"Let that be my apology to you, gentlemen. If you're not satisfied with
it, I'm willing and ready to take his place--with either of you."
"It's perfectly satisfactory, monsieur," frankly responded the
Kentuckian, "so far as I'm concerned. And I think I may say as much for
Captain Kearney."
"Indeed, yes," assented the Irishman, adding: "We absolve you, sir, from
all blame. It's evident you knew nothing of that shining panoply till
now;" as he spoke, pointing to the steel shirt.
The French-Creole haughtily, but courteously, bowed thanks. Then,
facing once more to Santander, and repeating the "_Lache_" strode
silently away from the ground.
They had all mistaken the character of the individual, who, despite a
somewhat forbidding face, was evidently a man of honour, as he had
proved himself.
"What d'ye weesh me to do wi' him?" interrogated the Texan, still
keeping Santander in firm clutch. "Shed we shoot him or hang him?"
"Hang!" simultaneously shouted the two hackney-drivers, who seemed as
bitter against the disgraced duellist as if he had "bilked" them of a
fare.
"So I say, too," solemnly pronounced the Texan; "shootin's too good for
the like o' him; a man capable o' sech a cowardly, murderous trick
desarves to die the death o' a dog."
Then, with an interrogating look at Crittenden, he added: "Which is't to
be, lootenant?"
"Neither, Cris," answered the Kentuckian. "If I mistake not, the
_gentleman_ has had enough punishment without either. If he's got so
much as a spark of shame or conscience--"
"Conshence!" exclaimed Rock, interrupting. "Sech a skunk don't know the
meanin' o' the word. Darn ye!" he continued, turning upon his prisoner,
and shaking him till the links in the steel shirt chinked, "I feel as if
I ked drive the blade o' my bowie inter ye through them steel fixin's
an' all."
And, drawing his knife from its sheath, he brandished it in a menacing
manner.
"Don't, Rock! Please don't!" interposed the Kentuckian, Kearney joining
in the entreaty. "He's not worth anger, much less revenge. So let him
go."
"You're right thar, lootenant," rejoined Rock. "He ain't worth eyther,
that's the truth. An' 'twould only be puttin' pisen on the blade o' my
knife to smear it wi' his black blood. F'r all, I ain't a-gwine to let
him off so easy's all that, unless you an' the captain insists on it.
After the warmish work he's had, an' the sweat he's put himself in by
the wearin' o' two shirts at a time, I guess he won't be any the worse
of a sprinkling o' cold water. So here goes to gie it him."
Saying which, he strode off towards the ditch, half-dragging,
half-carrying Santander along with him.
The cowed and craven creature neither made resistance, nor dared. Had
he done so, the upshot was obvious. For the Texan's blade, still bared,
was shining before his eyes, and he knew that any attempt on his part,
either to oppose the latter's intention or escape, would result in
having it buried between, his ribs. So, silently, sullenly, he allowed
himself to be taken along, not as a lamb to the slaughter, but a wolf,
or rather dog, about to be chastised for some malfeasance.
In an instant after, the chastisement was administered by the Texan
laying hold of him with both hands, lifting him from off his feet, and
then dropping him down into the water-ditch, where, weighted with the
steel shirt, he fell with a dead, heavy plunge, going at once to the
bottom.
"That's less than your desarvin's," said the Texan, on thus delivering
his charge. "An' if it had been left to Cris Rock 'twould 'a been _up_,
'stead o' _down_, he'd 'a sent ye. If iver man desarved hangin', you're
the model o' him. Ha--ha--ha! Look at the skunk now!"
The last words, with the laugh preceding them, were elicited by the
ludicrous appearance which Santander presented. He had come to the
surface again, and, with some difficulty, owing to the encumbrance of
his under-shirt, clambered out upon the bank. But not as when he went
under. Instead, with what appeared a green cloak over his shoulders,
the scum of the stagnant water long collecting undisturbed. The
hackney-driver--there was but one now, the other taken off by Duperon,
who had hired him, their doctor too--joined with Rock in his laughter,
while Kearney, Crittenden, and their own surgeon could not help uniting
in the chorus. Never had tragic hero suffered a more comical
discomfiture.
He was now permitted to withdraw from the scene of it, a permission of
which he availed himself without further delay; first retreating for
some distance along the Shell Road, as one wandering and distraught;
then, as if seized by a sudden thought, diving into the timbered swamp
alongside, and there disappearing.
Soon after the carriage containing the victorious party rattled past;
they inside it scarce casting a look to see what had become of
Santander. He was nothing to them now, at best only a thing to be a
matter of ludicrous remembrance. Nor long remained he in their
thoughts; these now reverting to Texas, and their necessity for
hastening back to the Crescent City, to make start for "The Land of the
Lone Star."