e blood of a
bad man."

Clancy does not press him further, knowing he will be told all in due
time. Still, is he impatient, wondering whether it be the blood of Jim
Borlasse, or Richard Darke; for he supposes it either one or the other.
He hopes it may be the former, and fears its being the latter. Even
yet, in his hour of uncertainty, late helpless, and still with only a
half hope of being able to keep his oath, he would not for all the world
Dick Darke's blood should be shed by other hand than his own!

He is mentally relieved, long before Jupiter reaches the end of his
narration. The blood upon the blade, now clean scoured off, was not
that of Richard Darke.

For the mulatto tells him of that tragical scene within the tent,
speaking of it without the slightest remorse. The incidents succeeding
he leaves for a future occasion; how he stole out the horse, and with
Brasfort's help, was enabled to return upon the trail as far as the
cottonwood; thence on, the hound hurriedly leading, at length leaving
him behind.

But before coming to this, he has completed his task, and laying hold of
his master's shoulders, he draws him out of the ground, as a gardener
would a gigantic carrot.

Once more on the earth's surface stands Clancy, free of body, unfettered
in limb, strong in his sworn resolve, determined as ever to keep it.

CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE.

THE VOICE OF VENGEANCE.

Never did man believe himself nigher death, or experience greater
satisfaction at being saved from it, than Charles Clancy. For upon his
life so near lost, and as if miraculously preserved, depend issues dear
to him as that life itself.

And these, too, may reach a successful termination; some thing whispers
him they will.

But though grateful to God for the timely succour just received, and on
Him still reliant, he does not ask God for guidance in what he intends
now. Rather, shuns he the thought, as though fearing the All-Merciful
might not be with him. For he is still determined on vengeance, which
alone belongs to the Lord.

Of himself, he is strong enough to take it; and feels so, after being
refreshed by another drink of the whiskey. The spirit of the alcohol,
acting on his own, reinvigorates, and makes him ready for immediate
action. He but stays to think what may be his safest course, as the
surest and swiftest. His repeated repulses, while making more cautious,
have done nought to daunt, or drive him from his original purp