“He carried a key-bugle in his hand.”
“I did not perceive him.”
“That was me; how different was I then! Well, well, I 'll hasten on. We arrived at New Orleans, not quite determined whither next we should bend our steps; and hearing by mere accident of this Texan expedition, we took it into our heads we would join it. On inquiring about the matter, we found that a lottery was in progress, the prizes of which were various portions of equipment, horses, mules, baggage, negroes, and so on. For this—just out of caprice—we took several tickets; but as, from one cause or other, the drawing was delayed, we lingered on, going each day to the office, and there making acquaintance with a number of fellows interested in the expedition, but whose manner and style, I need scarcely say, were not good recommendations to intimacy. Broughton, however, always liked that kind of thing; low company, with him, had always the charm of an amusement that he could resign whenever he fancied. Now, as he grew more intimate with these fellows, he obtained admission into a kind of club they held in an obscure part of the town, and thither we generally repaired every evening, when too late for any more correct society. They were all, or at least they affected to be, interested in Texan expeditions; and the conversation never took any other turn than what concerned these objects; and if at first our Old World notions were shocked at their indifference to life,—the reckless disregard of honor and good faith they evinced,—we came by degrees to feel that the moral code of the Prairies permitted many things which were never sanctioned in more cultivated latitudes.
“Broughton entered into all this with a most extraordinary interest. Nothing seemed too wild, too abandoned, and too outrageous for his notions; and, I shame to say it, he soon made me a convert to his opinions. His constant speech was, 'Be as virtuous as you please, my dear fellow, among ladies and gentlemen; but pray fight Choctaws, Pawnees, and half-breeds with their own weapons, which are either a trick or a tomahawk.' I never liked the theory; but partly from daily iteration, partly from a yielding pliancy of disposition, and in great measure from being shamed into it, I gave way, and joined him in all the pledges he gave, to go through with anything the expedition exacted. I must be brief; that light yonder is on Fork Island, where we stop to take in wood; and ere we reach it, I must make up my mind to one course or other.
“As the time for the starting of the expedition drew nigh, the various plans and schemes became the theme of nightly discussion; and we heard of nothing but guides and trails, where grass was to be found for the cattle, and where water could be had, with significant hints about certain places and people who were known or believed to be inimical to these excursions. Thus, on the map, were marked certain villages which might be put under contribution, and certain log-houses which should be made to pay a heavy impost: here, it was a convent to be mulcted; and there, a store or a mill to be burned! In fact, the expedition seemed to have as many vengeances to fulfil as hopes of gain to gratify; for each had a friend who was maltreated, or robbed, or murdered, and whose fate or fortunes required an expiation.—But I weary you, Padre, with all this?”
“Not at all, my son; I recognize perfectly the accuracy of your account. I have heard a good deal about these people.”
“There was one individual, however, so universally detested that you would suppose he must have been a kind of devil incarnate to have incurred such general hate. Every one had a grudge against him, and, in fact, there was a kind of struggle who should be allotted to wreak on him the common vengeance of the company. It was at last decided that his fate should be lotteried, and that whoever won the first prize—this mare of which you may have heard—should also win the right to finish this wretched man. I gained this infamous distinction; and here am I, on my way to claim my prize and commit a murder! Ay, I may as well employ the true word,—it is nothing less than a murder! I have not even the poor excuse of revenge. I cannot pretend that he ever injured me,—nay, I have not even seen him; I never heard of his name till two days ago; nor, even now, could I succeed in finding him out, if I were not provided with certain clews at Houston, and certain guides by whose aid I am to track him. My oath is pledged: I swore it solemnly that, if the lot fell upon me, I 'd do the deed, and do it I will; yet, I am equally resolved never to survive it.”—Here I produced my revolver.—“If this barrel be for the unlucky Chico, this other is for myself!”
“What name did you say?” cried he, with a faltering voice, while his hand, as he laid it on my arm, shook like ague.
“Chico, the wretch is called,” I said, fixing a cap on my pistol.
“And why call him a wretch, my son? Has he ever injured you? How do you know that he is not some poor, kindly hearted creature, the father of five children, one of them a baby, perhaps? How can you tell the difficulties by which he gains his living, and the hazard to which he exposes his life in doing so? And is it to injure such a man you will go down to your own grave an assassin?”