Another sun rises over the Llano Estacado, his beams gilding with ruddy
glow the brown basaltic cliffs that enclose the valley of the Arroyo de
Alamo.
On projecting points of these, above the spot chosen by Uraga for his
camp, the black vultures are still perched. Though 'tis not their usual
roosting-place, they have remained there all night, now and then giving
utterance to their hoarse, guttural croaks, when some howling, predatory
quadruped--coyote or puma--approaching too near, has startled them from
their dozing slumbers. As the first rays of the sun rouse them to
activity, their movements tell why they have stayed. No longer at rest,
or only at intervals, they flit from rock to rock, and across the valley
from cliff to cliff, at times swooping so low that their wings almost
touch the topmost twigs of the trees growing upon the banks of the
stream. All the while with necks astretch, and eyes glaring in hungry
concupiscence. For below they perceive the materials of a repast--a
grand, gluttonous feast--no longer in doubtful expectation, but now
surely provided for them.
Ten men lie prostrate upon the sward; not asleep, as the vultures well
know--nor yet reclining to rest themselves. Their attitudes are
evidence against this. They lie with bodies bent and limbs stiff, some
of them contorted to unnatural postures. Besides, on the grass-blades
around are drops and gouts of blood, grown black during the night,
looking as if it had rained ink; while little pools of the same are here
and there seen, dull crimson and coagulated.
From these sanguinary symbols the vultures are well aware that the
recumbent forms are neither asleep nor reposing. Every bird knows that
every man of them is dead; and, though still clad in the uniform of
soldiers, with all the gay insignia of lancers, they are but clay-cold
corpses.
It is the firing party, still lying as it fell; not a figure disturbed,
not a coat stripped off nor pocket rifled; no strap, plume, or pennon
displaced since the moment when all dropped dead almost simultaneously
at the detonation of the Rangers' rifles.
Except the tents, which are still set as before, this cluster of corpses
is the only thing seeming unchanged since yesterday's sun went down.
For it was after sunset when the pursuers returned, bringing their
prisoners along with them. As on yesterday, two captives are seen under
the same tree, where late lay Don Valerian and the doctor. But
different men, with quite another style of sentry standing over them.
The latter, a rough-garbed, big-bearded Texan, full six feet in height,
shouldering a gun whose butt, when rested on the ground, places the
muzzle within an inch of his chin. No need to say who are the two he is
guarding. At his feet Uraga lies, crestfallen, with a craven look upon
his face, like a fox in the trap; his splendid habiliments torn,
mud-bedaubed, bedraggled. Besides him his adjutant, Roblez--his
confederate in many a crime--also showing signs of having received rough
treatment, but not without resenting it. His aspect is that of a tiger
encaged, chafing at the torture, regardless of what may be the end. On
the camp ground are seen some sixty horses with half-a-dozen mules.
About fifty of the former are under saddle and bridle, as if soon to be
mounted. The others have lariats around their necks, intended to be
led.
A few men--those of inferior standing--look after the animals; while the
larger number is gathered into a group near the centre of the camp
ground. Their air, attitudes, earnest speech, and excited
gesticulations tell they are taking counsel on some matter of serious
import.
Walt Wilder is among them, Hamersley being absent. The latter is inside
the square tent, in pleasanter companionship.
He is seated upon a _catre_, Adela by his side, her hand clasping his.
This without any bashfulness or reserve at her brother being present.
Which he is, along with the dear old doctor, both now released from
their bonds. It is a tableau of true love, wreathed with fraternal
affection.
With devotion also, of an humbler kind, Conchita is passing out and in,
rejoicing in a general way. She pays no attention to a peon who lies
tied behind the tent--Jose; and gives only scorn to another seen fast
bound beside him--Manuel.
Notwithstanding her knowledge that this man is madly in love with her--
for she now also knows how much he has been a traitor--her thoughts, as
her eyes, are upon one more true--on her grand, gallant _Tejano_! She
is proud to observe the distinguished part he plays among his
_compaisanos_. For, in truth, Walt is doing this. Standing a half head
taller than any of the Rangers around him, he is alike leader in their
deliberations, those the most serious in which men can be engaged.
No question of life and death. It has been, but is no longer. The
latter has been unanimously decreed, the verdict declared, the sentence
pronounced. Their talk now only relates to the manner of execution.
The Ranger Captain, who presides, puts the interrogatory thus:
"Well, boys, what are we to do with them? Shoot or hang?"
"Hang!" is the response from more than a majority of voices.
"Shootin' is too clean a death for scoundrels sech as them," is the
commentary of a voice recognisable as that of Nat Cully.
"They ought to be scalped, skinned, an' quartered," adds a man disposed
to severer punishment.
"Yes!" affirms another of the like inclining. "A bit of torture
wouldn't be more than the rascals deserve."
"Come, comrades!" cries the Ranger Captain. "Remember, we are Texans,
and not savages like those we're about to punish. Sufficient to send
them out of the world without acting inhumanly. You all declare for
hanging?"
"All!"
"Enough! Where shall we string them up?"
"Yonner's a pick spot," responds Wilder, pointing out the two trees to
which Don Valerian and the doctor had been lately lashed. "They kin
each hev a branch separate, so's not to crowd one the t'other in makin'
tracks to etarnity."
"Jest the place!" endorses Cully. "Kedn't be a better gallis if the
sheriff o' Pike County, Massoury, had rigged it up hisself. We'll gie
'em a tree apiece, as they war about to do wi' thar innocent prisoners.
Takin' their places'll be turn an' turn about. That's fair, I reckin."
"Boys!" cries Walt, "look out a cupple o' layvettes, an' fetch 'em this
way."
Several start towards the horse-drove, and soon return with the
trail-ropes. Then all proceed towards the two trees. Each chances to
have a large limb extending horizontally outward from the trunk. Over
each a tazo is flung, one end left loose, the other remaining in the
hand of him who pitched it. Before flinging them the rope has been
passed through the iron ring with which all lariats are provided, thus
furnishing a ready-made running noose.
"Who's to haul up?" asks the Ranger Captain; adding, "Boys! 'Taint a
nice business, I know; but I suppose there's some of you willing to
undertake it."
Some of them!