A wild cry ascends simultaneously from the whole troop as they face
round towards the renegade, who is still with them, and their prisoner.
The wretch turns pale, as if all the blood of his body were abruptly
drawn out. Without comprehending the exact import of that cry, he can
read in fifty pairs of eyes glaring angrily on him that his last hour
has come.
The Rangers can have no doubt as to whom the letter has been addressed,
as they can also tell why it has miscarried. For the renegade has
already disclosed his name, not thinking it would thus strangely turn up
to condemn him to death.
Yes--to death; for, although promised life, with only the punishment of
a prison, these conditions related to another criminality, and were
granted without the full knowledge of his guilt--of connivance at a
crime unparalleled for atrocity. His judges feel absolved from every
stipulation of pardon or mercy; and, summoning to the judgment seat the
quick, stem decreer--Lynch--in less than five minutes after the
trembling wretch is launched into eternity!
There is reason for this haste. They know that the letter has
miscarried; but he who could dictate such a damnable epistle is a wild
beast at large, who cannot be too soon destroyed.
Leaving the body of Barbato to be devoured by wolves and vultures, they
spur on along the Pecos, only drawing bridle to breathe their horses as
the trail turns up at the bottom of a confluent creek--the Arroyo de
Alamo.