“Are you all ready, senors?” asked Pedro, aiming at the victim’s heart.
“We are ready.”
“It is good. Aim well, each at his heart. I will count three. One.”
The Trailer’s face was a trifle paler now, but his scowl was blacker and more malignant.
“Two!”
The Trailer stood firm. Along the line of men eying his heart he saw no look of mercy, nor look of pity; only a settled determination to execute the law of “Judge Lynch.”
Dead silence.
“Three!”
The Trailer fell flat on his face. Lifting him up they found him dead—twice dead—but now forever on earth.
Our tale is ended. Cimarron Jack, with many good wishes and blessings from his true friends, at length tore himself away, and rode off toward the Colorado River, to which place he was en route, long to be remembered by those he had befriended. Simpson parted with Pedro much against his will, but was consoled by the latter’s promising to meet him on the Colorado. Then he, Pedro, and Cimarron Jack were to unite, and well armed and equipped were to penetrate to the ruins of the old Aztecans—a much talked of, but rarely seen, country. They underwent many marvelous and perilous adventures, but we have not space to relate them.