al at the underwood, all dismount; but only to slake their
thirst, as that of their horses. The spring is unapproachable by the
animals; and leathern buckets are called into requisition. With these,
and other marching apparatus, the freebooters are provided. While one
by one the horses are being watered, Borlasse draws off to some
distance, beckoning Chisholm to follow him; and for a time the two seem
engaged in earnest dialogue, as if in discussion. The chief promised
his followers a spectacle,--a "bit of sport," as he facetiously termed
it. Clancy has been forecasting torture, but in his worst fear of it
could not conceive any so terrible as that in store for him. It is in
truth a cruelty inconceivable, worthy a savage, or Satan himself. Made
known to Chisholm, though hardened this outlaw's heart, he at first
shrinks from assisting in its execution--even venturing to remonstrate.

But Borlasse is inexorable. He has no feelings of compassion for the
man who was once the cause of his being made to wince under the whip.
His vengeance is implacable; and will only be satisfied by seeing Clancy
suffer all that flesh can. By devilish ingenuity he has contrived a
scheme to this intent, and will carry it out regardless of consequences.

So says he, in answer to the somewhat mild remonstrance of his
subordinate.

"Well, cap," rejoins the latter, yielding, "if you're determined to have
it that way, why, have it. But let it be a leetle privater than you've
spoke o'. By makin' it a public spectacle, an' lettin' all our fellars
into your feelins, some o' 'em mightn't be so much amused. An some
might get to blabbin' about it afterwards, in such a way as to breed
trouble. The originality an' curiousness o' the thing would be sure to
'tract attention, an' the report o't would run through all Texas, like a
prairie on fire. 'Twould never sleep as long's there's a soger left in
the land; and sure as shootin' we'd have the Rangers and Regulators hot
after us. Tharfore, if you insist on the bit o' interment, take my
advice, and let the ceremony be confined to a few friends as can be
trusted wi' a secret."

For some seconds Borlasse is silent, pondering upon what Chisholm has
said. Then responds:--

"Guess you're about right, Luke. I'll do as you suggest. Best way will
be to send the boys on ahead. There's three can stay with us we can
trust--Watts, Stocker, and Driscoll. They'll be enough to do the
grave-digging.