rd out of its
scabbard, made no attempt to use it, but sat shivering in his saddle, as
if the weapon was about to drop from his hand.

On the instant after a blade more firmly held, and better wielded,
flashed before his eyes; he who held it, as he sprung his horse up,
crying out:

"Carlos Santander! your hour has come! Scoundrel! _This time_ I intend
killing you."

Even the insulting threat stung him not to resistance. Never shone
moonlight on more of a poltroon, the glitter and grandeur of his warlike
dress in striking contrast with his cowardly mien.

"Miserable wretch!" cried Kearney--for it was he who confronted him--"I
don't want to kill you in cold blood Heaven forbid my doing murder.
Defend yourself."

"He defend hisself!" scornfully exclaimed a voice--that of Cris Rock.
"He dassen't as much as do that. He hasn't the steel shirt on now."

Yet another voice at this moment made itself heard, as a figure,
feminine, became added to the group. Luisa Valverde it was, who,
rushing out of the carriage and across the courtyard, cried out--

"Spare his life, Don Florencio. He's not worthy of your sword."

"You're right thar, young lady," endorsed the Texan, answering for
Kearney. "That he ain't--an' bare worth the bit o' lead that's inside
o' this ole pistol. For all, I'll make him a present o' 't--thar, dang
ye."

The last words were accompanied by a flash and a crack, causing
Santander's horse to shy and rear up. When the fore hoofs of the animal
returned to the flags, they but missed coming down upon the body of its
rider, now lying lifeless along them.

"That's gin him his quieetus, I reckin," observed Rock, as he glanced
down at the dead man, whose face upturned had the full moonlight upon
it, showing handsome features, that withal were forbidding in life, but
now more so in the ghastly pallor of death.

No one stayed to gaze upon them, least of all the Texan, who had yet
another life to take, as he deemed in the strict execution of duty and
satisfaction of justice. For it too was forfeit by the basest betrayal.
The soldiers were out of their saddles now, prisoners all; having
surrendered without striking a blow. But crouching away in a shadowy
corner was that thing of deformity, who, from his diminutive size, might
well have escaped observation. He did not, however. The Texan had his
eyes on him all the while, having caught a glimpse of him as they were
riding in at the gate. And in those