misery. When first he saw that throng of men coming down from the
hill top and resting on the platform; he knew that his fate was
come. When they called to him to surrender himself he was silent,
but he knew that his silence was of no avail. To them who were so
eager to be his captors the matter seemed to be still one of
considerable difficulty; but, to his thinking, there was no
difficulty. There were there some score of men, fully armed, within
twenty yards of him. If he but showed a trace of his limbs he would
become a mark for their bullets. And then if he were wounded, and
no one would come to him! If they allowed him to lie there without
food till he perished! Would it not be well for him to yield
himself? Then they called again and he was still silent. That idea
of yielding is very terrible to the heart of a man. And when the
worst had come to the worst, did not the ocean run deep beneath his
cavern's month?

But as they yelled at him and hallooed, making their preparations
for his death, his presence of mind deserted the poor wretch. He
had stolen an old pistol on one of his marauding expeditions, of
which one barrel had been loaded. That in his mad despair he had
fired; and now, as he lay near the mouth of the cavern, under the
cover of the projecting stone, he had no weapon with him but his
hands. He had had a knife, but that had dropped from him during the
struggle on the floor of the cottage. He had now nothing but his
hands, and was considering how he might best use them in ridding
himself of the first of his pursuers. The man was near him, armed,
with all the power and majesty of right on his side; whereas on his
side, Aaron Trow had nothing,--not a hope. He raised his head that
he might look forth, and a dozen voices shouted as his face appeared
above the aperture. A dozen weapons were levelled at him, and he