And now puffs of smoke arise over each, with jets of flame projected outward. Shots, at first dropping and single, then in thick rattling fusillade. Along with them cries of encouragement, mingled with shouts of defiance. Then a wild "hurrah," the charging cheers the colonists close upon the outlaws.

Clancy rides straight for the fray. In front he sees the plain shrouded in dense sulphureous mist, at intervals illumined by yellow flashes.

Another spurt, and, pa.s.sing through the thin outer strata of smoke, he is in the thick of the conflict--among men on horseback grappling other mounted men, endeavouring to drag them out of the saddle--some afoot, fighting in pairs, firing pistols, or with naked knives, hewing away at one another!

He sees that the fight is nigh finished, and the robbers routed. Some are dismounted, on their knees crying "quarter," and piteously appealing for mercy.

Where is Sime Woodley? Has his old comrade been killed?

Half frantic with this fear, he rashes distractedly over the ground, calling out the backwoodsman's name. He is answered by another--by Ned Heywood, who staggers to his side, bleeding, his face blackened with powder.

"You are wounded, Heywood?"

"Yes; or I wouldn't be here."

"Why?"

"Because Sime--"

"Where is he?"

"Went that way in chase o' a big brute of a fellow. I've jest spied them pa.s.sin' through the smoke. For G.o.d's sake, after! Sime may stand in need o' ye."

Clancy stays not to hear more, but again urges his horse to speed, with head in the direction indicated.

Darting on, he is soon out into the clear atmosphere; there to see two hors.e.m.e.n going off over the plain, pursued and pursuer. In the former he recognises Borla.s.se, while the latter is Woodley. Both are upon strong, swift, horses; but better mounted than either, he soon gains upon them.

The backwoodsman is nearing the brigand. Clancy sees this with satisfaction, though not without anxiety. He knows Jim Borla.s.se is an antagonist not to be despised. Driven to desperation, he will fight like a grizzly bear. Woodley will need all his strength, courage, and strategy.

Eager to a.s.sist his old comrade, he presses onward; but, before he can come up, they have closed, and are at it.

Not in combat, paces apart, with rifles or pistols. Not a shot is being exchanged between them. Instead, they are close together, have clutched one another, and are fighting, hand to hand, with _bowies_!

It commenced on horseback, but at the first grip both came to the ground, dragging each other down. Now the fight continues on foot, each with his bared blade hacking and hewing at the other.

A dread spectacle these two gigantic gladiators engaged in mortal strife! All the more in its silence. Neither utters shout, or speaks word. They are too intent upon killing. The only sound heard is their hoa.r.s.e breathing as they pant to recover it--each holding the other's arm to hinder the fatal stroke.

Clancy's heart beats apprehensively for the issue; and with rifle c.o.c.ked, he rides on to send a bullet through Borla.s.se.

It is not needed. No gun is to give the _coup de grace_ to the chief of the prairie pirates. For, the blade of a bowie-knife has pa.s.sed between his ribs, laying him lifeless along the earth.

"You, Charley Clancy!" says Sime, in joyful surprise at seeing his friend still safe. "Thank the Lord for it! But who'd a thought o'

meeting ye in the middle of the skrimmage! And in time to stan' by me hed that been needful. But whar hev ye come from? Dropt out o' the clouds? An' what o' d.i.c.k Darke? I'd most forgot that leetle matter.

Have ye seed him?"

"I have."

"Wal; what's happened? Hev ye did anythin' to him?"

"The same as you have done to _him_," answers Clancy, pointing to the body of Borla.s.se.

"Good for you! I know'd it 'ud end that way. I say'd so to that sweet critter, when I war leevin' her at the Mission."

"You left her there--safe?"

"Wal, I left her in her father's arums, whar I reckon she'll be safe enough. But whar's Jupe?"

"He's here--somewhere behind."

"All right! That accounts for the hul party. Now let's back, and see what's chanced to the rest o' this ruffin crew. So, Jim Borla.s.se, good bye!"

With this odd leave taking, he turns away, wipes the blood from his bowie, returns it to its sheath, and once more climbing into his saddle, rides off to rejoin the victorious colonists.

On the ground where the engagement took place, a sad spectacle is presented. The smoke has drifted away, disclosing the corpses of the slain--horses as well as men. All the freebooters have fallen, and now lie astretch as they fell to stab or shot; some on their backs, others with face downward, or doubled sideways, but all dead, gashed, and gory--not a wounded man among them! For the colonists, recalling that parallel spectacle in the Mission courtyard, have given loose rein to the _lex talionis_, and exacted a terrible retribution.

Nor have they themselves got off unscathed. The desperadoes being refused quarter, fought it out to the bitter end; killing several of the settlers, and wounding many more; among the latter two known to us-- Heywood and Dupre. By good fortune, neither badly, and both to recover from their wounds; the young Creole also recovering his stolen treasure, found secreted at the camp on Coyote creek.

Our tale might here close; for it is scarce necessary to record what came afterwards. The reader will guess, and correctly, that Dupre became the husband of Jessie, and Helen the wife of Clancy; both marriages being celebrated at the same time, and both with full consent and approval of the only living parent--Colonel Armstrong.

And on the same day, though at a different hour, a third couple was made man and wife; Jupe getting spliced to his Jule, from whom he had been so long cruelly kept apart.

It is some years since then, and changes have taken place in the colony.

As yet none to be regretted, but the reverse. A Court-House town has sprung up on the site of the ancient Mission, the centre of a district of plantations--the largest of them belonging to Luis Dupre; while one almost as extensive, and equally as flourishing, has Charles Clancy for owner.

On the latter live Jupe and Jule; Jupe overseer, Jule at the head of the domestic department; while on the former reside two other personages presented in this tale, it is hoped with interest attached to them.

They are Blue Bill, and his Phoebe; not living alone, but in the midst of a numerous progeny of piccaninnies.

How the c.o.o.n-hunter comes to be there requires explanation. A word will be sufficient. Ephraim Darke stricken down by the disgrace brought upon him, has gone to his grave; and at the breaking up of his slave establishment, Blue Bill, with all his belongings, was purchased by Dupre, and transported to his present home. This not by any accident, but designedly; as a reward for his truthfulness, with the courage he displayed in declaring it.

Between the two plantations, lying contiguous, Colonel Armstrong comes and goes, scarce knowing which is his proper place of residence. In both he has a bedroom, and a table profusely spread, with the warmest of welcomes.

In the town itself is a market, plentifully supplied with provisions, especially big game--bear-meat, and venison. Not strange, considering that it is catered for by four of the most skilful hunters in Texas; their names, Woodley, Heywood, Hawkins, and Tucker. When off duty these worthies may be seen sauntering through the streets, and relating the experiences of their latest hunting expedition.

But there is one tale, which Sime, the oldest of the quartette, has told over and over--yet never tires telling. Need I say, it is the "Death Shot?"

THE END.