha!"