The moment that Roland understood in whose service he was drawing his sword, a change came over the spirit of his thoughts and feelings, and he returned it very composedly to its sheath,—­much to the satisfaction of the negro, Emperor, who, recognising the unfortunate Ralph at the same instant, cried aloud, “’Top massa! ’t ar Captain Stackpole, what stole Brown Briery!  Reckon I’ll touch the pony on the rib, hah!  Hanging too good for him, white niggah t’ief, hah!”

With that, the incensed negro made as if he would have driven the pony from under the luckless Ralph; but was prevented by his master, who, taking a second survey of the spectacle, motioned to the horror-struck females to retire, and prepared himself to follow them.

“’Tarnal death to you, captain! you won’t leave me?” cried Ralph, in terror.  “Honour bright!  Help him that needs help—­that’s the rule for a Christian!”

“Villain!” said Roland, sternly, “I have no help to give you.  You are strung up according to the laws of the settlements, with which I have no desire to interfere.  I am the last man you should ask for pity.”

“I don’t ax your pity, ‘tarnal death to me,—­I ax your help.’” roared Ralph; “Cut me loose is the word, and then sw’ar at me atter!  I stole your hoss thar:—­well, whar’s the harm?  Didn’t he fling me, and kick me, and bite me into the bargain, the cursed savage? and ar’n’t you got him ag’in as good as ever?  And besides, didn’t that etarnal old Bruce fob me off with a beast good for nothing, and talk big to me besides? and warn’t that all fa’r provocation?  An didn’t you yourself sw’ar ag’in shaking paws with me, and treat me as if I war no gentleman?  ’Tarnal death to me, cut me loose, or I’ll haunt you, when I’m a ghost, I will, ’tarnal death to me!”

“Cut him down, Roland, for Heaven’s sake!” said Edith, whom the surprise and terror of the spectacle at first rendered speechless:  “you surely,—­no, Roland, you surely can’t mean to leave him to perish?”

“Upon my soul,” said the soldier, and we are sorry to record a speech representing him in a light so unamiable, “I don’t see what right I have to release him; and I really have not the least inclination to do so.  The rascal is the cause of all our difficulties; and, if evil should happen us, he will be the cause of that too.  But for him, we should be now safe with our party.  And besides, as I said before, he is hanged according to Kentucky law; a very good law, as far as it regards horse-thieves, for whom hanging is too light a punishment.”

“Nevertheless, release him,—­save the poor wretch’s life,” reiterated Edith, to whom Stackpole, perceiving in her his only friend, now addressed the most piteous cries and supplications:  “the law is murderous, its makers and executioners barbarians.  Save him, Roland, I charge you, I entreat you!”

“He owes his life to your intercession,” said the soldier; and drawing his sabre again, but with no apparent good will, he divided the halter by which Ralph was suspended, and the wretch was free.