ut others real chagrin. These last men,
whose lives have been spent fighting their Mexican foemen, hating them
from the bottom of their hearts. They are those who knew the
unfortunate Fanning and the lamented Bowie, who gave his name to their
knives; some of themselves having escaped from the red massacre of
Goliad and the savage butchery of the Alamo.

Ever since they have been practising the _lex talionis_--seeking
retaliation, and oft-times finding it. Perhaps too often wreaking their
vengeance on victims that might be innocent. Now that guilty ones--real
Mexican soldiers in uniform, such as ruthlessly speared and shot down
their countrymen at Goliad and San Antonio--now that a whole troop of
these have but the hour before been within reach--almost striking
distance--it is afflicting, maddening, to think they may escape.

And the more reflecting on the reason, so slight and accidental--a
shower of rain swelling a tiny stream. For all this, staying their
pursuit as effectively as if a sea of fire separated them from the foe,
so despised and detested.

The lightning still flashes, the thunder rolls, the wind bellows, and
the rain pours down.

No use staying any longer by the side of the swollen stream, to be
tantalised by its rapid, rushing current, and mocked by its foam-flakes
dancing merrily along.

Rather return to the forsaken ranche, and avail themselves of such
shelter as it may afford.

In short, there seems no alternative; and, yielding to the necessity,
they rein round, and commence the backward march, every eye glancing
gloomily, every brow overcast.

They are all disappointed, most of them surly as bears that had been
shot in the head, and have scratched the place to a sore. They are just
in the humour to kill anyone, or anything, that should chance in their
way.

But there is no one, and nothing; and, in the absence of an object to
spend their spite upon, some counsel wreaking it on their captives--the
traitor and renegade.

Never during life were these two men nearer their end. To all
appearance, in ten minutes more both will be dangling at the end of a
rope suspended from a limb of a tree.

They are saved by a circumstance for them at least lucky, if unfortunate
for some others.

Just as a half-score of the Rangers have clumped together under a
spreading pecan-tree, intending to hang them upon one of its branches, a
horse is heard to neigh. Not one of their own, but an animal some