THE MAN IN THE TUNNEL
tion, other than revenge. He would have tortured his victim with all the relentless cruelty of an Indian. Hate held full possession of all the man's faculties—he could die happy taking Donald with him.
"You say they have destroyed your home?"
"Burned it ter ther ground, Leftenant—not a stick left: not even a hawg rootin' 'round."
I laid my hand on the man's shoulder, feeling a wave of sympathy. Perhaps he had been wronged, outraged; perhaps I should be as great a savage under the same provocation.
"Daniels," I urged earnestly, "I understand how you feel, but I know Donald, and I cannot believe him guilty of such an act. No doubt he has fought you in this feud of your fathers', but I guess he has always fought fair after the mountain fashion. I don't believe he is the kind of a man to go out there and destroy your home in that manner. Young Dunn might do it, for he is just cowardly enough, but not Jem Donald. He's a man, and fights like a man. I believe you are wrong. Some of his guerillas may have done it, but never by his order—I'd stake my life on that. I'm your commanding officer, and you have some confidence in me, have n't you? You believe I'm all right, and that I want you to have a square deal? Well now, play this out like a man, and stop being a savage. Come with me to Jem Donald, and let's find out the truth. Will you do that, Daniels?" And I held out my hand.
He stared at me in a moment's silence, apparently un-
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