In the Sleepy Hollow Country (concluded) [pp. 83-97]

In the Sleety Hollow Country.
treated, but he answered at random:
"Yes, this is my party." Some strange
feeling.-perhaps a long familiarity with
me nacing danger-gave him confidence in
ultimate success.
"Thees are gude horses, Meester Sher eef. I theenk I want take thees horses. Tie
heem thees boshes, "-designating with a
slight motion of his head the clumps of al der springing from rock clefts, to which Jo
and Perkins were to make fast their respective steeds. They obeyed him-where on
earth was Jim Newman?-and again the
paisano spoke. He seemed to pride himself upon his English.
"Throw thees gons and peestols een thees
reever, and," stepping out from his concealment after this last command had been
obeyed, "tail thaim-"
What this last order would have been it
is useless to conjecture. As Lopez and
Martinez stepped out from their hiding
place, two rifle shots, re-echoed a thousand
times, rang out in quick succession in the
gorge; and the two Californians reeled
backward-one dead, one wounded to
death.
Newman had not heard the colloquybut he had seen the sheriffs personal peril,
and, just at the right moment, had saved
his party's credit.
In an instant, Sheriff Perkins had sprung
across the log and was standing over the
writhing form of Lopez. He had known
that he was going to meet desperate men,
but he had not anticipated this kind of a
capture. The suddenness of the awful
tragedy shocked him inexpressibly. Martinez lay a little back from his chief, among
the rocks, and upon his swarthy face was
settling the ghastly pallor of the dark races.
"Corse you!" the dying man gasped, attempting to draw the revolver upon which
he had fallen. His Winchester, thrown
from him in his fall, had rattled down the
slope, and lay beside the Sheriff's weapon
in the creek.
"Jo," the Sheriff said, "ride back to
Ramon's an' see ef yeri can't git his woman
to come up yere. It's only three mile."
Barton turned to obey him, and Perkins
and Newman-who had come over, and
now stood beside the wounded man —administered whisky and water to the outlaw,
and strove vainly to stanch the flow of
blood from a gaping wound in his right side.
Only a round hole in his forehead, guiltless
of blood stain, told how suddenly the
black-robed messenger had come to Pablo
Martinez.
"Deed thees main done thees?" Lopez
spoke with a great effort. "I deed not seen
thees main. You tail me lie,"-with a reproachful glance towards the sheriff —" bot I
am gait efen. Take thees paper in my
pocket." Perkins turned him slightly, and,
taking from his trousers pocket a bit of stiff
paper wrapped carefully in buckskin, handed
it to Newman. "Read thees!" the dying
man almost shrieked. "Ah!" as Newman
started back, "You haf keel Eduarda's hosband. Take thees body home, Oncle Jeem."
He sank quietly after this, and those two
rough men ministered to him gently as
women might. Suddenly he started upward
from the rocks, and there was in his black
eyes a flash of love and of triumph. Clearly
and distinctly he spoke, and there was a
ring of exultation in his voice:
"Let him catch Manuel Lopez who can!"
Then, sinking his voice to a soft whisper,
"Eduarda!"
Both these men of alien race understood
the liquid music of the Southern words.
After this he sank down, as if exhausted,
and for an instant it seemed that he did not
breathe. Then the piercing eyes, soft and
humid now, unclosed gently, and for a
little he prattled softly of the sports of infancy.
The limbs stiffened to rigidity and the
dusky pallor settled down upon his face, too.
Manuel Lopez was caught at last —by a
higher power than man.
I
88
[Jan.