Page:Harris Dickson--The black wolf's breed.djvu/248

222 "Possibly, sire," replied the man to whom this was addressed.

"Then we will wait; my sweet brother would weep to miss so brave a spectacle as his own hanging."

He sat there upon the edge of the well, whence came the groans of the dying, the hot, fresh odours of the dead, and waited, fiendish in the patient ferocity of his more than mortal hate.

After a little I opened my eyes and stared about me, scarcely comprehending where I was or what had happened. Ortez called upon his men to raise me. Being placed erect the cord was drawn just taut enough to sustain me standing. Now the ghastly woman I had seen in the hall pushed her way through the crowd.

"Her son," she hissed, and savagely struck me in the mouth until blood followed the blow. The cord instantly tightened and I felt myself swing across the well. First only a dizziness and a parched mouth. Then the tumultuous blood surged to my throat, beating, struggling, gurgling like some pent-up mountain stream against the rocks. I threw both hands up to grasp the rope—heard a laugh, not a human laugh, yet it sounded so far, so very far away, away back upon the earth.

A gigantic merciful hand seemed to take my head within its gripe and press out all the pain.

Fiery circles swam before my eyes; great crimson blotches floated about in restless clouds of flame; then dreams, dreams, long delicious dreams. And out of endless years of rhythmic music, the laughter of low-