Captain Haynes, seeing there will be no difficulty in obtaining
executioners, deems everything settled, and is about ordering the
prisoners to be brought up. Being a man of humane feelings, with
susceptibilities that make him somewhat averse to performing the part of
sheriff, it occurs to him that he can avoid the disagreeable duty by
appointing a deputy.
For this he selects Walt Wilder, who in turn chooses Nat Cully to assist
him. The two assume superintendence of the ceremony, and the Ranger
Captain retires from the ground.
After communing for some seconds between themselves, and in _sotto
voce_, as if arranging the mode of execution, Walt faces round to the
assembled Texans, saying--
"Wal, boys, thar 'pears to be no stint o' hangmen among ye. This chile
niver seed so many o' the Jack Ketch kind since he fust set foot on the
soil o' Texas. Maybe it's the smell o' these Mexikins makes ye so
savagerous."
Walt's quaint speech elicits a general laugh, but suppressed. The scene
is too solemn for an ebullition of boisterous mirth. The ex-Ranger
continues--
"I see you'll want to have a pull at these ropes. But I reckon we'll
have to disapp'int ye. The things we're agoin' to swing up don't
desarve hoistin' to etarnity by free-born citizens o' the Lone Star
State. 'Twould be a burnin' shame for any Texan to do the hangin' o'
sech skunks as they."
"What do you mean, Walt?" one asks. "Somebody must hoist them up!"
"'Taint at all necessary. They kin be strung 'ithout e'er a hand
techin' trail-rope."
"How?" inquire several voices.
"Wal, thar's a way Nat Cully an' me hev been speaking o'. I've heern o'
them Mexikins practisin' themselves on thar Injun prisoners for sport.
We'll gie' 'em a dose o' their own medicine. Some o' you fellows go an'
fetch a kupple o' pack mules. Ye may take the saddles off--they won't
be needed."
Half-a-dozen of the Rangers rush out, and return leading two mules,
having hastily stripped off their alparejas.
"Now!" cries Walt, "conduct hyar the kriminals!"
A party proceeds to the spot where the two prisoners lie; and taking
hold, raise them to an erect attitude. Then, half carrying, half
dragging, bring them under the branches designed for their gallows-tree.
With their splendid uniforms torn, mud-bedaubed, and stained with spots
of blood, they present a sorry spectacle. They resemble wounded wolves,
taken in a trap; nevertheless, bearing their misfortune in a far
different manner. Roblez looks the large, grey wolf--savage, reckless,
unyielding; Uraga, the coyote--cowed, crestfallen, shivering; in fear of
what may follow.
For a time neither speaks a word nor makes an appeal for mercy. They
seem to know it would be idle. Regarding the faces around, they may
well think so. There is not one but has "death" plainly stamped upon
it, as if the word itself were upon every lip.
There is an interval of profound silence, only broken by the croak of
the buzzards and the swish of their spread wings. The bodies of the
dead lancers lie neglected; and, the Rangers now further off, the birds
go nearer them. Wolves, too, begin to show themselves by the edge of
the underwood--from the stillness thinking the time arrived to commence
their ravenous repast. It has but come to increase the quantity of food
soon to be spread before them.
"Take off thar leg fastenin's!" commands Wilder, pointing to the
prisoners.
In a trice the lashings are loosed from their ankles, and only the ropes
remain confining their wrists--these drawn behind their backs, and there
made fast.
"Mount 'em on the mules!"
As the other order, this is instantly executed; and the two prisoners
are set astride on the hybrids, each held by a man at its head.
"Now fix the snares roun' thar thrapples. Make the other eends fast by
giein' them a wheen o' turn over them branches above. See as ye draw
'em tight 'ithout streetchin'."
Walt's orders are carried out quickly, and to the letter, for the men
executing them now comprehend what is meant. They also, too well, who
are seated upon the backs of the mules. It is an old trick of their
own. They know they are upon a scaffold--a living scaffold--with a
halter and running noose around their necks.
"Now, Nat!" says Walt, in undertone to Cully. "I guess we may spring
the trap? Git your knife riddy."
"It's hyar."
"You take the critter to the left. I'll look arter that on the right."
The latter is bestridden by Uraga. With Walt's ideas of duty are
mingled memories that prompt to revenge. He remembers his comrades
slaughtered upon the sands of the Canadian, himself left buried alive.
With a feeling almost jubilant--natural, considering the circumstances,
scarce reprehensible--he takes his stand by the side of the mule which
carries Colonel Uraga. At the same time Cully places himself beside
that bestridden by Roblez.
Both have their bowie-knives in hand, the blades bare. One regarding
them, a stranger to their intent, might think they meant slaughtering
either the mules or the men on their backs.
They have no such thought, but a design altogether different, as
declared by Wilder's words--the last spoken by him before the act of
execution.
"When I gie the signal, Nat, prod yur critter sharp, an' sweep the
support from unner them. They've been thegither in this world in the
doin' o' many a rascally deed. Let's send 'em thegither inter the
next."
"All right, ole hoss! I'll be riddy," is the laconic rejoinder of
Cully.
After it another interval of silence, resembling that which usually
precedes the falling of the gallows drop. So profound, that the chirp
of a tree cricket, even the rustling of a leaf, would seem a loud noise.
So ominous, that the vultures perched upon the summit of the cliff
crane out their necks to inquire the cause.
The stillness is interrupted by a shout; not the signal promised by
Wilder, but a cry coming from the lips of Uraga.
In the last hour of anguish his craven heart has given way, and he makes
a piteous appeal for mercy. Not to those near him, knowing it would
scarce be listened to; but to the man he has much wronged, calling out
his name, "Colonel Miranda."
On hearing it Don Valerian rushes forth from the tent, his sister by his
side, Hamersley with the doctor behind. All stand in front regarding
the strange spectacle, of which they have been unconscious, seemingly
prepared for them. There can be no mistaking its import. The _mise en
scene_ explains it, showing the stage set for an execution.
If they have a thought of interfering it is too late. While they stand
in suspense, a shout reaches them, followed by explanatory words.