he had so eagerly sought. But it was only that he feared the fever might
return before the expiration of the short time he yet had to live.

After an hour's ride, we came to the enormous live oak distinguished as
_the Patriarch_. Two or three of the men dismounted, and held aside the
heavy moss-covered branches which swept the ground, and formed a
complete curtain round the tree. The party rode through the opening thus
made, and drew up in a circle beneath the huge leafy dome. In the centre
of this ring stood Bob, trembling like an aspen-leaf, and with his eyes
fixed on a small mound of fresh earth, partly concealed by the branches,
and which had escaped my notice on my former visit to the tree. It was
the grave of the murdered man.

A magnificent burial-place was that: no poet could have dreamt or
desired a better. Above, the huge vault, with its natural frettings and
arches; below, the greenest, freshest grass; around, an eternal half
light, streaked and varied, and radiant as a rainbow. It was imposingly
beautiful.

Bob, the judge, and the corregidors, remained sitting on their horses,
but several of the other men dismounted. One of the latter cut the lasso
from Bob's saddle, and threw an end of it over one of the lowermost
branches; then uniting the two ends, formed them into a strong noose,
which he left dangling from the bough. This simple preparation
completed, the Alcalde took off his hat and folded his hands. The others
followed his example.

"Bob!" said the judge to the unfortunate criminal, whose head was bowed
on his horse's mane; "Bob! we will pray for your poor soul, which is
about to part from your sinful body."

Bob raised his head. "I had something to say," exclaimed he, in a
wondering and husky tone. "Something I wanted to say."

"What have you to say?"

Bob stared around him; his lips moved, but no word escaped him. His
spirit was evidently no longer with things of this earth.

"Bob!" said the judge again, "we will pray for your soul."

"Pray! pray!" groaned he. "I shall need it."

In slow and solemn accents, and with great feeling, the judge uttered
the Lord's Prayer. Bob repeated every word after him. When it was
ended--

"God be merciful to your soul!" exclaimed the judge.

"Amen!" said all present.

One of the corregidors now passed the noose of the lasso round Bob's
neck, another bound his eyes, a third person drew his feet out of the
stirrups, while a fourth stepped behind his h