Beside the body of his fallen foe stands Charles Clancy, but with no
intention there to tarry long. The companionship of the dead is ever
painful, whether it be friend or enemy. With the latter, alone, it may
appal. Something of this creeps over his spirit while standing there;
for he has now no strong passion to sustain him, not even anger.
After a few moments, he turns his back on the corpse, calling Brasfort
away from it. The dog yet shows hostility; and, if permitted, would
mutilate the lifeless remains. Its fierce canine instinct has no
generous impulse, and is only restrained by scolding and threats.
The sun is beginning to show above the horizon, and Clancy perceives
Darke's horse tearing about over the plain. He is reminded of his
promise made to Jupiter.
The animal does not go clear off, but keeps circling round, as if it
desired to come back again; the presence of the other horse attracting,
and giving it confidence. Clancy calls to it, gesticulating in a
friendly manner, and uttering exclamations of encouragement. By little
and little, it draws nearer, till at length its muzzle is in contact
with that of his own steed; and, seizing the bridle, he secures it.
Casting a last look at the corpse, he turns to the horses, intending to
take departure from the spot. So little time has been spent in the
pursuit, and the short conflict succeeding, it occurs to him he may
overtake Jupiter, before the latter has reached the San Saba.
Scanning around to get bearings, his eye is attracted to an object, now
familiar--the lone cottonwood. It is not much over two miles off. On
Darke's trail he must have ridden at least leagues. Its crooked course,
however, explains the tree's proximity. The circles and zig-zags have
brought both pursued and pursuer nigh back to the starting point.
Since the cottonwood is there, he cannot be so far from the other place,
he has such reason to remember; and, again running his eye around, he
looks for it.
He sees it not, as there is nothing now to be seen, except some
scattered mould undistinguishable at a distance. Instead, the rising
sun lights up the figure of a man, afoot, and more than a mile off. Not
standing still, but in motion; as he can see, moving towards himself.
It is Jupiter!
Thus concluding, he is about to mount and meet him, when stayed by a
strange reflection.
"I'll let Jupe have a look at his old master," he mutters to himself.
"He too had old scores to settle with him--many a one recorded upon his
skin. It may give him satisfaction to know how the thing has ended."
Meanwhile the mulatto--for it is he--comes on; at first slowly, and with
evident caution in his approach.
Soon he is seen to quicken his step, changing it to a run; at length
arriving at the rock, breathless as one who reaches the end of a race.
The sight which meets him there gives him but slight surprise. He has
been prepared for it.
In answer to Clancy's inquiry, he briefly explains his presence upon the
spot. Disobedient to the instructions given him, instead of proceeding
towards the San Saba bottom, he had remained upon the steppe. Not
stationary, but following his master as fast as he could, and keeping
him in view so long as the distance allowed. Two things were in his
favour--the clear moonlight and Darke's trail doubling back upon itself.
For all, he had at length lost sight of the tracking horseman, but not
till he had caught a glimpse of him tracked, fleeing before. It was the
straight tail-on-end chase that took both beyond reach of his vision.
Noting the direction, he still went hastening after, soon to hear a
sound which told him the chase had come to a termination, and strife
commenced. This was the report of a gun, its full, round boom
proclaiming it a smooth-bore fowling-piece. Remembering that his old
master always carried this--his new one never--it must be the former who
fired the shot. And, as for a long while no other answered it, he was
in despair, believing the latter killed. Then reached his ear the angry
bay of the bloodhound, with mens' voices intermingled; ending all the
dear, sharp crack of a rifle; which, from the stillness that succeeded
continuing, he knew to be the last shot.
"An' it war the last, as I can see," he says, winding up his account,
and turning towards the corpse. "Ah! you've gi'n him what he thought
he'd guv you--his _death shot_!"
"Yes, Jupe. He's got it at last; and strange enough in the very place
where he hit me. You see where my bullet has struck him?"
The mulatto, stooping down over Darke's body, examines the wound, still
dripping blood.
"You're right, Masser Charle; it's in de adzack spot. Well, that is
curious. Seems like your gun war guided by de hand of that avengin'
angel you spoke o'."
Having thus delivered himself, the fugitive slave becomes silent and
thoughtful, for a time, bending over the body of his once cruel master,
now no more caring for his cruelty, or in fear of being chastised by
him.
With what strange reflections must that spectacle inspire him! The
outstretched arms lying helpless along the earth--the claw-like fingers
now stiff and nerveless--he may be thinking how they once clutched a
cowhide, vigorously laying it on his own back, leaving those terrible
scars.
"Come, Jupe!" says Clancy, rousing him from his reverie; "we must mount,
and be off."
Soon they are in their saddles, ready to start; but stay yet a little
longer. For something has to be considered. It is necessary for them
to make sure about their route. They must take precautions against
getting strayed, as also another and still greater danger. Jupiter's
escape from the robbers' den, with the deed that facilitated it, will by
this have been discovered. It is more than probable he will be pursued;
indeed almost certain. And the pursuers will come that way; at any
moment they may appear.
This is the dark side of the picture presented to Clancy's imagination,
as he turns his eyes towards the west. Facing in the opposite direction
his fancy summons up one brighter. For there lies the San Saba
Mission-house, within whose walls he will find Helen Armstrong. He has
now no doubt that she has reached home in safety; knows, too, that her
father still lives. For the mulatto has learnt as much from the
outlaws. While _en route_ to Coyote Creek, and during his sojourn
there, he overheard them speak about the massacre of the slaves, as also
the immunity extended to their masters, with the reason for it. It is
glad tidings to Clancy, His betrothed, restored to her father's arms,
will not the less affectionately open her own to receive him. The long
night of their sorrowing has passed; the morn of their joy comes; its
daylight is already dawning. He will have a welcome, sweet as ever met
man.
"What's that out yonner?" exclaims Jupiter, pointing west.
Clancy's rapture is interrupted--his bright dream dissipated--suddenly,
as when a cloud drifts over the disc of the sun.
And it is the sun which causes the change, or rather the reflection of
its rays from something seen afar off, over the plain. Several points
sparkle, appearing and disappearing through a semi-opaque mass, whose
dun colour shows it to be dust.
Experienced in prairie-sign he can interpret this; and does easily, but
with a heaviness at his heart. The things that sparkle are guns,
pistols, knives, belt-buckles, bitts, and stirrups; while that through
which they intermittingly shine is the stoor tossed up by the hooves of
horses. It is a body of mounted men in march across the steppe.
Continuing to scan the dust-cloud, he perceives inside it a darker
nucleus, evidently horses and men, though he is unable to trace the
individual forms, or make out their number. No mattes for that; there
is enough to identify them without. They are coming from the side of
the Colorado--from Coyote Creek. Beyond doubt the desperadoes!