"a
far cry to Loch Awe," all knew; the Highland loch typified not by Texas,
but the United States. But the more knowing ones always knew that,
however far, the cry might be heard, and then what the result? No mere
band of Texan filibusters, ill-organised, and but poorly equipped, to
come across the Rio Grande; instead a well-disciplined army in numbers
enough for sure retaliation, bearing the banner of the "Stars and
Stripes."

In fine, a more merciful course was determined upon; only _decimation_
of the prisoners--every tenth man to suffer death.

There was no word about degrees in their guiltiness--all were alike in
this respect--and the fate of each was to be dependent on pure blind
chance.

When the retaken escapadoes had been brought back to El Salado, they
were drawn up in line of single file, and carefully counted. A helmet,
snatched from the head of one of the Dragoons guarding them, was made
use of as a ballot-box. Into this were thrown a number of what we call
French or kidney beans--the _pijoles_ of Mexico--in count corresponding
to that of the devoted victims. Of these _pijoles_ there are several
varieties, distinguishable chiefly by their colour. Two sorts are
common, the black and white; and these were chosen to serve as tickets
in that dread lottery of life and death. For every nine white beans
there was a black one; he who drew black would be shot within the hour!

Into the hard soldier's head-piece, appropriate for such purpose, the
beans were dropped, and the drawing done as designed. I, who now write
of it long after, can truthfully affirm that never in the history of
human kind has there been a grander exhibition of man's courage than was
that day given at El Salado. The men who exemplified it were of no
particular nation. As a matter of course, the main body of the Texans
were of American birth, but among them were also Englishmen, Scotchmen,
Irishmen, French, and Germans--even some who spoke Spanish, the language
of their captors, now their judges, and about to become their
executioners. But when that helmet of horrible contents was carried
round, and held before each, not one showed the slightest fear or
hesitancy to plunge his hand into it, though knowing that what they
should bring up between their fingers might be the sealing of their
fate. Many laughed and made laughter among their comrades, by some
quaint _jeu d'esprit_. One reckless fellow--no other than Cris Rock--as
he fe