sport. He died hard. It was very amusing. Yes,
he died hard."

If his object was to provoke instant death, he almost succeeded. The
captain's eyes flamed and he snatched a revolver from his belt. But he
saw the stratagem in time and by a great effort held himself in check.
The flush faded from his face, to be succeeded by a deadly pallor.

"El Tigre," he said slowly, "the earth is weary of you and the devil is
waiting for you. I shall not keep him waiting long. Take him up to the
oak," he commanded, pointing to the great tree on the edge of the
precipice.

The soldiers fell into line and the procession started.

When they halted under its branches, the hands and feet of the outlaw
were securely tied. Then a soldier climbed into the tree, and far out on
the branch that overhung the chasm. At a distance of twenty feet, he
fastened a stout rope. Then he crept back, and, making a noose in the
other end, took his stand beside the prisoner and waited for orders.

The ghastly preparations were telling on the nerve of the guerilla, and
he broke into a string of the wildest blasphemies. Without paying any
attention to his ravings, the soldier at a signal, slipped the noose over
his head. But instead of tightening it about the neck, as most of the
lookers on, as well as the prisoner himself, expected, he adroitly drew
it down to the waist, and thence up under the outlaw's arms. Then he
pulled it tight. Four men took hold of El Tigre's arms and legs, bore
him to the edge of the precipice, and pushed him off into space.

Like a giant pendulum, he swung out in a great arc, and then, returning,
almost reached the brink. Gradually the arc grew shorter, until he
swayed perpendicularly from the branch. Below, he could see the rocks at
the foot of the cliff. The bones of many of his victims already reposed
there. How long before he would join them? Was he to be left hanging
there as a feast for the carrion birds? Wherever he looked was torture.
Below, the rocks. Above, the vultures. In front, the enemies whom he
hated with all the passion of his soul.

Ah! A firing squad was coming forward. They were going to shoot him
then, after all. Good! Death would be welcome. He heard the roar of
the guns, and still he was alive. Could they have missed him? Then
another volley rang out. Still he lived. He could not understand. His
glance went aloft. The rope was sagging. He could feel it give. A
broken stra