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