They were raking dead leaves and fallen brushwood of last year around a small but stout sapling, and they went on with their task in a methodical way.
Paul knew well, too well.

Hideous tales of such doings had come now and then to his ears, but he had never dreamed that he, Paul Cotter, in his own person would be such a victim.

Even now it seemed incredible in the face of this beautiful young world that stretched away from him, so quiet and so peaceful.

He, who already in his boyhood was planning great things for this splendid land, to die such a death! The warriors did not cease until their task was finished.

It was but a brief one after all, for Paul had made no mistake in his guess.