But Borlasse is inexorable. He has no feelings of compassion for the man who was once the cause of his being made to wince under the whip. His vengeance is implacable; and will only be satisfied by seeing Clancy suffer all that flesh can. By devilish ingenuity he has contrived a scheme to this intent, and will carry it out regardless of consequences.
So says he, in answer to the somewhat mild remonstrance of his subordinate.
“Well, cap,” rejoins the latter, yielding, “if you’re determined to have it that way, why, have it. But let it be a leetle privater than you’ve spoke o’. By makin’ it a public spectacle, an’ lettin’ all our fellars into your feelins, some o’ ’em mightn’t be so much amused. An some might get to blabbin’ about it afterwards, in such a way as to breed trouble. The originality an’ curiousness o’ the thing would be sure to ’tract attention, an’ the report o’t would run through all Texas, like a prairie on fire. ’Twould never sleep as long’s there’s a soger left in the land; and sure as shootin’ we’d have the Rangers and Regulators hot after us. Tharfore, if you insist on the bit o’ interment, take my advice, and let the ceremony be confined to a few friends as can be trusted wi’ a secret.”
For some seconds Borlasse is silent, pondering upon what Chisholm has said. Then responds:—
“Guess you’re about right, Luke. I’ll do as you suggest. Best way will be to send the boys on ahead. There’s three can stay with us we can trust—Watts, Stocker, and Driscoll. They’ll be enough to do the grave-digging. The rest can go on to the rendezvous. Comrades!” he adds, moving back towards his men, who have just finished watering their horses, “I spoke o’ some sport I intended givin’ you here. On second thinkin’ it’ll be better defarred till we get to head-quarters. So into your saddles and ride on thar—takin’ the yeller fellow along wi’ ye. The other I’ll look after myself. You, Luke Chisholm, stay; with Watts, Stocker, and Driscoll. I’ve got a reason for remaining here a little longer. We’ll soon be after, like enough overtake ye ’fore you can reach the creek. If not, keep on to camp without us. An’, boys; once more I warn ye about openin’ them boxes. I know what’s in them to a dollar. Fernand! you’ll see to that.”
The half-blood, of taciturn habit, nods assent, Borlasse adding:—
“Now, you damned rascals! jump into your saddles and be off. Take the nigger along. Leave the white gentleman in better company, as befits him.”
With a yell of laughter at the coarse sally, the freebooters spring upon their horses. Then, separating Clancy from Jupe, they ride off, taking the latter. On the ground are left only the chief, Chisholm, and the trio chosen to assist at some ceremony, mysteriously spoken of as an “interment.”
After all it is not to be there. On reflection, Borlasse deems the place not befitting. The grave he is about to dig must not be disturbed, nor the body he intends burying disinterred.
Though white traveller never passes that solitary tree, red ones sometimes seek relaxation under its shade. Just possible a party of Comanches may come along; and though savages, their hearts might still be humane enough to frustrate the nefarious scheme of a white man more savage than they. To guard against such contingency Borlasse has bethought him of some change in his programme, which he makes known to Chisholm, saying:—