“The same as Rosebud Dan?”
“The same.”
Did Antenat’s little eyes flash as he glanced over his shoulder at his companions?
“I’m sorry, monsieur, but you’re the pard they want in these parts,” he said, coolly, to Dan. “It arn’t often thet a fellow gits hanged twice in one night. Comrades, the lasso at Napoleon’s saddle—quick!”
Antenat’s hand moved to his revolver as he uttered the command, but the next moment with a startling cry that resembled the hoarse intonation of the tiger, the hanged Sport darted forward.
“Another rope for me to-night? Never, by the fires of Tophet! So you, too, would hang the Wolf of the Rosebud? There, Louis Antenat, take that with my compliments.”
The pistol touched the Creole’s forehead as the last word fell madly from Darrell’s lips, and the next moment a dull but horrible report filled the cavern.
Lilly and Moravy started back with cries of horror, and the lifeless body of poor Antenat, released by the Sport’s left hand, fell quivering to the ground.
“Now lift a finger, my friends, and I’ll repeat the compliment,” thundered Deadly Dan, as turning quickly but coolly upon the Vigilantes, he covered them with the weapon sprinkled with the Creole’s blood. “One hanging is my share. I’ve had that, but it was not enjoyed. I do not intend to furnish any more necks for such entertainments. Keep clear of me. Stand back! I’m still the Wolf of the Rosebud, and there’s death in my right hand!”