"Are they to be shot, then?" ventured Bert.
"All but the leader," answered the captain. "He must hang. And yet he shall not die by hanging."
Before they could ask an explanation, he rose and excused himself, as he had to give some orders to the soldiers, and they were left to ponder in vain for his meaning.
The next two hours were spent in clearing up the camp and burying the dead. The bodies of the guerillas were thrown hastily into a narrow trench, but those of the soldiers received full military honors, the bugler playing taps, and a salvo of musketry being fired over the graves. In the meantime the boys had wandered over the camp, now shorn of the terror that had so long been connected with it. On the upper end, it terminated at the very brink of a precipice. All of Mexico seemed to be stretched out before them. The abyss fell sheer down for a thousand feet to the rocks below. They shuddered as they stood on the edge and looked through the empty space. On the brink stood a mighty oak tree, with one of its limbs overhanging the chasm.
A sudden recollection struck Melton.
"This must be the place the consul told me about, in one of his stories," he ejaculated. "He told me that one of the Tiger's favorite amusements was to bring a prisoner here and prod him with bayonets over the brink. I guess," he scowled, "we don't need to waste much sympathy on that fellow, no matter what the captain does to him."
And the boys, with a lively recollection of the snake and the buckskin thong, agreed with him.
But now the bugle blew and they hurried back to the clearing. The troop stood at attention. Routine work connected with the raid had been despatched, and the time had come for the military execution. Martial law is brief and stern, and, under his instructions, the captain had the power of life or death without appeal. His face was set and solemn, as befitted one on whom weighed so heavy a responsibility, but there was no relenting in his voice, as he bade a sergeant to bring out the prisoners.
The four came out, sullen and apathetic. He looked them over for a moment, and then gave a sign. A trench was hastily dug and the prisoners placed with their backs to it. Their eyes were bandaged. A firing squad of a dozen men advanced to within ten feet and leveled their rifles. A moment's pause, then a sharp word of command, and death leaped from the guns. When the smoke cleared away, four motionless forms lay in the trench, and justice had been done.
"Don't bury them yet," commanded the captain. "Bring out El Tigre."