Chapter 98

           Theassassinliesstretchedalongtheearth—hisarmsembracedbytheraw-hiderope—toallappearancedead.

           Buthiscaptordoesnottrusttothis.Hebelievesittobeonlyafaint—itmaybeafeint—andtomakesureitisnotthelatter,heremainsinhissaddle,keepinghislazouponthestrain.

           Theblood-bay,obedienttohiswill,standsfirmasthetrunkofatree—readytorearback,orboundforward,onreceivingtheslightestsign.

           Itisaterribletableau;thoughfarfrombeingstrangeinthatregionofred-handedstrife,thatliesalongthefar-stretchingfrontierofTamaulipasandTexas.

           Oft—toooft—hasthesoaringvulturelookeddownuponsuchascene—withjoybeholdingit,aspromisingabanquetforitsfilthybeak!

           Evennowhalfascoreoftheseravenousbirds,attractedbythereportofthepistol,arehoveringintheair—theirnakedneckselongatedineageranticipationofafeast!

           Onetouchofthespur,onthepartofhimseatedinthesaddle,wouldgivethemwhattheywant.

           "Itwouldservethescoundrelright,"muttersthemustangertohimself."GreatGod,tothinkofthecrimehehascommitted!Killedhisowncousin,andthencutoffhishead!Therecanbenodoubtthathehasdoneboth;thoughfromwhatmotive,Godonlycantell,—orhimself,ifhebestillalive.

           "Ihavemyownthoughtsaboutit.Iknowthathelovesher;anditmaybethatthebrotherstoodinhisway.

           "Buthow,andwhy?Thatisthequestionthatrequiresananswer.