“When I gie the signal, Nat, prod yur critter sharp, an’ sweep the support from unner them. They’ve been thegither in this world in the doin’ o’ many a rascally deed. Let’s send ’em thegither inter the next.”
“All right, ole hoss! I’ll be riddy,” is the laconic rejoinder of Cully.
After it another interval of silence, resembling that which usually precedes the falling of the gallows drop. So profound, that the chirp of a tree cricket, even the rustling of a leaf, would seem a loud noise. So ominous, that the vultures perched upon the summit of the cliff crane out their necks to inquire the cause.
The stillness is interrupted by a shout; not the signal promised by Wilder, but a cry coming from the lips of Uraga.
In the last hour of anguish his craven heart has given way, and he makes a piteous appeal for mercy. Not to those near him, knowing it would scarce be listened to; but to the man he has much wronged, calling out his name, “Colonel Miranda.”
On hearing it Don Valerian rushes forth from the tent, his sister by his side, Hamersley with the doctor behind. All stand in front regarding the strange spectacle, of which they have been unconscious, seemingly prepared for them. There can be no mistaking its import. The mise en scène explains it, showing the stage set for an execution.
If they have a thought of interfering it is too late. While they stand in suspense, a shout reaches them, followed by explanatory words.
They are in the voice of Walt Wilder, who has said—
“Death to the scoundrels! Now, Nat, move your mule forrard!”
At the same instant he and Cully are seen leaning towards the two mules, which bound simultaneously forward, as if stung by hornets or bitten by gadflys.