bring only wretchedness. Bad as was Spikeman, and lamentable as might
be his infatuation for the girl, there was even in that, something
which redeemed it from being utter evil.

Daylight had now faded entirely away, but the Indians abated not their
speed, and pursued their course in a straight line, as though guided
by an infallible instinct. In this manner they proceeded for nearly
two hours, and, at the expiration of the time, arrived at a collection
of three or four lodges of the rudest structure. Several of the
natives were lying on the ground, smoking their pipes, but they took
no other notice of the newcomers than looking at them as they came up.
Sassacus led the way into the largest wigwam, and, having directed his
prisoner to sit down, left the cabin.

Spikeman knew well enough that, with all this seeming inattention, he
was vigilantly watched, yet could he not forbear from walking to the
entrance, looking around at the same time, if, by chance, he might
espy a weapon. He saw none, however, and two stout Indians made
motions to him to return. Meditating on his situation, and casting
about in his mind for expedients, either to evade his captors or to
change the resolution of the Pequot chief, which, he doubted not,
aimed at his life, he resumed his seat. He was unable to remain more
than a few moments in quiet, and presently again approached the
opening, and this time beheld a sight which curdled his blood.

It was a stake driven into the ground, at a distance of not more than
a rod from where he stood, around which several Indians were heaping
up faggots of dry sticks and broken branches. Spikeman shuddered, and
tasted, in almost as lively a manner as if he were already
experiencing them, the agonies that awaited him, for he could not