Wild horses could not have dragged him to face this man had he been free.

Even now a chill crept over Girty.

For a moment he was enthralled by a mysterious fear, half paralyzed by a foreshadowing of what would be this hunter's vengeance.

Then he shook off his craven fear.

He was free; the hunter's doom was sure.
His sharp face was again wreathed in a savage leer, and he spat once more on the prisoner.
His fierce impetuosity took him a step too far.