For every soul of a woman that it saves it sends two men on the road to hell!" So intense was the old man's displeasure and so ludicrous the twisting contortions of his face that Nathaniel could hardly restrain himself from bursting into a roar of laughter.

Obadiah perceived his inclination and with an angry bob of his head led the way through to the inner edge of the waiting circle of men.

Within this circle, in a small open space, was a short post with straps attached to an arm nailed across it, and leaning upon this post in an attitude of one who possesses a most distinguished office was a young man with a three thonged whip in his hand.

An ominous silence pervaded the circle, with the exception of the hushed whispering of a number of women who had forced themselves into the line of spectators, bent upon witnessing the sight of blood as well as hearing the sound of lashes.

Nathaniel noticed that most of the women hung in frightened curiosity beyond the men.
"That is MacDougall with the lash--official whipper and caretaker of the slave hounds," explained Obadiah in a whisper.
Nathaniel gave a start of horror.
"Slave hounds!" he breathed.
The councilor grinned and twisted his hands, in enjoyment of his companion's surprise.
"We have the finest pack of bloodhounds north of Louisiana," he continued, so low that only Nathaniel could hear.