, till the worms go crawlin' through your flesh. How'll
ye like that, Charley Clancy?"

"There's no wolf or vulture on the prairies of Texas ugly as yourself.
Dastardly dog!"

"Ah! you'd like to get me angry? But you can't. I'm cool as a
cowkumber--aint I? Your dander's up, I can see. Keep it down. No good
your gettin' excited. I s'pose you'd like me to spit in your face.
Well, here goes to obleege ye."

At this he stoops down, and does as said. After perpetrating the
outrage, he adds:--

"Why don't ye take out your handkercher an' wipe it off. It's a pity to
see such a handsome fellow wi' his face in that fashion. Ha! ha! ha!"

His four confederates, standing apart, spectators of the scene, echo his
fiendish laughter.

"Well, well, my proud gentleman;" he resumes, "to let a man spit in your
face without resentin' it! I never expected to see you sunk so low.
Humiliated up to the neck--to the chin! Ha! ha! ha!"

Again rings out the brutal cachinnation, chorused by his four followers.

In like manner the monster continues to taunt his helpless victim; so
long, one might fancy his spite would be spent, his vengeance sated.

But no--not yet. There is still another arrow in his quiver--a last
shaft to be shot--which he knows will carry a sting keener than any yet
sent.

When his men have remounted, and are ready to ride off, he returns to
Clancy, and, stooping, hisses into his ear:--

"Like enough you'll be a goodish while alone here, an' tharfore left to
your reflections. Afore partin' company, let me say somethin' that may
comfort you. _Dick Darke's got your girl; 'bout this time has her in
his arms_!"

CHAPTER SEVENTY THREE.

HELPLESS AND HOPELESS.

"O God!"

Charles Clancy thus calls upon his Maker. Hitherto sustained by
indignation, now that the tormentor has left him, the horror of his
situation, striking into his soul in all its dread reality, wrings from
him the prayerful apostrophe.

A groan follows, as his glance goes searching over the plain. For there
is nothing to gladden it. His view commands the half of a circle--a
great circle such as surrounds you upon the sea; though not as seen from
the deck of a ship, but by one lying along the thwarts of a boat, or
afloat upon a raft.

The robbers have ridden out of sight, and he knows they will not return.
They have left him to die a lingering death, almost as if entombed
alive. Perhaps better he were enclosed in a coffin; f