A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. He had him removed from the Condemned Hold, stripped of his fine apparel, clothed in the most sordid rags, loaded with additional fetters, and thrust into the Stone Hold,—already described as the most noisome cell in the whole prison. Well, come back in half an hour. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. That’s really our choice now, defy—or futility. WARD, LOCK & CO.
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