tripped off their alparejas.

"Now!" cries Walt, "conduct hyar the kriminals!"

A party proceeds to the spot where the two prisoners lie; and taking
hold, raise them to an erect attitude. Then, half carrying, half
dragging, bring them under the branches designed for their gallows-tree.

With their splendid uniforms torn, mud-bedaubed, and stained with spots
of blood, they present a sorry spectacle. They resemble wounded wolves,
taken in a trap; nevertheless, bearing their misfortune in a far
different manner. Roblez looks the large, grey wolf--savage, reckless,
unyielding; Uraga, the coyote--cowed, crestfallen, shivering; in fear of
what may follow.

For a time neither speaks a word nor makes an appeal for mercy. They
seem to know it would be idle. Regarding the faces around, they may
well think so. There is not one but has "death" plainly stamped upon
it, as if the word itself were upon every lip.

There is an interval of profound silence, only broken by the croak of
the buzzards and the swish of their spread wings. The bodies of the
dead lancers lie neglected; and, the Rangers now further off, the birds
go nearer them. Wolves, too, begin to show themselves by the edge of
the underwood--from the stillness thinking the time arrived to commence
their ravenous repast. It has but come to increase the quantity of food
soon to be spread before them.

"Take off thar leg fastenin's!" commands Wilder, pointing to the
prisoners.

In a trice the lashings are loosed from their ankles, and only the ropes
remain confining their wrists--these drawn behind their backs, and there
made fast.

"Mount 'em on the mules!"

As the other order, this is instantly executed; and the two prisoners
are set astride on the hybrids, each held by a man at its head.

"Now fix the snares roun' thar thrapples. Make the other eends fast by
giein' them a wheen o' turn over them branches above. See as ye draw
'em tight 'ithout streetchin'."

Walt's orders are carried out quickly, and to the letter, for the men
executing them now comprehend what is meant. They also, too well, who
are seated upon the backs of the mules. It is an old trick of their
own. They know they are upon a scaffold--a living scaffold--with a
halter and running noose around their necks.

"Now, Nat!" says Walt, in undertone to Cully. "I guess we may spring
the trap? Git your knife riddy."

"It's hyar."

"You take the critter to the left. I'll look arter t