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Mequa-chake was to be his finish. He had no friends here. The stake was ready, for hoots and howls and shaken fists greeted him. The people warriors, squaws, boys and girls old and young they could scarcely wait. He was towed and shoved and jostled to the council-house. It was only half roofed. The stake, a stout post sixteen feet high, had been planted in the center of the unroofed part.
"We have waited long enough," gibed George Girty, swearing horridly. "Now you'll get what you deserve. You'll eat fire." They took him to a smaller town of Wakatomica, five miles distant. There they and the other people beat him for an hour. It was the beginning. They hustled him on to a third town, named Mequa-chake Red Earth. John Slover lost all hope. He was Indian enough to know.
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