ot, as there is nothing now to be seen, except some
scattered mould undistinguishable at a distance. Instead, the rising
sun lights up the figure of a man, afoot, and more than a mile off. Not
standing still, but in motion; as he can see, moving towards himself.
It is Jupiter!

Thus concluding, he is about to mount and meet him, when stayed by a
strange reflection.

"I'll let Jupe have a look at his old master," he mutters to himself.
"He too had old scores to settle with him--many a one recorded upon his
skin. It may give him satisfaction to know how the thing has ended."

Meanwhile the mulatto--for it is he--comes on; at first slowly, and with
evident caution in his approach.

Soon he is seen to quicken his step, changing it to a run; at length
arriving at the rock, breathless as one who reaches the end of a race.
The sight which meets him there gives him but slight surprise. He has
been prepared for it.

In answer to Clancy's inquiry, he briefly explains his presence upon the
spot. Disobedient to the instructions given him, instead of proceeding
towards the San Saba bottom, he had remained upon the steppe. Not
stationary, but following his master as fast as he could, and keeping
him in view so long as the distance allowed. Two things were in his
favour--the clear moonlight and Darke's trail doubling back upon itself.
For all, he had at length lost sight of the tracking horseman, but not
till he had caught a glimpse of him tracked, fleeing before. It was the
straight tail-on-end chase that took both beyond reach of his vision.
Noting the direction, he still went hastening after, soon to hear a
sound which told him the chase had come to a termination, and strife
commenced. This was the report of a gun, its full, round boom
proclaiming it a smooth-bore fowling-piece. Remembering that his old
master always carried this--his new one never--it must be the former who
fired the shot. And, as for a long while no other answered it, he was
in despair, believing the latter killed. Then reached his ear the angry
bay of the bloodhound, with mens' voices intermingled; ending all the
dear, sharp crack of a rifle; which, from the stillness that succeeded
continuing, he knew to be the last shot.

"An' it war the last, as I can see," he says, winding up his account,
and turning towards the corpse. "Ah! you've gi'n him what he thought
he'd guv you--his _death shot_!"

"Yes, Jupe. He's got it at last; and strange en